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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 months

Text

Ignore Me

Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc wants you to ignore him.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Let's file this under, we don't have time to unpack that.

Warnings: reader has tattoos, swearing, p in v sex, cream pie, vaginal fingering, Marc wanting to be ignored during sex as a kink, Marc saying some self-deprecating things about himself as a kink, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2130

“What’s this one for?” Marc lightly tapped the tattoo on your bicep with the tip of his nose and snuggled a little closer to you in bed, his chest against your back.

“Oh, that one?”

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips to the spot before he rubbed his cheek against you.

“That one gives me the ability to tell the future.” You say playfully.

Marc snorts, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Steven says that’s bullshit.”

You turn to look him in the face over your shoulder. “No way Steven would say that.”

“What? He swears all the time?” Marc grins.

“Yeah,” you can’t help but smile back, breaking your pretend outrage, “that’s true, but he’d say ‘that’s shit’, bullshit is too American.”

Marc chuckles and snakes his hand down to pinch your side a little, just enough to make you laugh and squirm. His other arm holds you tight against his body. “How would you like some American in you?”

You laugh harder. “Marc, that’s terrible.”

“You love it.” He kisses the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and purposefully bites down gently. Hard enough to make you squirm again and push back against his hardening cock.

“So,” he mumbles in your ear, “you gonna tell me the meaning behind this one or…?”

“Is that a threat Spectre?”

He grins again against your shoulder.

“I think you’re not actually interested in what it means.” You tease, purposefully scooting forward a little when he tries to grind against your backside.

Marc’s fingers twitch around you, his left hand going to your hip to hold you still, but you wiggle away from him.

“I think you’re preoccupied with something else.”

“What?” He tries his best to keep the amusement out of his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifts closer to you again and you bend back, bowing outward so that he still can’t rut against you.

“Oh really?” You tease.

He growls playfully at you, pulling you back towards him with a gentle, but firm strength, until you are flush against his chest.

He silences your next teasing retort by swiftly sneaking his hand down the front of your pyjamas.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice hitching up at the end as he lightly pinches your clit. You press back against him, your legs instinctively inching wider.

“Oh, so now you wanna be close, huh?”

You give him a look over your shoulder accompanied by a frustrated grunt that earns you a chuckle and a kiss on the nape of your neck.

He rolls your clit slowly between his thumb and forefinger, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you keening and rocking back against his aching cock.

Marc gasps, letting out a low grumbily moan as you press against his sensitive tip. Precum is smearing against his stomach and soaking a wet patch into his boxers.

Despite how you push back against him, your movements starting to border on frantic as heat begins to build and build in your stomach, he keeps up his languid, tortuous pace. Often, he likes it best like this. Slow and drawn out to almost the point of pain until the dam breaks. Makes it feel like he’s useful, like he’s doing a good job. Frantically trying to hold himself together, gripping onto the last pieces of his self-control until pleasure pulls him down into blissful mindlessness.

He dips the tip of his forefinger lower, just teasing at your entrance before sliding back up as he muffles his moans at your wetness into your bare shoulder.

But it seems you have other ideas.

You turn your head, just enough to give him a messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, the glide of your lips on his own quickly pulls a desperate moan from his chest. You hook your fingers into your waistband and pull your pyjamas down, kicking them off the last bit of the way.

He growls as you press back against him and sneak your hand back to stroke him twice over his boxers, revelling in his little whimpered shiver, before you slide under the material and eagerly run your fingers over his hard, velvet length.

His grip tightens on your waist for a moment before he moves closer, plunging two fingers inside of you in one quick motion.

You gasp in surprise as he strokes your walls, pleasure blossoming along your spine.

Marc moans against your shoulder, nipping and biting softly at your skin as he muffles himself. “So wet… fuck…” He bucks mindlessly against you for a second, focusing completely on the feel of you squeezing around his thick fingers and your little whimpered groans as you press your face into the pillow.

His caress is dizzying, maddening as he purposefully goes the smallest fraction slower than what you want, what you need. Obsessed with seeing you writhe and beg for him.

“Marc, please,” You buck up against him, grabbing hold of his arm to try to keep him at the angle that makes you see stars.

He groans low, lightheadedness washing over him as you beg and his dick twitches. “Baby, please can we…” He bites his lip, screwing his eyes closed and he swallows down what he wants to say, hoping you were too caught up in your own pleasure to have heard him.

But even as your hips move and breathing hitches you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “What do you need?”

He sinks his teeth into his lip harder and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Marc,” the low, desperate edge to your voice makes him whine.

“Can you ignore me?” He blurts out, heat rising to his cheeks and blistering his skin.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

You slow your hips, halting his hand's movements and Marc wants to go find a ditch to bury himself in, but your sweet voice makes him open his eyes.

“Ignore you?” There’s no judgement, but he still hides his face and presses his forehead against your back.

“Hmmm.”

“Sweetheart,” you stroke his hair. “Tell me please.”

He breathes a heavy sigh against your skin before blurting out. “Can you ignore me while I fuck you for as long as you can?”

You smile, “you’d like that?”

There’s a little spark of hope in his chest that makes his dick throb. “Yes.” He whispers.

“Okay. How do you want me?”

Marc moves quicker than you thought possible and you almost laugh at his eagerness, but stop yourself from fear that he would take it the wrong way.

He carefully positions you on the bed, on your stomach with a pillow under your hips to prop them up slightly. He leans over you for a second, softly placing his hands on your thighs and spreading them slightly. A shiver of anticipation runs up your spine.

But he quickly stops, leaning to the side and taking your book off the bedside table. “Could you, erm, read this? Or pretend to read it?”

The uncertainty in his voice is so sweet, gentle, like a fine dusting of snow. You nod as you take the book out of his hands and turn to a random, previously read, page.

“Thank you,” he mutters and kisses your shoulder blade before trailing down your back and pressing his lips against every tattoo he can reach.

Marc waits for a moment apprehensively, just watching you read, taking in the way you have propped yourself up a little so that you can easily hold the book, before he pulls off his boxers and takes himself in hand.

He tries to be as quiet as moves between your legs, spreading them over so slightly wider as he slowly runs his hand along his dick and just teases at his slit with the tip of his thumb. But he can’t stop his breath from hitching as he sees your arousal shining in the weak light.

He swallows and inches forward on his knees, gradually leaning down to run the head of his cock through your soaking folds.

He feels your shiver, the way your muscles instinctively clench around him, but you stay silent, your eyes glued to the words on the page even though for the life of you, you can’t focus on what you are seeing.

Carefully Marc notches his fat tip at your entrance, breathing through his nose as he painstakingly slowly pushes inside.

Your walls squeeze around him, pulling him further in and welcoming him home. And he can’t stop the gasp of pleasure that tumbles out of his lips. He grabs your hip, just to steady himself, just to focus as the pleasure twists so tightly in his stomach.

He glances at the back of your head for a second, biting down hard on his bottom lip to control himself as he bottoms out.

You turn the page and carry on pretending to read.

Marc whines, his arousal making him lightheaded and can’t resist any longer. He slowly pulls out before pushing himself back in, leaning down so that his right hand rests on the mattress while his left still holds your hip.

The pace is moderate, at first. The only sounds are the slick wetness as he steadily fucks you, punctuated by his little gasps and moans that he tries so hard to swallow down.

He changes the angle on each trust, trying to find the perfect spot.

Your grip tightens on the book as he hits it, your thighs clenching, back arching ever so slightly. But you bite your teeth together and manage somehow to stop your cry of pleasure.

Marc shivers as your body reacts but you don’t, a low and pathetic whine grumbling out from his throat as he increases his thrusts and focuses on that spot. On hitting it perfectly every time. He can feel you shake, the smallest shift as you push back against him ever so slightly, trying to stop yourself from going too far. All to indulge him. And his resolve snaps.

He moans loudly, thrusting up into you hard and moving your thighs further apart so he can watch himself disappearing into your tight, wet heat.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” he can’t stop himself now, can’t help the words from spilling out. “Fuck, you don’t even know I’m here, do you? Don’t even care that I’m fucking you, because,” he gasps as you clench around him, “because I’m so small you can’t even tell,” he starts thrusting rapidly, pounding into you and you see stars, “can’t even,” he moans loudly, his voice dissolving into a whiney needy breathy mess, and for some reason a sharp spark of arousal slides along your skin. “I can’t even make you cum, I can’t-”

You moan loudly, your pretence of reading the book abandoned as you can’t hold back any longer as he continuously hits so perfectly deep. The force of his thrusts rock you against the pillow under your hips, dragging your clit across the cotton and making you scream.

“Oh shit!” Marc’s grip on you tightens, his eyes rolling back in his head as you clench and gush around him, your orgasm being ripped ruthlessly from your bones as he fucks you perfectly.

“Baby, fuck,” he cums inside, filling you up to the brim. His hips keep moving, fucking you through your orgasm even as overstimulation prickles along his skin and makes him whine.

It’s only when you reach back and grab his hand, pulling him towards you that he finally stops and collapses on top of you.

He quickly goes to move to the side, but you squeeze his hand. “Stay here.”

“I’m not squashing you am I?”

You shake your head. “Feels comfy.”

He chuckles and kisses your cheek. You can still tell he’s leaning slightly on his left arm and leg, not wanting to put his whole weight on you.

A little awkwardly you manage to coax him into relaxing on top of you.

“Was that…” he swallows nervously as he traces the tattoo on your ribs. “I hope that was okay for you…”

You smile. “I didn’t know your dick was so small I couldn’t even feel you.”

He groans a little and buries his head into your neck, but he’s chuckling.

You pause for only a second before you continue. “I liked it.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I liked that you were all whiney.”

He snorts.

“I didn’t know you liked that.”

“Liked what?” He asks.

“Being ignored.”

“Oh… I don’t know.” He pauses. “It’s just… it’s like I can’t control anything, that what I do doesn’t matter so I just have to let go?”

You nod and squeeze his hand.

“Would you… be up for doing it again maybe?”

You turn just enough so that you can kiss his face. “Of course.”

____________________________________

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starfirette · 2 years

Text

Marks, from one lover to another

17+

⭐️ sub Steven Grant x dom Fem Reader, additional dom Marc Spectre x Reader

⭐️ You're jealous and over protective when it comes to your subby boyfriend ; some spicy scenes, specifically dry humping and marking. Layla bashing. I HATE when fics bash the s/o of the character you're reading for but for the sake of the story, Layla must endure some hate; I don't know shit about Moonknight so I'm going in totally blind and completely off of what I've seen on the show! I HAVE NO ISSUES WITH LAYLA BC ITS BEEN ONE EPISODE AND I DONT KNOW HER!

⭐️ masterlist | I wanna write more Moonknight so bad :(((

You didn't have any explicit problems with Layla. The fact that she had been the 'other woman', though, was enough of a problem. Enough of a reason for you to not like her.

Aside from the fact that she had popped into your lives without notice and took both your boyfriend and yourself (by association) to Cairo, she hadn't done much of anything else. Well...she had made it clear that she was 'Marc's wife' and nothing more. She tried to avoid Steven when he was fronting, and she often times was frustrated by the fact that Steven didn't respond to the name Marc.

You watched on, silently sneering each time Layla butted heads with Steven. You didn't like how cold Layla acted towards him; even sometimes demanding that Marc "come out" like he's the neighboring child that she wants to play with.

And though you're not a psychologist, you've at least made an effort to do the research on dissociative identity disorder. You wanted to know everything about it so you could be there for Steven, and for Marc.

But Layla didn't ever bother to understand. Her lack of patience and empathy for Steven and Marc rubbed you the wrong way. It was enough to make your blood boil.

And as if that wasn't enough Layla just didn't like you.

She had looked you up and down during the first meeting, her lip curling back as she sneered; "This the one you fuck now?" She asked, flipping her gorgeous, voluminous hair towards you.

To your delight, both Steven and Marc had angrily chastised her for saying such things. Steven informed Layla that you're special; you're important to him and he cares for you. Marc told Layla that she had no business in his relationship, considering he had apparently served her with a hefty divorce order. Not to mention that Marc had added "Y/n helps me. She knows what she's doing."

Damn right you know what you're doing. You fumed over Layla in private. To her face you tried to remain cordial. There was no point in fighting her. The efforts to get to Egypt were hard enough, so her skills did come in handy when it came to the search for the tomb.

Even to Steven's face you attempted to feign neutrality, knowing full well that if he saw how you despised Layla it would only stress him out.

She especially was annoyed by the fact you and Steven and Marc all agreed to share a hotel room, leaving Layla to bunk by herself.

The resort had a beautiful view of the pyramids in the distance, and the heavy tourist spot made for a good hiding place. In plain sight, among other people mingling under the Cairo sun.

You silently fumed as Steven faded out, Marc fronting, and helping you carry the little luggage you had to the room. He kept quiet with his head down until you two were alone as to not let Layla know that anything had changed. If Layla knew Marc was fronting, she'd hound him for answers to her demanding questions.

The moment the door clicked shut, Marc looked at you with quiet examination. "You okay?" He asked.

Despite his lack of audible empathy, he did care. He took the time to care for you, tend to you, while you cared for and tended to Steven. It was an easy circle that footed onward without trouble. Or at least it had until Layla came into the picture.

"I'm fine," you insisted as you tossed your duffel bag onto the single mattress.

Marc raised a brow as he watched you strip out of your button up blouse, left only in the camisole slip you bore beneath it.

The fabric stuck to your skin with sweat patches as the heat of the outside seeped through the cracks of the walls and windows.

Marc cast a glance towards the mirror and he knew that the look of concern his reflection bore wasn't his; it was Steven's. Even so, Marc still agreed with Steven that this was somewhat concerning. The hardness of your voice was an immediate set off for Steven to notice and alert Marc that you weren't actually fine.

The stark difference between Steven and Marc was pretty simple. Steven understood what 'I'm fine' truly meant, while Marc was more likely to take it at face value and assume you were actually fine.

Steven didn't ask for full control but Marc relinquished it anyways, knowing that you would be more willing to open up to Steven.

"What's wrong?" Steven now asked, and you turned to look at him, your eyebrows furrowed with frustration.

"I'm honestly fine. You both need to stop worrying so much," you added as you took a hard seat on the bed. You hiked your feet up to remove your lavender All Stars.

"Well, there's something wrong," Steven mumbled as he brushed his hair from his eyes, noting that Marc hadn't really styled it today.

You sighed. You pressed your face into your palms. "I don't want to upset Marc," you forced yourself to say as you lowered your hands, forming a base for your chin to rest on. "But... I really, really, really can't stand her."

Marc's reflection howled with laughter upon the two men hearing your confession. Steven tried not to roll his eyes, thinking that this wasn't something he should be laughing about.

Steven knelt in front of you as you stared with hard eyes. You tried your best to contain the emotions as Steven took his calloused hands to cup the underside of your jaw. You shimmied away from him. Steven's dark eyes caught sight of the tears that stuck in your thick eyelashes as you kicked off your boyfriend cut jeans.

Both he and Marc watched with anguish as you struggled to choke back the sobs. "Stop looking at me that way," you told them both, well aware they were having a back-and-forth session over how to best make you feel better.

You wiped your eyes on the inside of your elbow. You jutted your foot and the denim pants flung a few inches away, thumping pathetically with a little pfffgh.

"I don't like being the other woman," you whispered, addressing both Steven and Marc.

Steven held your face gently as Marc sighed in thought. "You're not the other woman," Steven assured you in a gentle voice. "I chose you, before I knew about anything else. And even then, Marc chose you, too."

"Marc's not even divorced yet," you said sadly, a grimaced hybrid of a smile taking your mouth as you leaned into their warm and calloused hand. "And you, Steven? You're technically her's, too. I'm the only one in this entire equation that lifts out without any consequence."

"That's not true," Steven said at the same time Marc agreed, looking upset in the reflection of the glass.

"We both want you. Neither of us will let you go without a fight. And if Layla wants to pitch a fit then we'll let her. Marc says that he's seen both you of in a fight and he believes you could, quote, throw her on her ass."

You stifled a laugh in your hand. "I appreciate that. But still, I just wish there was something I could do to make her...man, I don't know, make her just...keep her mouth shut?" That sounded like a question out of your mouth. You weren't sure that's what you wanted at all.

Steven pulled you into his lap, sinking to the floor so that he leaned against the bed. Your undies pressed against their stomach, the shirt Marc had chosen riding up on Steven's hard abdomen.

You pulled at the collar of Steven's shirt as you shivered in his arms in spite of the heat.

Steven's plump lips pressed into a thin line as wary flickered his eyes.

"Marc doesn't like my idea," Steven said with a low chuckle. His thumbs rubbed circles into your pelvis. "You could really get her mad by just showin her that I'm yours. That we're both yours."

You pushed a hand beneath his shirt, your finger tips tickling his chest. "Marc doesn't like that idea? Why not?"

Steven chuckled, the sound skittish and airy as your fingers tweaked his nipples. "Because Marc says that we should pin you on the bed and fuck you until you forget your name, let alone her's."

Arching a brow you sent Steven a look filled with frothy mirth. "If that's Marc's ideanthen what the hell is yours?"

"We both know you like being in charge sometimes," Steven chuckled again. His throat bobbed with anticipation as you pulled his shirt off. You grabbed each of his broad shoulders, watching with a watering mouth as Steven let you push him against the bed's end. He leaned his head back, the soft curls of his hair bobbing on his forehead.

His collarbones peaked out into a point that you could trace with your fingers. His throat was bobbing, his pulse looking so vulnerable as your eyes watched it thump again and again.

"Is Marc objecting?" You asked in a soft voice as you ran the back of your hand across the hollow of his throat.

"I think he secretly likes it just as much as I do," Steven said with a quiet voice as his eyelashes stuttered, sweeping across the tops of his cheeks.

You pulled Steven closer for a kiss, pressing your mouth into his hot lips, his mouth prying open so you could sweep your tongue in and tickle the roof of his mouth.

Steven's whole body went lax as he allowed you to harness total control over him; his hands stayed on your hips, stroking delicately over your sweet ass. His thick fingers hooked into the band of your panties.

"Ahh," Steven whined.

You had pushed your face into the crook of his neck, but rather than pressing soft kisses to the tender skin, you took your teeth together to bite just hard enough that Steven felt shivers move up his back.

On a good portion of his skin, you sucked dark spots while Steven tried to press his hips up into yours.

You pulled back. Your hair was a mess around your face but Steven and Marc saw the expression of a sultry deity, perhaps meant to counter and stave their own. Marc was obsessed with the idea that you were the other half; the one that could ease the darkness which was cast through the moonlight that streamed through his soul. Marc had a fantasy that often bled into Steven's own array of dark thoughts. The fantasy where Marc had you laid out, naked, on an altar underneath the full moon. But Steven quickly pushed that fantasy away when your fingers knotched the zipper of Stqeven's jeans. You helped him shimmy out of them, letting them sit beside your own.

Your mouth watered to see Steven's thick cock hard in his white boxer briefs.

"So big," you muttered as you restraddled your lover. "I wanna grind on it," you bemoaned as you sank your teeth into Steven's shoulder.

Let's fuck her, Marc's impulsive voice growled. He begged Steven to flip the roles and fuck you until your sweet cunt was overflowing with seed.

Let's enjoy this, Steven argued back.

Your clothed pussy brushed his bulge. Your clit had become a thick bump protruding your sweet lips, aching and pumping with blood as you pushed it against Steven's groin.

"Mine," you whispered as you brushed a finger across the forming kiss-bruise on Steven and Marc's shoulder. Your glassy [hue] eyes flickered up to lock against your lovers'. The dark brown and it's edges that were lit up golden and ever slightly green were also glassy, filtered with arousal and excitement as Steven nodded and agreed, "Yours."

You rolled your hips forward as you continued to litter marks along the underside of Steven's jaw.

Steven's low voice was ringing out musical little sighs and moans as you pried your legs apart to expose more of your clitoris. You rubbed the aching nub into the tip of Steven's cock. It lit a fire in your belly as Steven gripped your hips tighter.

You two were humping like teenagers, undergarments becoming wet with precum and sweat.

"Mine, mine, mine," you whispered over and over.

For a brief second, Marc's voice muttered in your ear. "Ours," he said before licking his tongue up the base of your throat.

With both hands, you pushed him back against the bed. "Marc," you warned. "Don't deprive me of my fun."

Steven nodded in tandem. "He's throwing a massive fit," Steven muttered as his voice hitched. His muscles became his once more.

"He'll get his turn," you promised as you enveloped him into a hug. "But right now I just have to feel you. I have to remind myself that you're mine."

The small tap of emotion in your voice was enough to make Marc back down. But he was growing more and more into a feral mess as you slid your clothed cunt back and forth across Steven's cock. "You're cock is so big and thick," you whispered into Steven's ear, addressing both of them but neither in particular. "Makes me feel so good. It's mine."

"Yours," Steven agreed, his voice shaking as his limb twitched in agreement.

Where Steven was content to let you use him this way, Marc rather preferred to use you. Steven's submissive tendencies were admittedly understandable; Marc could see why Steven enjoyed to be the submissive. But still, Marc would much rather be the one inflicting the pain and pleasure, smiling like the devil as you were writhing and crying, your clit pulsing and red from the overstimulation.

The images Marc was imagining fueled Steven's pleasure as you sat on his lap, humping against his cock with your precious pussy. Steven groaned loudly, making you grin like the devil.

Layla had never been like this. She wasn't able to switch it up and keep things exciting. Intimacy with her was a simple drop of old tap water in cloudy glass. Intimacy with you was more like a crisp wave of water plunging into the depths of the ocean while the moon and stars shone over it.

Steven's breath hitched as you pulled his cock out. His long limb lined against his stomach, the tip red and crying with pearls of arousal. You pushed your hot cunt into Steven's muscular thigh as your hand wrapped around his cock. His skin was warm and soft in your small hand. You delicacy brushed the tip with your thumb, making Steven whimper in desire. Marc could see the Devil in your eyes as you humped their thigh; you derived the pleasure from watching Steven come gradually more and more undone as you let him fuck your hand like it was a flesh light. Steven's his buckled as he thrust them up in an offbeat tempo. He gnawed his lip at the feeling of your gentle skin rubbing the underside of his cock, making his whole limb leak with a strong spurt of semen.

"Oh, God," Steven whined as you continued to pump his cock, even as he was already cumming onto you.

You were milking him for as much as he could give. The light sounds of pleasure Steven made in his deep, deep voice was enough to help you finally cum, too, the sticky wetness soaking into the fabric of your panties.

Steven laid his head back. His throat bobbed as he struggled to catch his breath. His cock was twitching in your hand as it laid against his chiseled stomach.

"I love you, Steven," you said softly as you sprinkled his throat with gentle kisses. You admired your handiwork. No shirt and jacket combination could hide the marks you'd left along his jaw and upper neck. You imagined the way Layla would stare at them in shock, piecing everything together.

Steven's body slacked for a second before you envelopes you in his arms, quickly pushing you to the hotel floor.

You were surprised, your eyes wide, as you looked up at him.

"Oh, hi Marc," you said. Your voice was cautious. You squirmed in his hold. "Don't lie and tell me you didn't enjoy that."

Marc shook his head as he let out a wry laugh. "I did enjoy it," he said as he tugged your panties down to your knees with a fluid motion. "I enjoyed it a little too much. You've gotten me excited. Even Steven wants to help me fuck your pretty brains out," he cooed as he played with your lower lip. "Look at that. Your cocky little attitude disappeared." Marc smirked down at you as your face burned with anticipation and embarrassment. How quickly had you been stripped of your as dominator.

Marc pressed the tip of his thick member into your clit, the sensation making you buckle in discomfort. "I'm sensitive," you warned him, trying to assert the dominance you'd once held over Steven.

"And I don't care," Marc said. "You marked us. Now we get to mark you."

#marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagine #moonknight x reader #moonknight imagine #starfirette writes #marc spectre x reader #marc spectre imagine #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #18+#smutty #smut

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captain039 · 2 years

Text

The gods with us

Moon knight x reader

Warnings: Spoilers, cursing, violence, god and goddess things, anxiety and depression, mental issues, eventual smut, tension, intimacy, age gap.

Bastet: Bastet was the goddess of protection, pleasure, and the bringer of good health. She had the head of a cat and a slender female body. Bastet was the daughter of Ra, sister of Sekhmet, the wife of Ptah, and the mother of Mihos. Since the Second Dynasty, Bastet was worshiped as a deity, most commonly in Lower Egypt.

When the voices started you swore you were officially going crazy, you began to panic in the dark at the womanly voice calling to you. You shut off from the world, worrying your mother who you lived with. You didn’t talk to your best friend about it either to scared she’d call you insane despite the many years of sharing everything. The voice would sing sometimes, a beautiful melody in a language you didn’t know, soothing and calming despite everything. You noticed the glow first also, your body began to clear of simple blemishes, your pimples and dark under eyes disappeared. You skin was clear and surprisingly smooth. You didn’t know what it was, now afraid to leave your room and let your mum see you. When she did see you she just titled her head but smiled it off and left you alone while the voice in your head chuckled softly.

It was late at night when she started to speak, your eyes opening to stare at the roof.

“Y/n” you jumped at voice by you this time and not in your head. You almost fell from your bed when you saw the woman sitting on your window seal. You gaped confused and scared. She had a black dress on with a very low v-neck, gold straps and bangles. She had a black cat head with a human body, you scrambled for your phone.

“I wouldn’t do that” she chuckled.

“They’d never believe you” she said stepping into your room and looking around.

“What?” You muttered as she looked around, running her hand over your bed quilt.

“Hm” she said frowning.

“Plain cotton” she whispered looking to your wardrobe. She opened it up and gulped before closing it again.

“Well” she said clasping her hands in front of her.

“I am Bastet” she bowed gracefully.

“Who?” You didn’t mean to blurt and she raised an eyebrow.

“Goddess of protection, pleasure, bringer of good health and cats!” she said. You stared confused though, heart pounding. She was the voice in your head, the one singing.

“I guess not everyone has the same reaction” she muttered but shrugged and smiled.

“Egyptian goddess my dear” she said like it would clear all this up.

“You are my avatar” she added but it still didn’t process.

“Child please you’re scaring me” she chuckled nervously.

“Scaring you?!” You yelled.

“You showed up in my room! You’ve been in my head-“ you froze when a knock came.

“Y/n? Honey are you alright?” Your mother called and you froze.

“Sorry! Sorry I uh, am not alright” you muttered the last part.

“Oh- ok, well can I come in?” She asked.

“Please” you said looking to the ground. Your mother had a worried and slightly scared look as you both sat on the edge of your bed. The woman, Bastet, hadn’t left standing gracefully.

“I know you haven’t been well these last few weeks, but now I’m very worried” she said and you sighed head in hands.

“I know I didn’t mean to shout I-“ you glanced to Bastet who tilted her head.

“Am going insane” you muttered.

“Well your appointment is tomorrow” your mum said hopeful.

“They’ll help you” she wrapped her arm around your shoulder as you began to cry. Hathor moved and you tensed as she sat on the other side of you and held your hand singing softly. Her voice soothed you again, though her hand was not warm or cold, it felt like nothing, but she was there.

You awoke groggily, you went to the appointment by yourself, catching the bus to the specialist centre. Bastet didn’t show up again, nor did she speak making you thankful.

“Is this seat taken?” You heard and looked up. You gulped a little but shook your head as the man sat down. He wore worn out clothes and his feet crunched when he stepped. He smiled to you, a strange walking stick in his hand also.

“Must be maddening” he said and you frowned.

“Sorry?” You said.

“The voices” he said and you froze, how the hell did he know.

“Sir, I don’t know what your talking about” you went to sit up but he blocked you.

“I can help you” he muttered.

“Y/n! Run!” You heard a familiar voice in your head.

“Telling you to run?” He asked and you coward back.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“Arthur Harrow” he said smiling, but it made you uneasy. The bus slowed and you gulped.

“This is my stop” you said quickly rushing off. Your body shook and you panted nervously as you walked to the building.

“Are you ok?” You heard beside you and glanced seeing the black headed cat woman.

“No!” You hissed quietly.

“Do not trust that man” she hissed eyes ahead before she muttered something in a foreign language. She stopped though ears pricked up as she stared across the road. You stopped also following her gaze confused.

“We’re not the only one” she said walking across the street, the cars going through her. You stood baffled before your phone vibrated. You swore beginning to jog to the building.

You sat awkwardly, fidgeting, wondering where the hell the cat woman went. The woman in front of you sat with a tablet, looking through it.

“So, you were referred by your doctor, though you do not specify why?” She said tilting her head in question.

“Uh-“ you froze suddenly reality keeping up with you. Not a soul would believe you, a cat woman appearing in your house, a goddess. You’d be sent to a mental institution or worse.

“My moods have been chaotic lately along with my anxiety” you said as you saw a figure appear beside you near the window. You didn’t dare look as her tail swished.

“I’m just not myself, and want to find out if I need a medication change or just someone to talk it out with” you smiled nervously.

“Clever human” Bastet smiled and disappeared making you sigh softly.

The appointment went well, you were to monitor your moods and emotions for a while and come back in the following week. You wandered the streets to a small cafe, you sat and had a drink and food before sighing. Bastet appeared in the chair in front of you making you jump.

“That was a brave move you made” she said.

“I wont talk about things you have to answer just subtly nod or shake your head” she chuckled.

“There is a place nearby a museum on ancient Egypt” you nodded slightly.

“I would like to go there, perhaps I can give you some insight, despite it all being fake” she scoffed lightly making you smile.

“She can smile!” Bastet exclaimed making you roll your eyes. You picked up your phone and held it to your ear.

“I can” you said and she smirked in a cat way.

“Smart human” she said.

“You want to go to the museum to enlighten me?” You asked and she nodded.

“I’m no less freaked out” you stated.

“I figured a week in your head then my appearance would be fine!” She huffed.

“How is that fine! You’re-” you gestured and she sneered.

“You’re pretty but it’s scary” you muttered.

“I’ll take the compliment” she said proudly making you huff.

“I’ll finish my food then we can go” you said unsure as to why you were talking with a goddess like it was the most normal thing.

Next part ->

#x reader #moonknight #eygptian gods and goddesses #Steven grant #Marc spectre #marvel #gods #Egyptian

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harrietbarnesblog · 2 years

Note

Listen bro I belong in horny jail and I love your writing, so if it's not to much trouble could you right a Steven Grant, Marc Spectre, and/or Jake Lockley for Smut numbers: 6, 7, 8, 11, 13, and 14? Sorry I'm just a whore.

Irresistible attraction

Masterpost

Masterlist

Taglist

Prompt:

6- i didn't like the way they were looking at you.

7- “ i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you.”

8- “i’m going to ruin you.”

11- “do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

13- "what pretty noises you're making for me… am i making you feel good?"

14- "what's the matter, love? you get nervous when i look at you like this?"

Pairing: Marc Spector/Steven grant/Jake lockley x reader

Warning: smut, bathroom sex, mirror sex, Google Spanish translation, fingering, intercourse, unprotected sex.

Marc, Steven and Jake always kept a distance from you no matter how much they were attracted to you. They know how many problems you do have to face if their enemies know what you mean to them.

But you didn't care about that. All you wanted was them.

Resisting the temptations of each other you both moved on with life. Got over each other until you met again.

Marc was here at the party to get some information from the gang leader who was hosting this party.

Steven spotted you first when you were talking to a guy flirting to be more precise. The guy was giving all kinds of lovey dovey looks to you.

"Marc, y/n is here." Steven said from the silver utensils to Marc.

"What? Where?"

"Over there in a black silk dress talking with a guy." Jake said.

Marc searched for you and spotted you. You are laughing at something the guy said.

Jealousy brewed inside them. The guy slipped his hands under your chin and caressed your cheek.

"Marc, give me the body." Jake said in Angry tone.

"Promise you won't kill him." Marc said, never taking his eyes off you.

"no puedo prometer nada. (i can't promise anything)"

"English please."

"Just give me the damn body or I'll take it myself."

Marc gave the body's control to Jake. Jake didn't blink twice he walked to you.

"Y/n querida como estas. (Y/n Darling, how are you doing?)" Jake said as he approached you.

You and the guy broke away. After seeing him after, you realised you never really got over him.

"Jake, hi. I'm doing… fine. What about you?"

"I'm fine. Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yeah sure."

"I'll be right back." You said that guy.

You followed Jake as he led the way to somewhere to talk. It was the restroom.

"What did you want to say?" You asked.

"Who was that guy?" You thought it would be Jake but it was Steven.

"Steven?"

"Yes it's me. Who was the guy?"

You were surprised at the tone Steven. You have never heard him talk like this before.

"He was my friend."

“I didn't like the way he was looking at you. I didn't like the way he touched you."

"Why?"

"You know why." He said and kissed you. It took you a few seconds to figure out what was happening. You kissed him back. Your hands slipped around the collar of his shirt. You pulled him in as you deepened the kiss. His hands grabbed a handful of your ass.

To catch your breath you pulled away from the kiss.

"That… was. Awesome." You said.

“I shouldn't allow myself to get this close to you.” he said. "It's not safe for you."

"I don't care. I want you. I need you."

Steven locked the bathroom door. He kissed you again.

And now Marc took over. He pushed you against the wall. His hands were on your thighs.

"May i?" He asked permission to lift your dress up and touch you.

"Yes." You breathed out.

He bunched the silk dress up at your hips.. He removed your panties and kept them in his pocket. He brought you in front of the mirror in the bathroom. You leaned your back on him. He nuzzled his face in your neck.

His fingers slowly rubbed on your clit. He inserted a finger inside your wet and throbbing opening. You watched him touch you in the mirror, you watched yourself in the mirror as you whimpered and moaned begging him for more.

“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asked as you felt you were about to come.

"Yes, all the time."

When you reached your orgasm Jake took over the body. He made you bend over gripping the sink.

"Can i fuck you, mi amor?" He asked.

"Yes." He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock as soon as he got your consent.

He thrusted his erected cock inside you. Mercilessly he pounded it deep inside you faster and harder.

“I'm going to ruin you.” he said, picking up his pace.

"Jake." You moaned.

"What pretty noises you're making for me… am I making you feel good?"

"Ye… yes." Your eyes rolled back.

"Jake, give me the body." Steven said through the mirror.

Jake gave the body to Steven even though he wanted more. Steven flipped you around. He completely removed your dress and threw it on the floor.

"You were over dressed." He said while he fucked you in the rawest way possible. You notice the accent change and realise it was Steven.

Seeing this side of Steven made you nervous. You always saw the soft side of him. The way he looked at you made you melt.

"What's the matter, love? you get nervous when i look at you like this?"

"Yes, Steven." You purred. You heaved a euphoric sigh.

He hit the g spot repeatedly making you ecstatic. You released the orgasm that you were holding back. Steven cums inside you.

He withdrew his cock from inside and took the dress from the floor and handed it to you. He stuffed his dick inside his underwear and zipped his pants.

You put on the dress back.

"My panties." You asked Steven.

"You are not getting them anytime soon, darling." He said a micheovious smile.

A/n: don't worry bestie i belong to horny jail too.

Taglist:

@littlsstuff

@stxrrylunatic

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saiyanprincessswanie · 2 years

Text

SaiyanPrincessSwanie - Reading List Week 94

Welcome to Week 94

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal boosting them. Author is listed next to title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

My Masterlist click HERE

Please make sure you are reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers & Header by @happygowriting

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

Civil War Brooklyn - Chp 1 - (Steve x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Gone, baby - Part 1 - Part 2 - (Lloyd x Reader) - @wayward-blonde

Coming in Hot - Part 4 - (Bucky x Reader) - @nexusnyx

Don’t Touch what’s Mine - (Bucky x Reader) - @myfictionaldreams

A Taste of Summer - (Ari x Reader) - @angrythingstarlight

Three of a Kind - (Johnny x Reader, Steve x Reader, Ransom x Reader) - @fictional-affairs

All that’s best of dark and bright - Part 9 - Part 10 - (Bucky x Reader) - @ursulaismymiddlename

Heaven (won’t) Help You - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - (Bucky x Reader) - @musingsinmoonlight

Pick me up - @spectre-posts @what-is-your-plan-today

Little Plaything - (Steve x Tony x Reader) - @ironlady1993

Did it Ever Really Matter - (Ari x Reader) - @drabblewithfrannybarnes

Stockholm Syndrome - (9) - (Stucky x Reader) - @amythedvdhoarder

Peace & Love - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - (Bucky x Reader) - @fictional-affairs

Delicate Edges - Part 3 - (Bucky x Reader) - @wkemeup

A Tale of Two T-Shirts - (Steve x Reader) - @drabblewithfrannybarnes

I love you, You Idiot! - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Hide and Seek - (Bucky x Reader) - @musingsinmoonlightlibrary

Lloyd Drabble - @nsfwsebbie

Sex Tape (7) - (Steve x Reader) - @fictional-affairs

Dad Bucky Headcannon - @angrythingstarlight

Steve’s first sad day - (Steve x Reader) - @drabblewithfrannybarnes

Wish you were here - (Steve x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Pigeon Shenanigans - (Marc x Reader x Steven, Jake x Reader) - @bamposworld

Show me who’s the Sheriff of this Town - (Lee x Reader) - @summerofsnowflakes

Got your chemicals all in my veins - (Bucky x Reader) - @bonky-n-steeb

Waiting Waiting Waiting - (Bucky x Reader) - @wkemeup

An Axe to Grind - (Curtis x Reader) - @drabblewithfrannybarnes

#saiyanprincessswanie #recommended reading #weekly reading list #missy reads #steve rogers x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #bucky barnes x reader #ari levinson x reader #johnny storm x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #tony stark x reader #curtis everett x female reader #steven grant x reader x marc spector #lee bodecker x reader

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paulsebert · 7 years

Text

Ok Marvel we need to talk... (diversity isn’t the problem)

Marvel has already stepped back from David Gabriel’s recent comments blaming diversity and a push for female characters for slumping sales, but that doesn’t change the fact that Marvel Comics has some SERIOUS problems that have to be addressed. There was a time not that long ago when Marvel was kicking ass: Secret War was possibly the best crossover ever, The X-Men were in the most interesting place since Morrison’s run. But it didn’t last and clearly something has gone awry in the past couple of years.

Marvel’s books cost a dollar more than DC’s. That’s like if Coke decided it needed to cost a dollar more than coke. The justification for this for the longest time is that Marvel included digital copy codes in their physical books thus adding extra value but that only screws over customers who don’t live near a brick and mortar store.

Speaking of brick and mortar stores there simply HAS to be a better way to offer customers intensives to buy physical copies than resorting to the variant-cover gimmickry which helped crash the market in the 90s. The selling point for U.S. Avengers #1 shouldn’t have been “check out our 50 variant covers, buy them all!” it should be “Al Ewing is the best team-book writer in comics and this is awesome!”

End the fricken’ pissing contest with 20th Century Fox already. Have you seen the box-office for Deadpool and Logan? They ain’t giving you those rights back. Oh and guess what despite all of your attempts at making Inhumans the New X-Men, people still wanted the X-Men. Oh and having the Inhumans responsible for a bunch of X-Men dying or losing their powers did NOT endear us to them. The whole Death of X/IvX storyline basically made the Inhumans look like oblivious idiots at best and genocidal zealots at worst. Oh and while the Fantastic Four haven’t been an A-list book since hell Marc Waid’s early 2000s run, a lot of people miss them.

Marvel had such confidence in “Deadpool & the Mercs for Money” that they gave it not one, not two, but THREE spin-offs. Then they changed the team line-up of the group in issue 4. So the anchor book that was supposed to sell the spin-offs no longer featured the characters in the spin-offs. It was like you were intentionally setting three books up to fail!

Speaking of Deadpool spin-offs you know the super obscure Marvel character from the film that everyone loved: Negasonic Teenage Warhead? All she gets is a spot in the Mercs for Money ongoing. Almost zero is done to cash in on her newfound popularity.

Lets talk Big Hero 6. An super obscure Marvel property gets turned into a $300 million dollar movie and the only new comics are a manga adaptation from Yen Press and a adaptation from Joe Books a publisher that’s not even on Comixology. How the hell can you not cut a deal to do a Big Hero Six series when YOU ARE PART OF DISNEY?!

Speaking of Disney, why are the only Disney comics being published right now outsourced to IDW and Joe Books a canadian publisher that isn’t on Comixology and whose website doesn’t even work?! I repeat YOU ARE PART OF DISNEY! Why are they outsourcing this?!

Anyone who reads my tumblr regularly knows how much I hate Avengers Arena. I hate to be a broken record but how can I become attached to your next young group of Avengers when the last time I got attached to some young superheroes you butched a lot of them for a cheap hunger games cash-in?! Why should I care about your next group of X-Men when the last time I fell in love with a group of new X-Men you slaughtered so many of them in Decimation?! These kind of kill-fests only discourage people from becoming attached to new characters.

You announced Civil War II before Secret Wars was over. You announced Monsters Unleashed before Civil War II was over. You announced Secret Empire before Monsters Unleashed was over! Your jumping on points between crossovers actually became buffers between events. You basically told readers to take time off because these MAJOR WORLD CHANGING EVENTS are all that maters.

Ok let’s talk about the elephant room... HYDRA CAP. Now as a comics fan I could explain that Hydra was originally created as a Spectre-esc organization for Nick Fury to fight. Or that it’s canonical that Hydra is actually a secret society that predates the Nazis by hundreds of years. But guess what?! I shouldn’t have to explain that and it still looks to the causal reader that Cap is a fascist. Even defenders of this story have to admit this is a bad look particular at a time when people are worrying about genuine fascists! I mean I get it, Hydra Cap kind of works if you want a totally blunt metaphor for America being a lot more messed up than anyone ever thought but... that’s not what a lot of readers want.

Also get Nick Spencer off of twitter for awhile. I genuinely enjoy most of the dude’s work but he seems to come across as thin-skinned, prone to lecturing, and immune to even the slightest bit of criticism.

Between Image, Darkhorse, IDW, BOOM, Dynamite and that weird Canadian company that isn’t on Comixology the market for talent is the most competitive it’s been since the early 1990s. You have to work harder to retain talent because being not working for the Big Two isn’t the threat it used to be. I’m sure Robert Kirkman isn’t regretting an opportunity to write “Marvel Zombies On Ice” while he’s sleeping on a giant pile of Walking Dead Money.

Speaking of competition... lets talk about DC. Not that long ago DC was screwing up every week. It became enough of a running gag for news site “The Outhousers” to create “Has DC Something Stupid Today?” Well guess what. In 2016 DC got their act together, launched a ton of books that people genuinely like, brought back characters that people genuinely like, held off on the crossovers almost entirely and launched a bunch of books that were cheaper than yours.

Marvel Unlimited needs reexamination. People used to wait for the trades if they were uncertain on a series. Now they wait for Marvel Unlimited where for less than the price of one trade you can read until the cows come home. It’s an awesome service but it’s probably cannibalizing your sales. Oh and it still has no unofficial support for the Kindle Fire one of the most popular tablets on the market. WHY?!

The name “All New, All Different Marvel Now” kind of says it all. Marvel got complacent and decided to offer more of what was super-successful in 2013 and gave us more 4 years later without adjusting to a changing market.

#Marvel Comics #Marvel #Comics Fandom #Avengers Arena Ruins Everything #Hydra Cap

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ivystoryweaver · 3 months

Text

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #10: A Quiet Place

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist

Summary: You and Steven get a few more answers before he takes you home and shows you how much he's missed you.

Pairing this chapter: Steven Grant x f!reader

A/n: I know I promised Jake, but I switched the order of 2 chapters, and I promise you'll like this one!

Word count: 2.1k

Content: exposition again, domestic fluff, steven gets to shine, fingering, p in v, bit of language, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

PREVIOUSLY on Spectre…

"Ms. Marjorie, why does she look the same? What happened to her body?”

"When I cast the spell on her," Ms. Marjorie explained, leaning forward on her elbows, "It's like I froze time for her. She is exactly the same as the night she died, except no longer in her old body."

She turned to you, smiling softly. “Their love essentially made you…materialize, just as they perceived you to be. I really don't know a better way to explain it."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

“Let me get this straight,” Steven said. “This shop completely vanished, o-or I was hallucinating. What is actually going on here?”

"As I said, it’s Halloween," Ms. Marjorie explained. "Not a holiday you’d associate very closely with love, I suppose, but - you see - love is the most powerful magic in the world.

“Your lovely partner here wasn’t haunting you, as you’ve told me Mr. Spector feared,” she went on. “She was simply suspended between the world of the living and the dead."

“Then, why were you pretending to work here?” Steven inquired, gesturing around him animatedly. “What even is this place?”

“My shop," she simply replied.

"But...it disappeared," Steven argued. "When I needed answers most, it wasn't here."

"Ah yes," Ms. Marjorie smiled warmly. "When you needed answers most," she nodded your way, "you found her. When you were ready." She shrugged, beginning to tidy up the tea cups and saucers. "The rest was all a bit of witchcraft, nothing more."

You pondered your words for a moment before smiling fondly. "Thank you, Ms. Marjorie, for everything. You and Steven - both of you saved my life.”

"I fudged a spell that was meant to save your life, but if it turned out well in the end, then I suppose I did some good and for that, I am grateful," she chuckled.

"And we are grateful as well," Steven chimed. "Thank you for helping me, and for your kindness, but I do believe I may need to ask you one more favor."

"What is that, Steven?"

Steven took a deep breath. “The man who killed my partner. Do you know anything about him? Did you see anything else?”

“Nothing that will be of much help, I’m afraid. not that night anyway. But something mystical is at work here. Your grandmother called out to me because she sensed your danger from beyond. She’s connected to all this somehow.

"But enough time spent with an old lady. Go on and enjoy yourselves," Ms. Marjorie instructed, gazing at you pointedly. "Enjoy life."

"Thank you again." You stood, giving the older woman a warm embrace. "You’re an angel to me."

"Oh I doubt that," Ms. Marjorie chuckled. "But happy to help."

Golden-hued trees, late autumn sunshine and the changes that had infiltrated in your hometown over the last few months took your breath away as you passed them by.

Steven glanced over at you worriedly, reaching for your hand.

"This is all so unbelievable," you uttered, awestruck. "It's like I'm in some other universe. It's magical. But it's a lot."

“I can’t believe it either. We should get you some things from the drug store, but someone might see you. Maybe I should take you home first, and come back,” Steven suggested.

“No. No, I don’t want to be alone. I’ll just come with you,” you quickly protested, your racing heart reminding you just how alive you really were.

By the time you gathered some necessities and checked out at the drug store, Steven noticed you seemed a bit glassy eyed and short of breath.

"Let's go home, love," he said softly. "I've got you."

Back in your kitchen, you eased down on a chair, watching Steven carefully as he unloaded the bags from the store and put on the kettle.

"We'll order you some things online. Some clothes - whatever you want."

He watched you for a response, but you hadn't said much since you walked into the drugstore earlier.

Kneeling down in front of you, he reached for your hand. "Darling, I know this is all...impossible. But I'm here."

You nodded, mutely.

A line of concern creased his forehead as he chewed on the corner of his lip. But he was determined to take care of you. A few moments later, he set your favorite tea in front of you, despite the fact that you drank some with Ms. Marjorie.

The tea comforted you almost as much as when Steven brought Jeremiah to sit on the table beside you.

"I'm sorry," you finally uttered, tracing your finger over the cool glass of the fish bowl. "It...I think it feels too good to be true, it can't be true. It can't be."

"That's the way I've always felt about you, love," he sweetly returned, warm, earthy eyes locking with yours. "An absolute wonder, you are."

"Steven..." you whispered, your heart - your entire body so full of love an awe. "I think my head might explode if I think about this any harder," you confessed.

Steven brilliantly distracted you for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. He put on the most mundane documentary - just enough to hold your slight interest but keep everything calm.

Then he got the laptop and helped you pick out some basic clothes from your favorite store. They would arrive tomorrow because he paid for expedited shipping.

When your mind would start to wander, he would take the laptop and pull you close, even kiss you deeply. Once the documentary ended, he read to you for a little while.

The people on your street and the surrounding ones knew you had passed away, so not too many trick-or-treaters rang the doorbell, hoping not to disturb Mr. Spector, but Steven was prepared with a couple of bags of candy from the drugstore. You stayed out of sight as to not give the young ones a real fright.

The next time the doorball rang, it was for a dinner delivery, which somehow seemed like the most delicious thing you'd ever eaten. Before long, you grew sleepy, simply because existing was so damn draining. At least today.

You felt a little distant from Steven, not because there was anything wrong between the two of you, but because you hadn't spoken to him much all afternoon.

Still, he'd given you exactly what you'd needed. Just enough mental stimulation to keep your mind from wandering and getting overwhelmed. Just enough tenderness to make you feel special.

You ended the day feeling cherished, with a full belly. And you had clothes, shoes and other necessities on the way.

"I feel like I bored you to death on my first day alive," you finally joked after brushing your teeth.

"You know that could never be true," Steven refuted, wiping his mouth with a towel before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you for today," you said seriously, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stared deeply into his eyes. "You're like a touchstone. I feel so safe with you."

"I would do anything to keep you safe," he whispered against your lips, taking them captive for a tender but sensual kiss, squeezing your hips possessively. "Come on, love, let's get you to bed."

"I slept a lot today. I really am boring," you joked.

"Oh we won't be sleeping," he cheekily returned, goosing your ribs which made you squeal.

Whatever slight distance you had felt with Steven evaporated once you were in bed, as he gathered you to the warmth of his chest and slotted his mouth against yours. Hungry hands gripped the t-shirt he'd slid over your head not ten minutes ago as he kissed you until you both needed air.

"Can't even say how much I've missed you," he murmured, pushing his fingertips over the curve of your back, easing your shirt upward. His thumbs grazed the sides of your breasts, underneath your arms, causing your breath to stutter.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he went on, sampling your lips one at a time, only pausing when pulling the shirt over your head interrupted you.

His eyes flickered down to your mouth, then your chest as he licked his lips. "Never thought I'd see you this way again."

You swallowed hard, your breath quickening under his hungry gaze.

"You alright, darling?" He smiled gently, brushing his hand across your collarbone. "Too much?"

"No," you breathed out - your fingers twisting through his curls as you pulled your bare chest flush against his cotton-covered one, sharing his breath as your body bloomed with desire. You tugged his hair a little too hard, desperate to somehow drag yourself closer still.

"Missed that," he moaned out, smiling against your cheek even as he rushed to get his own t-shirt off.

Your lips fused together again as the heat of his bare chest, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth - the soft seduction of his tongue tasting yours - and the possessive grip as he slid his hands once more up the curve of your back - set your body aflame with need.

Steven was clear that he wanted you, but still, he took his time - every nip of his teeth, soothed with the heat of his tongue. Every desperate grip eased into a seductive caress, and when his fingers finally slid between your legs - when he found the core of you hot and wet for him - he caressed you only once before pressing his forehead to yours.

"Let me make you mine again," he begged, fingertips twitching with the need to touch you - the thick outline of his bulge pressed hungrily against your bare thigh.

"Steven," you gasped, his possessive claim making you wild with desire. Your legs fell open as he coaxed you open, plunging his tongue in your mouth and two fingers deep inside you.

Your hungry moan spurred him on as he fingered you just the way you liked. Steven was all sweet seduction. It was fun to make him whimper, but he could really pull you apart when he wanted to.

But tonight wasn't about anything but cherishing you, here, alive.

So, as you worked him free of his pajama pants and stroked the velvet length of him, you found that you didn't want him to take his time. Not tonight. Just in case.

"Please, Steven," you sweetly begged him, tugging him seductively while grinding against his hand. "Need you inside."

He groaned at your touch, and your hunger to feel him, relieved that it wasn't too much for you. Soon enough, your remaining clothes were discarded and Steven climbed on top of you, caging you in with his surprisingly strong forearms. His biceps flexed deliciously as he held up his weight, positioning himself perfectly.

He knew your body as well as his own - better, maybe, since he shared his body. Without another thought, or a hand to guide him, he pushed inside you, tilting his hips exactly how he knew -

"Oh fuck Steven..." you gasped, your back arching off the bed.

Your partner knew how to please you, hitting that spot that only familiar lovers could find so easily - like the steps of a well-rehearsed dance.

"My beautiful girl," Steven breathed against your neck, between spine-tingling open-mouthed kisses laid seductively on your throat.

Slow, devastatingly deep thrusts made you whimper with both satisfaction and yearning.

"Stay here with me," he begged, hands touching you all over, finding a home on the curve of your hips as he worked himself in and out of you with fierce possessiveness. "Stay with me. Please stay..."

You whimpered his name, gripping the breadth of his shoulders as your bodies twisted, hot and wet and alive, faster and deeper until he spilled inside you only seconds after your body seized in absolute rapture, clenching him with your velvet warmth.

Steven kissed you messily, hungry and sated at the same time, hips slowing and finally stopping as his weight dropped down, caging you in. He quickly attempted to pull away, as to not crush you, but you slung your leg around his thighs and held him there.

"Stay," you echoed his plea from earlier. "Stay right here. Stay inside. I need you." You murmured plea tickled his ear, making him shiver with desire, even though he felt sated.

"Likely to crush you love." You felt him smile against your neck, his damp curls tickling your cheek. "But I'll stay right here as long as you want."

"Forever, Steven."

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You jolted awake - your dreams vivid and intense once again. Cool air kissed your skin where you kicked off your comforter, finding yourself alone in bed, still naked after making love with Steven, but clean. He must have woken up and taken care of a few things.

"Steven?" You called out, sitting up, attempting to push down the anxiety stirring in the center of you. Maybe he was in the bathroom.

Drawing a cleansing breath, you tried to steady your breathing. Damn dreams.

"Steven?" You tried again, but before you could push yourself off the bed, you heard someone else.

"Cálmate, mi amor."

The smooth voice of your partner washed over you as you blinked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"J-Jake?"

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ivystoryweaver · 3 months

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Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #9: Little Shop of Horrors

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Summary: Steven is pulled to the front, but for once, it's not Marc panicking. You venture into town in search of a certain disappeared shop.

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake is mentioned)

Word count: 3.5k

Content: angst, nightmare, anxiety attack, hurt-ish/comfort, domestic fluff-ish, romance, cuddling, kissing, mentions of death and dead body, exposition galore, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on Spectre…

Only you were here, with him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised again, and again.

You remained. You were real.

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You fell asleep on top of Marc in his favorite chair. The passionate interlude between you literally wore you out. He held you, contentedly, for a long while. The weight of your body - the solid realness of you soothed him like nothing else could. Not after these empty, aching months without you.

In your sleep, you started to shiver. Feeling like he should warm you up, he decided to carry you up to bed. He pulled the hoodie back over your head, which roused you slightly, before tucking you securely under the covers. Finding his joggers, he pulled them over his hips before climbing into bed beside you.

Marc wasn’t tired at all, but he wasn’t about to leave your side.

An hour passed. You slept the whole time.

“How are you here?” Marc whispered, unable to tear his eyes from your profile - from the petal softness of your lips as you drew each breath of life.

Finally, he decided to creep down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and to retrieve Jeremiah. He remembered that you seemed to want the little guy in your presence at all times.

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You were dreaming.

Marc crying at your grave.

Steven taking tea with a sweet little lady on Main Street.

Jake banging his fists against his steering wheel in anguish.

It had to be a dream, because only dreams could conjure images so bizarre.

Steven was somehow now…in the fish tank? Unable to breathe. Trapped.

Marc fell into the earth, inside a waiting casket.

No!

Jake lit a cigarette - he hadn’t smoked in years - and pulled his cap down so low it almost covered his dark, accusing eyes.

“You didn’t tell me,” he spat. His car filled with a dangerous amount of smoke, burning your lungs, as if the whole car were catching fire.

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming to see me!” He growled, flinging the still-burning cigarette at your face…

…which pulled a scream from your lungs and woke you up.

In reality, your dream scream was only as loud as a whimper.

You were in your bedroom. Alone.

No.

Were you trapped here again?

Frantically touching yourself all over, you tried to convince yourself that you were here, that you were real. But where was Marc?

You called for him.

“Marc!” You screamed, scrambling out of bed, but feeling the covers tangling around you, holding you captive.

“Marc? Marc!”

You started gasping for air, your chest heaving as you hyperventilated.

"I’m here!” He called, sprinting into the bedroom with Jeremiah under his arm and a glass of water in his hand. Carefully placing the items on the night stand, he practically leapt across the bed to gather you into his arms. “I’m here, I’m right here,” he soothed, his heart shattering as you struggled to regulate your breathing.

Grasping your arms, he knelt with you on the bed, staring directly into your eyes. “Sweetheart, listen to my voice. You’re having a panic attack. You’re okay, you’re safe.” He nodded encouragingly, his handsome face the very essence of empathy and tenderness. “I’ve got you. I know how these feel. I know you’re scared, but you’re safe.”

He looked for any indication that you were understanding him.

Gripping your hand, he pulled your palm flat against his bare chest. “Breathe with me, okay? Gotta slow down. Remember you’ve done this with me a hundred times. Breathe in…” He watched you hiccup and gasp to take a deep breath in, finding a new appreciation for you, having never experienced this side of an anxiety attack before.

“That’s my girl,” he soothed, nodding at you with the softest smile. “Now out, blow your lips like this.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shakily exhaled. “There you go. Now in, with me… And out.”

The two of you worked together to slow your breathing until you sagged against him, sobbing.

“I’m so sorry,” he soothed, rocking you back and forth as you slumped into his lap. “I was only gone for a minute. Just long enough to get Jeremiah and a glass of water. I was here the whole time.”

What you couldn’t explain to him just yet was - you didn’t mind crying. The flood of panic and tears made you feel alive. The way he held you protectively against the heat of his bare chest was reason enough to live.

“It’s okay,” you whimpered several minutes later, murmuring against his throat as he held you securely. "I'm not upset with you. I-I had a nightmare and I woke up really confused. I was just hoping I’m really still here with you.”

“You’re here with me,” he assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You're here. I've got you."

"Please just hold me," you whispered, nuzzling into his neck, feeling like you couldn't get close enough to him. After several encounters as a spectre, you simply could not get your fill of feeling your partner warm and close to you. "Talk to me - I want to hear your voice."

Easing down, Marc pulled you with him, keeping you half on top of him, pressed and molded to his body at every possible point. Your legs tangled together as his mouth sought yours out.

Fully aware that you'd asked to hear his voice, he gave you the warmth of his breath and the heat of his tongue instead. You melted into his kiss as he tasted you.

You went limp in his arms - his strong embrace such a comfort even as your body bloomed alive with desire. His hand cupped your cheek as your lips parted, granting you a gentle smile as he stared deeply into your eyes.

"What do you want me to talk about?" He gently questioned, tracing your lips with his fingers before dragging them down over your throat. Before allowing you to answer, he pressed his fingertips to your pulse point. "Your heart is racing."

"I know," you breathed, smiling at him sweetly. "I just keep trying to believe I'm here - that we're here together."

“You’re here, and Jeremiah’s here. And the three stooges are here too, just downstairs in the tank,” he gently teased, referring to the rest of your fish. “And they’re not the only ones here.”

Easing back, he swallowed, considering his next words. “Steven almost confused your anxiety attack with one of mine so he’s…well, he’s here too.”

“Steven?” You whispered, your eyes shining with love and awe. “He can hear me?”

Marc nodded. “It…well, it doesn’t usually happen like this, but…he really wants to…I-I’m not trying to leave you - "

“It’s okay,” you eagerly nodded. “Whatever you and Steven think is best. I trust you.”

Almost imperceptibly, the wrinkle between Marc’s eyebrows relaxed as his brown eyes went wide.

“Steven?” You breathlessly whispered, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

“What’s all this then?” Steven blinked, trying to get his bearings - to understand how you could possibly be here, in his arms. He had witnessed some of the interaction between Marc and you already, but actually feeling you against him was quite another thing. “Not back in the Duat, am I?”

“No,” you tearfully laughed out. “No, we’re here, at home. I’m here with you, somehow. I don’t know how. I woke up this morning with Marc.”

"Alive as you ever were, it seems," he breathed out, running his fingertips over any skin he could reach - your cheek, your lips, your throat, warm brown eyes shining with wonder. "Bloody amazin'. Can't believe I'm not dreaming."

"I know," you agreed, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a fierce hug. "I can feel you, Steven. Just like we wished."

Eagerly accepting your hug, he kissed your hair. "Missed you so much, my love."

You held onto one another for a few indulgent moments as Steven pressed sweet kisses to your neck and jaw, making you shiver with desire and your heart burn with love.

"You're not hurt though, darling?" He murmured. "Thought Marc was panicking there, but - it was you?"

As he eased back, his eyes darkened with worry, raking over the contours of your face, remembering every single inch that had threatened to escape his memory in the months you were departed.

"Just had a little nightmare. Much better now," you sweetly smiled at him.

You spent the next several minutes in Steven's arms, simply trying to explain the last several hours between you and Marc, and possibly sort out how you could be here.

He filled you in on the odd happenings - anything Marc hadn't already shared, including the mysterious Ms. Marjorie and her disappearing shop.

While Marc had taken care of you physically - easing you into your first moments alive with gentle, adoring touches, taking care of you as you cleaned up, dressing you, cooking with you and finally giving in to your desperate desire for one another -

Steven was there for you to talk things through. It wasn't that you desired Steven any less. It was only about timing. You had only been alive for the last few hours, and you weren't entirely sure if you would stay that way.

Steven was there to puzzle it out with you, patiently, eagerly and sweetly. He suggested that the two of you venture into town. He honestly wanted to see if Ms. Marjorie would be there. He had no reason to believe she would be, but since you had reappeared, maybe there was a chance. He felt like she might have some answers.

And even if the elder woman wasn't connected to you in some way, he still wanted her to meet you.

You and Steven shared a brief discussion about what you might tell the townspeople, who thought you were dead and buried in Green Lawn Cemetery. Most of them had attended your funeral, mourned you, and had spent weeks and even months looking after Marc, Steven and Jake.

You decided to cross that bridge when you came to it. There might be no time to wait around the house only to disappear again. So you grabbed Marc's favorite black baseball cap, pulled your hood over your head and - hand in hand, you and Steven made the short trek to downtown.

"Must be overwhelming for you, love," Steven sympathized, sweetly squeezing your hand as you walked together.

"Marc said the same thing," you let him know, smiling over at him. "I feel okay right now." Even as you courageously shuffled along beside your partner, you gripped his hand, your anchor.

Autumn breeze swirled around you, kissing your cheeks with its faint sting - the aroma of cinnamon and clove invading your senses and making your mouth water.

"You'll let me know, though, won't you? If it's too much? If we need to go back home?" Steven slung his arm around you and hugged you close, understanding how out of sorts you must feel. He'd felt something similar a hundred times at least - being forced to front with no notice.

You assured him that you would tell the truth if you felt overwhelmed. But nothing more happened before your stroll came to an abrupt halt - interrupted by the hand painted sign of the most adorable shop.

"Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties"

"I knew it," Steven gasped, making a beeline for the shop's door, pausing long enough to practically drag you by the hand to a little old woman leaning against the counter, reading a paper.

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"Ms. Marjorie, is that you?" Steven asked, clearly shocked to see her.

Ms. Marjorie, however did not look surprised in the least. She slowly lowered her newspaper, adjusting her glasses before carefully eyeing the couple before her. A blind man could see you two were in love.

"Mr. Grant - what a match you two are," she almost neutrally observed, as if stating a mundane fact.

Steven glanced at you curiously before turning back to the mysterious woman. "Ms. Marjorie, why...how are you here?"

The older woman smirked slightly. "Why, Mr. Grant, I work here, don't I?"

"Um, no, actually. I mean, I've been looking for you and you haven't been 'round here. No one was." Steven sheepishly shrugged, realizing he wasn't making much sense. Clearly the woman was here, and so was her shop.

"Wait a minute. Is this shop even...real? And does your presence...have something to do with her?" He gestured toward you before reaching for your hand. "This is my partner. The one I told you about. But you don't seem surprised at all to see either of us."

Ms. Marjorie finally cracked a smile. "Clever boy. I figured you would be the one to puzzle it out. Perhaps you'll have some tea and biscuits with me while I explain a few things."

"That would be nice, Ms. Marjorie, thank you," you finally chimed, with a warm smile, thrusting out your hand and reciting your name.

"What a pleasure to meet you, my dear."

After ushering the two of you to the back office kitchenette, Ms. Marjorie showed you and Steven to the small table where he’d shared tea with her before - the first day they met. Without a hurry in the world, she started the kettle and rummaged around for her mother’s tea set before finally speaking.

“Now I suppose you'd like to know why your partner is here with us, in solid form - but I'm not going to tell you just yet.” She opened a cabinet door, reaching for a tin of biscuits and three small plates. “My story begins months ago - on an unusually warm spring evening.”

“The night I died,” you ventured a guess, eyeing Steven sympathetically as he squeezed your hand.

“Murdered, weren't you?” Ms. Marjorie curiously questioned.

“Yes ma’am, I was.”

“By an evil man, if I'm not mistaken,” she confirmed, with a nod. “But here I've gone and gotten ahead of myself.” The older woman quieted as she distributed a few biscuits to each plate, removing the kettle from the flame just as the whistle blew. She spoke not another word until the tea was poured and the table set with sugar, non-dairy cream and even a few cucumber sandwiches.

“You and I have a bit of ancestry in common, my dear,” she informed, pouring each of you a cup of tea.

“We’re…related?” you inquired, taking a bite of your biscuit.

Ohhhh, man, did that taste good. You shoved the whole thing in your mouth, reaching for the second before Ms. Marjorie even finished serving the tea.

“It’s not so much that we’re blood related,” Ms. Marjorie answered. “No, it's much more…mystical than that. You see,” she chuckled, wiping her hands on a cloth napkin, “Well, I might as well come out with it. I'm a witch.”

Steven looked at her like she had three heads, but it was you who spoke up. “A witch? Ms. Marjorie, really.”

“It's okay, love, let her talk,” Steven gently prompted, squeezing your hand across the table.

“Yes, that's it, I'm a witch,” she repeated, situating herself in the table’s third chair and taking a sip of tea. “And you, my dear, have witch blood running through your veins.”

Oh, well, that pretty much explained things for Steven. He'd seen tons of paranormal happenings in his life. He knew witches were real and that magic could hurt people, although not all witches had magic powers. Some were simply children of nature. His guess was that Ms. Marjorie must be a magical witch.

You, however, glanced incredulously between Steven and the strange woman who just informed you that you were part witch.

Ms. Marjoie took Steven’s nod of encouragement as a sign to continue. “My dear, your grandmother dabbled in a bit of witchcraft herself, if you can believe it.”

You gasped. “You knew Grandmother?”

“I did. You see, she was my cousin. Well - my second cousin. Our mothers were cousins.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You had a living relative? After thinking you were completely orphaned in the world after your parents died and you came to this town to live with your grandmother, who had now also passed.

“Y-you mean…that would make us, um - "

“Distant cousins,” Ms. Marjorie replied, moving the story along. “At any rate - the night you were…well, attacked, I was summoned.”

You shook your head, confused. “Summoned?”

“My dear cousin cried out to me for help and I answered,” she responded, as if her answer was the most sensible thing in the world. “I saw you on Main Street, stopping to walk into the drug store when a man grabbed you.”

Ms. Marjorie shook her head ruefully, setting her teacup back in its saucer. "My family were church-going folks and did not take kindly to the thought of witches and magic and such. So I never became much of a practicing witch. But the power was so strong in me - you see, I knew I was different from a young age. That night, as I watched you struggling for breath, I cast my first spell. Or - my first life-or-death spell, of that magnitude."

She laughed, pointedly looking toward you. "My apologies for royally messing up your afterlife."

"I-I don't understand," you murmured, completely entranced by this woman's tale.

With a deep breath, she pressed on. "I cast a spell to keep you from harm; I wished for you to have a long and happy life with someone who would truly love you. I believe I used the phrase, 'your one, true love.'

"What I didn’t know is that you were already dead by the time I chanted the words. My amateur spell had just enough power to keep you from passing into eternity, but not enough power to bring you back to life. That's why you’ve been stuck all this time, just like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for her prince to come to the tower and rescue her."

"Ms. Marjorie, a-are you saying that Marc, o-or Steven or even Jake brought me back to life?" you questioned, your wide eyes blinking curiously.

"Indeed I am, my dear. Once true love found you, you were saved, just as I had wished those months ago."

"But she’s been gone for months. Why did she not come back to life until now?" Steven curiously inquired.

"A very good question," Ms. Marjorie answered. “Perhaps this is the time of year when the veil between the living and the dead is the most…accessible. Halloween, Day of the Dead, All Saint's Day, All Souls Day - any way you slice it - souls roam freely for these few nights.

"I can only assume that you saw her and she was drawn to you when you were both ready," the elder woman went on. "As soon as you realized it and embraced it, she was able to come back to life but only the next time she appeared. The spell was broken and you are as alive as you were those months ago."

"I'm sorry, darling," Steven breathed, his eyes darkening with sorrow. "I'm sorry I couldn’t see you before."

You smiled sympathetically, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. "You've given me the most beautiful gifts, Steven - life and love. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I should have known…and then you would have - "

"No," you shook your head. "Don't do that. Everything worked out.”

Ms. Marjorie watched the two of you with admiration, pouring each of you another cup of tea from the kettle. "What you just said is more true than you know.," she informed. “My dear, their love brought you to life and you'll stay alive as long as they live, and as long as they love you."

Steven gasped, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Are you s-sure? I mean, what if - what If I live a really long time? Or die next week?"

"I'm sure," she said, with a reassuring nod. “Her witch ancestry can give her a long life, not to mention the spell I cast. You two are stuck together, literally, until death does you part. Hope you don't mind, my dears."

But Steven was bursting with questions.

"Ms. Marjorie, why does she look the same? What happened to her body?”

She turned to you, smiling softly. “Their love essentially made you…materialize, just as they perceived you to be. I really don't know a better way to explain it. I'm certainly no scientist."

"So my body is…out there somewhere?" You questioned, feeling a bit queasy at the thought of your own corpse. "Ms. Marjorie, you said that you witnessed my murder, isn't that right?" you added, your brain switching gears.

She nodded.

"So, what happened after I, um…died? What did the man do? What did you do?"

“Exactly,” Steven chimed, a bit accusingly. “Why didn’t you come forward? Why didn’t you notify the police?”

She smiled wryly. “The answer to that question is beyond the scope of this conversation. But if you think on it - it’ll come to you.”

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ivystoryweaver · 4 months

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🌿IvyStoryUpdates Jan. 25

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Newsflash still obsessed

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Happy new year! Almost 3 months since my last one of these! I wrote so much in Nov. and Dec. for my 1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration that my brain shut off for a month. (That event is still OPEN, btw!)

I've been writing, but nothing has been quite ready to post. I've also been reading some amazing fics! (I'm gonna do my first rec list soon).

Posting this weekend:

The Only One - A Poe Dameron Story 🚀 Episode 5 - UPDATED 💫 5/10ish Episodes completed

On My Knees - Part 3 of 3 - UPDATED (Steven Grant x f!reader) 18+ The sequel no one asked for. You're Steven's boss and the two of you aren't exactly keeping things professional at work. Not that you're complaining.

Previous parts, if you're interested:

"On My Knees" Part 1 (fluff, can be read alone, without part 2) 1.2k words "On My Knees" Part 2 (nsfw, continues from part 1) 2.1k words || 18+

In Progress but not quite ready:

Perfect Fit (Nathan Bateman) 18+ 🤖 1/2 Parts completed

Decadent: A Miguel O'Hara Story 18+ 🕷️ Up next: Chapter 13 - An accident in the lab! 🕸️ 12/14 Chapters completed

Spectre: A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story 👻 Up next: Event #9: Little Shop of Horrors 🎃 8/11ish Events completed

It's the Most Wonderful Time of The Year (Poe Dameron) Life Day fic

Working on asks as always.....

I promise I have all your asks

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My current WIP list

Updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

Reader blog - @ivystoryreader

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Askbox always open 📥

💚 Ivy

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ivystoryweaver · 9 months

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Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #2: It Comes At Night

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Event #2 Summary: A day in the life of Marc...without you. And a night...with you?

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader (alters are mentioned)

Word count: 3.1k

Content: angst (more below the cut)

Warnings: coping with death, grieving, loneliness, fear, longing, language, anxiety, mental health concerns, self-esteem probs (I mean, it's Marc), mentions of food, mentions of therapy, contemplation of DID, graveyard, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

The bedside lamp flickered eerily as you repeated your partner's name.

"Marc?"

It dimmed again, slower this time and then suddenly, went dark.

"Shit," Marc hissed, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he scrambled to find his phone.

He knocked into the bedside table with a thump, wincing in pain as his fingers finally found the device. Frantically touching the screen, he activated the flashlight and whirled around

... to no one.

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Event #2: It Comes At Night

There was no more sleep for Marc that night.

Steven and Jake seemed oblivious to the...visitation incident. Or hallucination, perhaps. Marc felt reluctant to clue them in at this point. They had enough struggles as it was, mentally speaking. Marc didn't want to deliver anything in the form of potentially bad news until he knew more.

He had always considered himself a loose cannon in the system anyway. A sort of weakest link. Steven was smart, inquisitive, mindful of the body's needs. Jake was the protector. Steadfast.

Marc didn't want to rock the boat right now. Maybe he was dreaming last night. How many beers did he have? Only one, right?

No matter. He was up early, shuffling through the streets of town to the old Green Lawn cemetery. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd visited your grave.

But on this chilly October morning, he needed to ground himself. Reality was his ally.

The macabre decor of neighboring houses didn't loom so ominously in daylight. For that, he was grateful. Still, it was a bit ironic that pretend headstones had made his stomach churn, and here he was, pulling open the heavy iron gate guarding actual headstones.

The hulking old metal groaned out a warning, as if reminding all who entered that its looming density separated the world of the living and the dead.

Marc scurried along the familiar path, down the cemetery's manicured walkway - the kempt grounds attempting to welcome the reluctant living.

Down the center path, past the old poplar tree, leaves painted golden before winter stripped the branches bare. A right turn, over three rows and one more walkway over.

To you.

Heavy fog kissed the earth where you lay resting. Gathering his courage, he trudged the remaining distance to your name. If he only had a little more time with you, maybe that would be his last name there, listed after yours. If you wanted to marry him at all, or even take his name. Fine if you didn't - but still -the possibilities haunted him.

"Hey baby," he softly greeted, sinking his hands protectively into the pockets of his soft leather jacket. "Miss you a lot today. Always do."

A gust of wind sent a flurry of golden brown leaves dancing around your headstone.

"Thought I saw you last night," he continued, hoping a trip here would calm his imagination. "I know it wasn't really you, but...you were sitting on the bed wearing that hoodie you love? You know, the-the one Jake thinks is his, but it's actually mine..."

He darkly chuckled, remembering how cute you looked in that old thing.

"Anyway...I hope...I hope you're resting. I hope you're happy. That's all I want, babe. I just want you to have peace..." His voice trailed off as fresh tears slid down his cheeks. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. "I miss you."

Pressing a kiss to his fingertips, he traced the shape of your first name. "Love you."

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Marc continued his morning walk from Green Lawn to historic downtown, where he and Steven worked. This was a small town, and everyone was...or had been proud of their small town author - you. By proxy, they loved and accepted your boyfriend Marc. And Steven and Jake.

Yes, most of the people you had known were aware that you lived with a system, and learned to treat them accordingly.

Marc had a part time job at the hardware store. Steven worked at the library. Jake was a driver, but that took place mostly at night, in the city, or at least to and from the city, which sat about 95 miles to the northeast.

The system stuck to a decently regular schedule, but who was fronting wasn't always so simple. Their employers understood this, and took it into account. Sometimes, Marc worked Steven's library shift, and sometimes Steven worked at the hardware store. Didn't make for as enjoyable of a work day, but they had both learned to deal.

Jake worked for himself, so if he didn't want to drive one night, or if he was exhausted, or busy with Khonshu (or you), he simply didn't drive.

Before he arrived at work, Marc stopped at Triple B's - his favorite breakfast spot, famous for their breakfast burritos. (Hence the name Barney's Breakfast Burritos, or...Triple B's). After weeks of avoiding the townspeople, Marc reluctantly made it a point to interact, at the insistence of both Steven and his therapist.

It's also what you would have wanted. And, if he was honest, as much as he tended to withdraw into himself, he knew he would ultimately feel better with at least a little human interaction. After last night, he kind of didn't want to be alone.

"Spectorrrr, what's up?" Barney, the Triple B's owner called out as Marc pushed open the glass door, ringing a little bell as he did.

"Hey, B," Marc called, over the small crowd of customers gathered to place an order - most of them hyped for some sort of overly sugared fall drink like pumpkin spice something or maple whatever.

Despite Marc being about seven customers deep in line, Barney gave him a quick wave. "Usual?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Marc replied.

Barney nodded his head to the side, indicating that Marc should skip the line and ring out his order on the side register. Marc didn't like attention - he didn't want to make anyone else waiting upset, but Barney had a strong personality and he was wonderful to all his customers. He was too charming for anyone to actually get truly mad.

Shouldering his way around the line, Marc made it to the far end of the counter, meeting Barney there.

"You're early," Barney commented, noticing the dark circles under Marc's eyes. Dark circles were part of Marc's look -always had been, but they were deeper today. "You sleep okay?"

"Nope," Marc confessed. Easier to tell Barn the truth. "Tried though. Went to see her this morning."

"Gotcha," Barney nodded, ringing up Marc's typical order of one breakfast burrito all the way, and black coffee. If it was Steven, then the burrito would be vegan and the black coffee would be tea with non-dairy milk. Jake was a rare customer, but he was café au lait and a giant plate of hash browns. Sometimes eggs.

Your order had been the same as Marc's, almost always. Sometimes you liked something sweet to drink.

Marc reached for his cash but Barney refused. "On the house, Mr. Spector."

"No, no, you can't do that," Marc insisted. "I'm gonna put you out of business if you keep on giving me food."

Barney stubbornly folded his big arms over his round tummy. "I knew your girl since she was twelve-years-old. Miss her all the time. Can't even imagine how it is for you boys. A burrito and coffee's the least I can do."

Marc's order was up, so Barney handed him a brown paper bag and a similarly drab disposable paper cup with a lid. "You go on and have a nice day, and get some rest tonight, all right?"

Well damn. Marc had tears in his eyes for about the fifth time in as many hours.

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Marc chomped through his breakfast by the time he meandered two blocks down to the hardware store. Work was uneventful, which was a blessing today. He needed this - a day to be left alone and work with his hands. Between his free breakfast, some encouragement from Barney and a low-key day on the job, he left that evening feeling marginally better.

It had even helped him to stop by and see you. He missed you so badly he could hardly breathe sometimes, but it somehow helped him to really accept you were gone and imagine you were at peace.

He passed by the library, remembering Steven had a shift tomorrow. Hopefully his alter would be up and about, so to speak, because Marc wasn't in the mood to shelve books.

Next he passed the florist. Mrs. Alraune paused her task of sweeping off her shop's front stoop to give Marc a little wave.

A few more doors down, he saw a shop he'd never noticed before. Must be new for Halloween.

A simple, hand painted sign swung over the doorway. It read, "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties". What and odd name for a shop. Marc almost smiled to himself because this is exactly the type of shop you would love to venture into while walking through town. Still...he decided against it since the sun had set and he wanted to get home.

No need to spoil his sort-of-okay day.

His hands found their home in his jacket pockets and his head dropped - his typical hurry-through-town posture.

But the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" shop was not to be ignored this October evening.

Twinkling lights lined the shop's windows. They flickered ominously as Marc approached.

"Lovely evening," an elderly female voice intoned, seeming to appear in the shop's doorway in an instant.

Marc's pacing paused. Pressing his lips into a thin-lined smile, he nodded, ready to carry on.

"Won't you come inside before it's too late?" The old woman inquired, kind eyes nearly hidden by wrinkles. She gestured with her hand at the shop's window, adorned with antique treasures. Perhaps this was a new antique store.

"Uhh, sorry, I have to get home," Marc halfway fibbed. "Goodnight."

She nodded understandingly. "Safe journey to all who protect the travelers of the night."

That phrase gave him pause...protector of the travelers of the night...

His eyes narrowed as he glanced back her way. "Uh...thanks."

With that, he headed home.

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He passed by Mrs. Nockles' house without an invitation inside. He avoided the run down old spooky house and even managed to ignore the house with the fake headstones.

This brought him to your front yard. Well...his front yard now. The thought of owning this home by himself reminded him why he was considering leaving this town.

His eyes traced a path up the front walk to the whitewashed steps of the front porch. You had only just repainted the front door last spring. Most of the houses in the neighborhood were nearly a century old, and painted bright, artsy colors. Marc remembered the playful argument as to whether the front door would be painted periwinkle blue (his choice) or cornflower blue (your choice). You won, of course.

He couldn't really see the door right now because it was dark, and because he forgot to turn on the front porch light before he left. Even in the dark, he could only imagine how your flower bed had overgrown with weeds during the summer. Fall would give way to winter and the whole damn thing would probably shrivel up and die.

Pretty typical. Marc felt like a bit of a curse to everything he touched.

Blowing out a breath, he bounced on his toes. "I'm sorry, babe. I'm off day after tomorrow and I'll get out here and...I'll try for you, okay? Promise."

'Packed up her garden tools. I'll get 'em out tomorrow night.'

Jake.

The system must be feeling feelings because Jake hardly said anything.

"Thank you," Marc voiced aloud.

'Course. Knew you would go looking for 'em when you were ready. I can help if you want. Probably shit at it but we can let her whole damn garden die, can we?'

Marc laughed out. It was a strange, almost bitter sound. As if he could stop anything bad from happening ever. Kind of Jake to offer though.

Probably enough time lurking around in his front yard. With a heavy sigh, Marc gave the bungalow a final once over when something strange caught his eye. Up in the highest window appeared a figure - a woman.

Your bungalow was small, but a master bedroom had been added about twenty-five years ago on a partial upper story. It was about all that was upstairs aside from a small hallway, master bath, and a tiny loft you spent your days writing in, when you weren't sitting on the porch or the back deck.

Marc squeezed his eyes shut and then rubbed them in a cartoonish manner to make sure he wasn't imagining something else that wasn't really there.

But sure enough, when he looked again, he could clearly see a woman - about your size.

It couldn't be.

"Wait," he whispered, dashing up the whitewashed steps even faster than the night before when he was panicking.

"Wait!" He called louder, jamming his key into the deadbolt. It seemed to take forever, but finally, he made it inside, not bothering to shut or lock the front door behind him as he bolted toward the stairs.

He sprinted upward so fast that he almost tripped over his boots, bursting into your bedroom...which was empty.

"Damn it!" He cried, tossing his keys aside and pushing his hands through his hair in frustration. Maybe he really was losing his mind. Or maybe he just wanted to see you again so badly.

With a huff, he scoped up his keys - he had to put them in the kitchen or Steven would never find them in the morning. Stumbling back downstairs, he shut and locked the front door, did put the keys on the counter and grabbed a glass of water.

He should probably eat but all he wanted to do was shower and go to bed. The nice day he'd attempted to construct for himself had been obliterated by his stupid brain playing spooky tricks on him.

Ridiculous.

After a quick shower, Marc wrapped a towel around his hips and trudged back into the bedroom.

He half expected you or some sort of spectre to be waiting for him on the end of his bed. But there was no one, which was an oddly painful relief.

Maybe time for a drink. Of course Steven would insist that food accompany any alcohol. So Marc found some black joggers and pulled them over his hips, tossing aside his towel.

His nightly ritual was beginning to look depressingly mundane and overly repetitive. He had a glass of whiskey tonight instead of a beer, and made himself a sandwich. After watching some more postseason Major League Baseball, Marc went to bed.

And stared at the ceiling. He wanted to be tired. He just wasn't.

He needed a friend. Or a pet? Steven liked fish. Jake liked cats. Marc wasn't sure what he liked. Hmm.

He tossed and turned, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.

Just when his eyelids grew heavy, he heard the faintest whisper.

His eyes snapped right back open.

It happened again - an indistinguishable whisper - something almost mumbled, but so softly.

Whatever he was hearing became obscured by the harsh, shallow breaths he was now taking. He squinted his eyes as if it would help him distinguish the darkened room from the pitch black corner, from which the sound emanated.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the blackness.

Marc sat up in bed, staring as he leaned forward, certain he couldn't actually be seeing someone in his room.

The whisper sounded again as the dark figure seemed to float closer.

Marc had dealt with the vilest of criminals in his lifetime. The worst of the worst. He wasn't afraid of anyone.

But he was afraid now. And paralyzed, somehow.

The figure inched closer to the bed.

Marc's skin prickled with heat, even as a wave of chills swept over his bare chest and arms. Breaths quickened to shallow pants as the figure hovered dangerously near.

"It's...too late," the figure murmured, as faint as a breeze.

Heart thundering in his chest, Marc tried to move - to reach for a light, or his phone, or ask for Jake or Khonshu or something...but found himself completely paralyzed.

"W-who...what are you?" He finally gasped, shrinking backwards toward the headboard of his bed, physically unable to do anything more productive.

Then...he could have sworn he heard your voice.

"Marc."

Suddenly, he could move. He bolted off the opposite side of the bed and reached for the light, switching it on.

No one was there.

"Fuck..."

Hot tears pricked his eyes as his fingers tore through his dark curls. "What the fuck is happening to me?"

His alters were strangely absent. They were often a bit one-at-a-time with the body, but couldn't they hear you?

Even the lamplight spilling into the room left a few darkened corners. Marc grabbed his phone, switching on his flashlight. He swept the room, searching every corner, behind the curtains, in the closet, under the bed, and finally the master bathroom.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered if Steven would notice his distress. Shaking his head in frustration, he switched off his flashlight and splashed his face with water. He probably wouldn't be able to sleep again. Hopefully Jake would need the body. If not, Marc was considering smashing his fists into something himself. Or someone.

He was wired and frantic and so fucking sad. And scared. What if he really was losing it? It was one thing to grow up thinking he was fucked up, but now, his problems were Steven and Jake's. How could he tell them he was hallucinating?

Maybe...maybe this was another alter? He didn't know. He finally grabbed his phone and walked back into the bedroom.

You were there. In the same hoodie. On the edge of the bed.

"Shit!" He hissed, jerking back in surprise.

You actually flinched, rising from your seated position and easing backward toward the window.

"No, no, wait, don't go!" Marc urgently pleaded, holding out his hand to try to get you to stop.

Your face was somewhat obscured by the hood pulled over your hair, but it had to be you. It was you.

"Sweetheart, It's okay. Don't go. Don't go," he begged, easing carefully toward you.

You backed so far away from him that you almost blended in with the curtain. He was sure you were about to Jacob Marley right out the window.

The lamp flickered again, just as it had done the previous night. Then went black. Marc rushed blindly toward the window, yanking open the curtain. Moonlight spilled into the bedroom, granting him the slightest ability to see.

"It's not too late," the whisper echoed, right beside his ear...but you were nowhere to be seen.

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I tagged everyone in the first update and masterlist, but since this fic does eventually venture into nsfw, I'm now doing the tag list for that specifically. (The general NSFW list and the Moon Knight NSFW list.) If you want to be tagged for this story, just holler!

Join the tag list (or tell me your tagging preferences by fandom and NSFW/SFW)

@deputy-videogamer @toecurlingstories @zephyrixx @juleshadalittlelamb @tsukkie-daisuke

@pockcock @minigirl87 @uncle-eggy@cookielovesbook-akie @wyldeflwr

@animechick555 @tiffanypooh @thexsanctuaryx @majestic-jazmin @rosecentaur1916

@deezisnotreal @serren-diamandis @alexxavicry @onefinnedwonder-fm @spidey-3

@stevengmybeloved @just3rowsing @howellatme

@i-still-dont-like-your-face @wordacadabra @lilacspider @imonmykneessir @saints-and-sinners

@steven-grants-world @thewinterv @aquaarietes @suddenlysteven @ohantonia

@whatthefishh @sammi-doll483 @silvernight-m

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ivystoryweaver · 7 months

Text

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #8b: You Won't Be Alone

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #8b Summary: What do you and Marc do with your newfound gift of touch? I bet you can guess...

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader (alters mentioned)

Word count: 3.9k

Content: nsfw, mdni (more below the cut)

references to death, dying, burial, dead body; romance, the yearning, angstyish, domestic fluff, mentions of food, smut, p in v, cockwarming, not beta'd. reader is not bigger than the system because she can wear their clothes.

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

“I’m scared to move,” you explained in a strained whisper. “I’m afraid that maybe I’m dreaming.”

“I’m real,” he assured you, running his hands down the curves of your body, touching you all over reassuringly. “You’re here with me…somehow.”

You sighed dreamily, brushing his cheek with your soft hand. "Maybe you brought me to life.”

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Marc had a few ideas about how the two of you should spend your morning, but as your body came to life fully, it made the natural demands a living body makes. Your throat felt parched with thirst, and you wanted to visit the restroom.

Your mind began to race with all sorts of thoughts, such as: were you really here? Were you human? Where did your body come from? Were you still buried in the cemetery? Were you even buried at all? Had you been cremated? If so, where did your flesh and bones come from? And why were you still wearing the clothes you died in? Surely Marc's old hoodie wasn't what you were buried in.

There were small things to consider too, such as: did you need to brush your teeth? Yes, probably a good idea. But you didn’t have a toothbrush anymore. Should you go shopping? Did you have any clothes? Did they keep your stuff or get rid of it? Your eyes swam with uncertainty as you pushed yourself into a seated position on the edge of the bed.

Marc had already climbed out of bed before you and was peeling Steven's soft, white T-shirt over his head. That view alone distracted you just long enough to bring you back to the present.

"Baby? You okay?" Marc asked, easing back to your bedside, hoping not to startle you. Reaching out, he brushed his knuckles along the curve of your cheek, and peered down into your eyes.

Shaking the previous thoughts out of your head, you managed a smile. "Yeah, I’m okay. Just ready to get up." So you did just that. Your bare feet hit the cold floor, the sensation chilling you all over in an instant, causing you to misstep.

Marc was already there, catching you safely in his waiting arms. He gathered you close and touched his forehead to yours. "I’ve got you," he assured you, helping you to stand upright.

"Thank you," you whispered. "Just a little clumsy, I guess."

Rubbing his nose against yours affectionately, he pressed a sweet kiss to your mouth. "Must be overwhelming." he sympathized. "Take it one step at a time, okay?" You couldn’t resist another kiss before clinging to his arms as he led you to the bathroom.

As if reading your thoughts from earlier, he rummaged around in one of the bathroom cabinets, explaining to you that there should be an extra toothbrush somewhere. You stared, dumbfounded into the mirror, at your reflection. You looked like yourself - not a thing had changed, but somehow you felt as if you were gazing at a stranger.

As Marc handed you the toothbrush, he caught your gaze in the mirror. "Sweetheart, hey. It’s okay. We can slow all this down." He turned toward you, pulling your attention away from his mesmerizing reflection.

"Hey. Look at me," he softly commanded, "Stay with me."

"I’m okay," you assured him, grasping his arms for support. "I promise. You’re just really...beautiful."

Wetting your lips, your eyes flickered to his own before dropping to his bare, muscular chest. Brushing your fingertips over his bicep, you felt him shiver at your touch. "I’m sorry," you whispered. "It just takes me a minute to process every single thing. I feel like I'm running a little slow."

Marc nodded understandingly. "Trust me, there is nothing I want more than to spend the day touching you. But let’s take it easy," he suggested. Sliding his arms around your back, he pulled you into a gentle but secure hug. He pressed you protectively against the heat of his bare chest - the warmth of him comforting you in a way you could not have imagined only yesterday.

“Let’s just be together,” he reiterated, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a wave of chills down to your toes.

From there, everything was an adventure: the tingle of Jake’s cinnamon toothpaste on your tongue, the foaming bubbles in your mouth, the cool, fresh water as you rinsed your mouth before taking a long, refreshing drink.

You and Marc decided to shower, and when it came right down to it, you suddenly felt nervous. Not to be with Marc, or even to be naked, but just at the powerful, overwhelming sensations happening every second of every minute.

Staring deeply into your eyes, Marc brought you back to the present as he reached for the zipper of his old hoodie, which enveloped you so adorably. Dragging the zipper down, he worked it free of your shoulders, finding a well-worn Chicago cubs T-shirt underneath.

"I forgot about this old thing," he quietly gushed, with a tender smile. Brushing his fingertips underneath the hem, you flinched slightly as he caressed your stomach.

His body was responding in obvious ways and he wanted more. He wanted all of you. His fingers inched around your back, to the tiny sliver of baby-soft skin where the hem of your Cubs t-shirt rose up above the waistband of your joggers. He slid one hand possessively underneath, splaying his long fingers over the curve of your lower back. He remembered that curve quite well from your years together. He remembered every curve.

His dark eyebrows shot up questioningly, asking permission to continue. You nodded, so he worked the soft cotton over your head, tossing it to the floor to join the discarded hoodie.

Wetting his lips, his gaze fell to your chest and the navy blue sports bra covering your breasts. Brushing the strap from your shoulder, his eyes bore into yours.

"You sure?" he whispered.

You nodded again, feeling so loved and cherished at this moment, even though you wanted to question everything, like why the universe gave you this second chance.

Crossing your arms, you helped Marc pull the sports bra over your head and you didn’t miss the way his tongue swiped over his lips hungrily.

"My beautiful girl," he uttered, cupping your cheek and bringing your mouth to his, sampling your lips one at a time before kissing you, deeply, reassuringly. Your hands locked behind his neck as he pulled you against the solid wall of his chest. The feeling of your bare skin touching his again electrified you and made your knees go weak, but he held you securely. Squeezing you so tightly, he lifted you off your feet. By the time your lips parted, you were practically gulping air as your skin burned with passion.

Marc set you down, pulling at the drawstring of your baggy joggers, before pushing the material over your hips. Kneeling down, he kept working until you were bare. Then he stood on his knees before you, fingertips tracing the curves of your thighs, and just when you sensed the bathroom steaming up from more than just the shower water, you felt his lips against your tummy.

He hugged you, there on his knees, so desperately. "Missed you so much," he murmured into your skin, kissing you reverently before peering up at you, his own eyes glistening with tears.

"Come here," you coaxed, beckoning him to stand so you could help him take off his sleep pants. Marc’s breathing grew shallow as you eased the material over his hips, freeing his throbbing erection. The soft cotton pooled at his feet and he noticed your gaze fixed on his crotch as he stepped free of the joggers.

“Come on,” he sweetly offered, leading you by the hands into the shower's warm spray.

You hissed as the water pelted your skin, causing you to jump back a bit.

"Too hot?" Marc asked, using his body as a shield against the hot spray.

"Maybe a little," you sheepishly confessed.

"I’m sorry baby, I thought you liked it hot. I’ll turn it down." He rushed to get everything perfect for you, which made your heart burst with love for him.

"It’s not that," you assured him as he turned back to pull you close. "Everything is intense right now - every single thing is bright and loud and hot and cold and..extreme."

"All right. It's okay," he assured you, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "Let’s get you washed up."

The next several minutes convinced you that you had definitely passed on to heaven. The soft lather of suds on your skin, the dragging scratch of the loofa, Marc's careful attention as he took gentle care of you. This had to be paradise.

His lips trailed down the side of your neck as he pushed the loofa down the curve of your back. The softness of his lips made you shiver. As his hand neared the swell of your hip, he dropped the sponge and squeezed your soft flesh, nibbling on your shoulder.

"Is this okay?" He asked you between tempting kisses.

"Yes," you breathlessly whispered, sliding your fingers into his drenched curls as he lifted you up. Pulling your thighs around his waist, he pushed you up against the steamy, tiled wall. Licking hotly into your mouth, he gently pushed his way inside you.

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If this was a dream, Marc never wanted to wake up. A delusion? He would gladly accept dementia. If he were dead, he would willingly never again draw breath.

You were here. Alive, somehow. In his arms, skin pressed to skin, your breath on his lips. As his body joined with yours, he shuddered, overcome in every possible way with every imaginable emotion. He felt that familiar clench as he entered you - heard the hiss as he stretched you open over his length. He loved the way your body fit his - with a perfect tightness to generate the most delicious friction for you both.

You gasped his name, your fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Feels so good, baby,” he groaned, mistaking your sounds for satisfaction.

"Wait. Marc, stop," you cried, desperately gasping for air as you pushed against his shoulders.

With an involuntary groan, he pulled out of you, lowering you down so your feet could touch the shower floor, making sure to support you as you got your bearings.

"D-did I hurt you?" He panted, frantically checking you over.

"No. No, it's just...it's too much," you gasped, your chest heaving as you gripped his arms for support. "I can't...I can't breathe. It's too much."

He thought his own chest might collapse as he watched yours heave.

“I’m so sorry. I…what do I do?”

Marc felt as if he should pick you up and carry you out of the humid bathroom, while simultaneously fearing you needed space from him. Turning off the water, he reached for a clean towel, wrapping you up protectively.

Dark eyes scanned you over, desperate for an answer. "Okay...tell me what to do. Is it me? You-you weren’t ready?" If he fucked this up, he would never forgive himself.

You heard the pinch of panic in his voice as your eyes met his. The last thing you wanted was for him to leave you right now.

"No, Marc, it’s not like that. Please hold me," you begged him, sliding your arms around his back and laying your head on his shoulder. "It's not you,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his skin. “I want you more than anything. It's just too much. You feel so good - it was so intense, I thought I was going to pass out."

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart," he soothed, rocking you gently, pressing a fierce kiss to your temple. "Let's get you out of here."

The next several minutes were filled with longing gazes as Marc dressed you in his clothes.

“Sorry I rushed you,” he whispered as you stepped into fresh joggers.

“I promise you didn’t,” you swore, halting his motion to meet his gaze. “Believe me, that’s what I want. It’s almost all I can think about. But like I said, I’m just…trying to catch up.”

He nodded, but you could tell you didn’t change his mind.

The final result of you wearing Marc’s clothes was a touch comedic, but you were clean and felt so cherished.

"There," he declared, satisfied with his handiwork. "Warm enough?"

"Yes," you nodded, feeling so safe in his arms. The two of you wore hooded sweatshirts and joggers, and Marc even found Steven's fluffiest pair of goldfish socks to keep your feet warm.

“You’re sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you?” He sweetly questioned, his eyebrows shifting and worried.

“No, I promise. I wanted to. I want to. Believe me, I don’t think there’s anything I want more than to be with you again,” you assured him. “I just…I couldn’t breathe for a second. Too much of a good thing, I think.”

His familiar scowl relaxed slightly, so maybe he was starting to believe you. Right then, your stomach let out the loudest growl, making the two of you chuckle.

"Kitchen?" Marc proposed.

"Kitchen," you agreed.

As you left the bedroom, you asked Marc to grab Jeremiah's fish bowl.

"Don't want to leave the little guy alone in here," you explained. He was only a fish, but you felt apprehensive to be without your little family.

As soon as you departed your bedroom, your heart longed to see your writing loft. But before you could even think to mention it, Marc was already apologizing about the house.

"Things might look different," he softly explained, tucking Jeremiah underneath his arm while holding onto your hand with his other. "We...I wanted to...um..." He swallowed, slowly trudging toward the staircase. "I needed to...Jake and Steven - they helped me put your stuff in the shed. So, the house’ll look different."

Pausing at the top of the staircase, he turned back to you. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you assured him, squeezing your joined hands. "It's important to me that you were living your life. That you were grieving. It sounds healthy."

Chewing your lip for a second, you pulled him by the hand toward your loft. "I want to see it. Please."

"Okay, of course," he agreed, but he tugged you back. "Remember...it looks different.”

You nodded before pushing open the door to maybe your favorite place in the whole world. The birthing suite of all your little friends - the characters that leapt straight from your heart onto the pages of your books.

Glancing at cute Jeremiah, darting around in his fish bowl under your partner's arm, you sighed a long, cleansing sigh.

Your computer was gone. Several of your bookshelves were cleared. Artwork and pictures no longer lined the walls. A bulletin board of letters from your sweet fans was empty.

Dust had settled on every surface, and you could tell the sun had not shone through this window in months. Heavy drapes blocked out the light. The whole thing felt stale.

A smile lit up your face as you pulled the curtains open. Light flooded the room, as a swirl of dust danced and scattered. You stretched out your fingers as if you could feel it, like a child might reach out to touch snowflakes.

Marc thought maybe he'd never seen anything more magical than your face at this moment, despite the miracles and wonders he'd witnessed as the avatar of an ancient god. And just when he thought his heart might explode with love for you, your nose wrinkled up at the intrusion of so much dust, and you sneezed.

"Bless you," he found himself saying as you bounced on your toes, swiping your finger through a trail of dust which had settled on your desktop.

"I hate dust," you practically giggled, your nose scrunching right before you sneezed again. You laughed out in delight. "I can sneeze. I can cry and sneeze and feel everything."

Your dust-disturbed, watery eyes landed on Marc. "Thank you," you gushed. "Thank you for not selling this house. Thank you for being here with me."

Worried that he'd taken so many wrong steps to get to this point, Marc felt a tightness in his chest loosen. "You're welcome. I'm sorry about your stuff. I-I couldn't look at it. It was my fault," he hurriedly explained. "It was me. Steven and Jake couldn't bear to get rid of it."

"It's okay," you assured him. "It's perfect. Just the dust and sunshine to greet me. Anything else would have been overwhelming." Your eyes met his. “It’s like you know just what I need.”

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The two of you finally made it down to the kitchen, but not before you delightedly greeted your other three fish, thrilled to see them all thriving.

Little Jeremiah swam happily in his fish bowl on the kitchen countertop while you and Marc decided to make some breakfast. You were still experiencing sensations as if every one of them was new to you, so it took you several minutes of feeling a cold egg in the palm of your hand, hearing the satisfying crunch as you cracked it open, smelling the bright citrus of orange juice and the slight burn of toast, before you noticed Marc sort of…staring at you.

“Hey,” you softly called, moving into his personal space. “This is crazy, right? We’re just making breakfast - ”

“Like a regular morning,” he supplied. “I can’t believe it. I seriously cannot believe you’re here with me right now.”

“I’m here,” you assured him, tangling your fingers with his. “Just…stay with me. Talk to me. Please don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not,” he quickly protested, bringing your joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I’m here too. I’m here, sweetheart. And I know we need to talk...to figure this all out. We will."

Nodding, you turned back to breakfast, your heart fluttering as Marc moved in behind you. Working hand over hand with you, he stayed close. He knew you needed it somehow.

The two of you tried to choke down some food, but something between you felt unfinished.

“How are you feeling?” Marc asked, pushing his plate away.

“Like I want to be close to you,” you whispered, reaching for his hand.

“Come here,” he beckoned you to follow him out of the kitchen. Venturing into the living room, he sat down in his favorite chair and pulled you into his lap, just like old times.

“Better?” He questioned, feeling a shiver of desire as you draped your body over his.

“Much,” you replied, snuggling close to him.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, brushing his thumb over your lips.

You answered by pressing your lips to his. You felt clearer now. Steady. Just the way Marc had made you feel when you were nothing but a spectre. He gave you substance, made you real somehow.

After kissing him for a brief eternity, you pushed your hands underneath his hoodie demandingly, needing to feel his skin once again. Marc released his hold on you, one arm at a time, to shrug the thing over his head and all the way off his arms before using both strong hands to boldly push your sweatshirt up your back.

You paused, pulling back to look lustfully into his eyes as you ran the tip of your tongue over your nearly bruised lips. Crossing your arms, you assisted Marc in sliding the hoodie all the way up your torso and over your head, where it landed in a pile on the floor.

“You okay?” He panted, forcing his hands still before running them all over you the way he wanted to.

You leaned forward, breathing hotly on his ear. “You can touch me.”

Marc was quaking with longing for you. His arms wound around your back again, pulling you tightly against him. “Baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “I need you. Anything you can give me, I want.” He kissed you again, deeper this time.

You stroked his cheek, rubbing his nose with your own. “I want you too, so much, Marc.” Using both hands to pull his face to yours, your lips met for another kiss.

A fire ignited in his body and he needed you like he needed air to survive. He pulled you against him as his tongue licked into your mouth. You felt dizzy and deliriously enraptured as his body flexed under yours, his hands seeming to touch everywhere at once. In a matter of moments, you pulled your remaining clothes away, kissing and touching - desperately caressing every inch of skin.

Marc’s touch felt beyond amazing and you allowed his hands to explore and touch anywhere he desired. Wishing to hold nothing back from him, you would give him everything you could.

You moaned when your bodies made nearly the most intimate contact possible as he brushed his fingers between your thighs. One hand found a home on your hip, guiding you to move against him, while the other hand set your body ablaze with his unabashed caress. You felt delirious with desire, your fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Please, Marc,” you begged. “I need you.”

He stilled his movements, causing you to whimper in protest, worried he might be too nervous to proceed.

Suddenly, he shifted his hips and you felt him plunge inside, stretching you in a way you could hardly remember was possible. He held himself still, his forehead pressed to yours as he moaned out your name.

The feeling was so intensely perfect for Marc that he was almost afraid to move, but not for reasons of fearing he would hurt you. He had simply felt so alone and in so much pain for so long, he almost forgot that bliss like this existed. He felt surrounded by you and he never, ever wanted to leave.

“Baby…oh fuck,” you gasped, seating yourself on him fully - the stretch of him filling you perfectly. Bracing your palms on his muscled chest, you held yourself still, hoping to keep from getting overwhelmed again.

Marc felt as if a million tons of pressure that had been a crushing weight on his chest were being lifted and his body energized with new purpose and reborn love. He experienced the most pure moment of clarity and freedom, knowing this was right.

He gasped up at you, thick fingers gripping your hips as he struggled not to thrust before you were ready.

“Jesus…honey,” he almost growled, his fingertips digging into your flesh. “Look at you. Need you so bad.”

Finally, you started to slowly rock your hips, your breasts bouncing as you held Marc’s gaze. Your back arched as pleasure tingled up and down your spine. A delicious pressure built in your core, already, overwhelming you. Your head swam and you started to get dizzy…but it felt so good that you decided to give into it.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Marc panted, pulling you against his chest to support your weight. Your body seemed to meld with his and you started to wonder where you ended and he began. He was so deep inside you making you feel more alive than anything ever had - not once, ever in your life.

You went limp in his arms, unable to do anything but feel, the sensation of friction, the salt of sweat, his hot breath, the texture of his skin, the rumble of his groans of pleasure, the heavy drag of his thick cock inside you.

“Don’t…stop…” is all you managed to pant before your body seized in a pleasure so consuming, you almost felt as if your soul left your body.

Which was the whole damn problem in the first place.

Only you were here, with him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised again, and again.

You remained. You were real.

And when he filled your core it felt like molten lava.

You never wanted to move from this spot.

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ivystoryweaver · 24 days

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🌿IvyStoryUpdates May 1

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In honor of May the 4th The Only One - A Poe Dameron Story 🚀 Episode 8/10 - UPDATED

Up next: "Perfect Fit: A Choose Your Own Adventure Story" 18+ 🤖 Part 2/2 - Nate or Nathan? Part 2 is already sitting at 4k words so enjoy that

In the works: 3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life 18+ 🔪 Part 4/4: Finale

ICYMI: Most recent works (March & April)

Non-series:

Your Father's Rival!Leto Atreides x F!virgin!reader (Apr. 28)

"March the 9th" Marc Spector (Mar. 9)

Spector Acts of Service part 2: Words of Affirmation (Apr. 11)

Miguel O'Hara x Deaf!F!Spider!Reader (Apr. 12)

Series:

The Only One: Episode 7 (Mar. 4)

Spectre: Event 10: A Quiet Place (Mar. 3)

Decadent: Chapter 14: FINALE (Mar. 16)

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life Part 1: Knife (Apr. 1) Part 2: Gun (Apr. 3) Part 3: Hands (Apr. 6) Part 4: Finale

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My current WIP list

Updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

Main Masterlist

Askbox always open 📥

💚 Ivy

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ivystoryweaver · 7 months

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Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #6: A Nightmare on Elm Street

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Event #6 Summary: Marc spends the evening with you and Steven gets a haunting

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake mentioned)

Word count: 3k

Content: ANGST, the yearning, ghost probs (no body), language, dealing with death and grief, manner and COD discussed, violence, spooky/horror elements, probably inaccurate DID (show based), not beta’d

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

"And...and maybe don't sell the house just yet?" You barely managed that request in a choked whisper. "If this is the only place I am besides the dark, and...and you guys leave then, I'm afraid - "

"Of the dark," he solemnly concluded. Reaching for your hand again - pointless, though it was, he made a vow. "Baby, look at me. I will never leave you here alone. Never. I promise you."

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Marc wanted to stay home with you all day, but you insisted that they lead normal lives. You promised to come back.

He wanted to kiss you goodbye. You’d just told each other you loved one another. It almost seemed as if he was headed downtown to work, and you would venture into your loft to write for the day.

You missed your loft. Why couldn’t you go in there? Maybe if you concentrated hard enough…

You missed writing. Maybe you could write some children’s ghost stories. After all, you now had first hand experience.

What…were you thinking? Write?

Was this death? Feeling all these tormented emotions? And good ones too? The sparkle of laughter with Jake, the yearning to talk to Steven, the love and longing, even lust for Marc.

And the guilt. You were too harsh with Marc before, when you said he ran away from pain or punched it in the face. You had to see him again soon, to apologize. He was going through too much already - he didn’t deserve that - not from you.

“I’m so sorry, Marc,” you whispered into the stillness of your bedroom. As if he could hear you.

The feelings washed over you, making you feel…alive. And clearer than you had felt since you first became aware of yourself, or of this room.

You waited all day. This was new. It was boring. But boring was better than darkness. Feeling anything was better.

You were practically bouncing with anticipation by the time the sun set. Finally Marc arrived.

You called his name as soon as you saw him climbing the front steps to your front door, and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of you.

“Baby? You okay?” He huffed, having run up the stairs.

“Yes, you can see me?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, pulling off his jacket. “The way you were calling my name, I thought…something was wrong.”

You both realized how weird that sounded. Being dead kind of meant everything was wrong.

So you told him about your day. How you thought and thought and felt so many feelings. How you wondered about writing and your loft. How you never went back to the Dark Place. And how very sorry you were for what you said to him.

“I’m the last person who should be confirming your worst thoughts about yourself, Marc,” you explained. “Please forgive me, I felt terrible about it all day. I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” No way he wanted you of all people to feel anything negative. You were the one who lost your life after all.

You talked for a little while longer, about simple things - his day at work, his walk home. Ordinary things. He mentioned speaking with Ms. Marjorie and you shared that you heard Steven speaking about her quaint, lovely shop.

Finally, Marc’s stomach growled, letting you both know that he needed some dinner. He could plainly see that you were anxious about him leaving the room.

“Just gonna grab some leftovers, honey, I’ll be right back,” he softly assured you.

Great. Now you were a clingy ghost. What the hell…

He wasn’t gone long, by your estimation anyway, and ate in your bedroom, with the two of you sitting on the bed. Then you felt even more guilty, as if you were trapping him here somehow.

“Hey, is the World Series on yet?” You asked, knowing October meant baseball postseason.

“Next week,” he clarified. “Why do you ask?”

You smiled at him knowingly. “Well, I mean…you can go watch baseball if you want to. You don’t have to sit in here all night.”

He pretended to be offended. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No! No, I just…I want you to live your normal life…” You trailed off, sighing wistfully.

“Fuck it, I’ll just move the TV up here. Or get a new one,” he shrugged. “I want to be with you.”

That proclamation sobered you both, because it was the whole problem. You couldn’t be together. Not really.

“I want that too,” you whispered, easing a little closer to where he sat, leaning against the bed’s headboard. “It’s all I want. To be with you. But…it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” he found himself telling you, without really thinking before he spoke.

You frowned, confused.

“That’s what you kept saying, or…some voice I kept hearing when you first started appearing to me. ‘It’s not too late’. Even Ms. Marjorie said it. I didn't realize it til now but...I've heard it a few times: 'it's not too late.' What do you think it means?"

You shook your head. "No idea. It's obviously too late for us to really be together...isn't it?"

The sight of your wide, hopeful eyes broke his heart. "There has to be a reason you're here."

You talked a little while longer, about what this all could possibly mean. And instead of fading away, you seemed energized...and felt more alive, but you definitely were not.

Marc kept trying to touch you on instinct and you were most assuredly a ghost.

So you talked about ghosts: about myths and fables and any lore you could think of. You even looked it up online. Marc admitted Steven might be the better consult regarding this topic, but you both soberly remembered that he couldn't see you.

Which hurt because you felt overlooked and Marc felt crazy. But it wasn't Steven's fault, clearly.

"Ghosts can have unfinished business," Marc read from his phone screen. "All right, who are you still pissed at?"

The tension in his shoulders and the scowl he normally wore had relaxed as the night wore on. He almost seemed like his old self again. The person he was with you. The loving partner you adored, not the grief-stricken lonely man who questioned his sanity.

"No one," you thoughtfully answered, not knowing how the next words out of your mouth would change everything. "Well maybe the asshole who killed me."

Marc's phone dropped out of his hand and hit the mattress. He went deadly serious in one second flat. The mirth in his eyes turned stone cold - his lips parted as he drew a shuddering breath.

"W-what did you just say?" He choked out.

Shit, that wasn't a topic you should have made light of, or thrown around carelessly. Marc must still be reeling from your murder, if not blaming himself for it somehow.

"I'm sorry I said that - "

"What...did you say?" He covered his mouth with both hands as his eyes burned with fury. Pushing up off the bed, his fingers tore through his hair. "You...you weren't murdered," he gasped, his chest heaving the way it normally did right before he panicked. He wouldn't likely be here for much longer.

"You weren't," he hissed out a whisper. "What are you saying? There was an autopsy. You weren't...what are you saying!?"

Shit.

You floated off the bed, bewildered. You hadn't considered, even for a moment, that Marc was unaware of how you died. And it hadn't exactly come up.

"Marc, I...it doesn't matter how it happened, really. I didn't mean to...I thought you knew - "

"Yes, it really fucking does matter," he snapped, his fists clenched so tight they were turning white. His wild, frantic eyes landed on you, and seeing your distress, he shook his head in agony.

"You were...how? Who did this?" He let out a choked sob. "Tell me who. Who hurt you?"

"I-I don't know him. Marc, I thought you knew. If I wouldn't have gone to see Jake that night - "

"What?"

You went into the city the night you died? And Jake never fucking thought to mention it?

"I...I was on my way to see Jake." You did that sometimes - ride around with him at night, when Marc and Steven would have the next day off. It was a way to spend a little extra time with Jake, in his environment - his own little world. Plus it was fun to stay out all night, driving people around, eating at your favorite diner...making love in the back seat...

"I never made it," you explained. "I-I was still here in town when a man grabbed me - covered my mouth. He was strong. Then he moved my arm and I felt a pinch underneath my armpit. And that's all. He...maybe he injected me with something."

Marc pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, almost doubling over in agony. "No. No, no, no, no." He banged his fists against his forehead and before you could follow your instinct to go to him - before you could even remember you wouldn't be able to touch him, he was gone.

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Steven straightened up, blinking a few times before using his sleeve to dry his eyes. "What?"

He glanced around, trying to get his bearings when he heard the most heartbreaking cry of anguish...

coming from you.

“Bloody hell!” Steven gasped, scrambling away from your visage - not because it was you. He simply wasn’t expecting anyone at all to be in his bedroom. And he still couldn't see you, but he did hear someone cry out.

“No, no, no,” you cried, knowing Steven couldn’t see you.

"Losing m'mind," he mumbled, drawing his hands to his chest. His eyes swept across the room nervously, but he saw nothing.

"Maybe this place really is haunted," he murmured to himself. Deciding to take an evening walk and shake himself out of his spooky mindset, Steven found his shoes before shuffling downstairs, leaving you alone and heartbroken.

The feeling of being alive was so close, you could almost taste it. Your chest heaved with emotion - your heart, which stopped pumping life through your veins months ago, raced with worry for Marc and longing for Steven.

"Steven, please," you gasped, in a manner that would have been tearful, except that you had no tears to cry.

But he was gone.

Steven no longer lived in complete oblivion as he once did. If he suddenly fronted, his cheeks wet with Marc's tears, there was clearly a reason. Maybe Marc was still seeing you. He wasn't sure right at the moment because his alter was quiet - nowhere to be found, really. And it wasn't a parlor trick. He couldn't force Marc to appear or share anything.

Perhaps your little bungalow truly was haunted. Without giving it much thought, Steven's feet carried him back downtown, straight to the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" shop.

He was looking for Ms. Marjorie. He wanted answers and somehow, he felt that she could give them.

But as he rounded the corner onto Main Street, he stopped short. There, right where the Mystic Delights shop should be, was...nothing. The building was dark and little run down. Unoccupied.

"Wait a minute..." Steven mused to himself, inspecting the darkened windows, where twinkle lights had recently shone out, welcoming him in. He scurried a few more doors down, to Mrs. Alraune's flower shop. Her store was closed, but in tact.

Retracing his steps, Steven tried to reason with himself about where Ms. Marjorie and her lovely shop could possibly be.

Finally, he decided to inquire in the corner drug store. He recognized the face of the cashier but didn't know her name. She looked to be in her early 20s and often rang Steven's order when he stopped in.

He inquired after Ms. Marjorie and the little shop that had come to mean so much to him in only a couple days.

Devon, the young cashier was named, told him she had been employed at the drug store since high school and that particular store had changed owners a few times. The city had tried to clean it up on many occasions but she couldn't remember an antique store - not recently, anyway.

"No, that's not possible," Steven argued. Realizing his words might offend, he apologized. "Sorry, I just...I swear there was a lovely little antique shop right there. The most extraordinary woman owns it..."

Realizing he sounded like he wasn't quite right, he offered up one more apology and left.

Steven felt more confused than ever. Where was Ms. Marjorie? And her shop? Who was making noises in his home? And why had Marc claimed to see you?

October 31st hadn't quite rolled around, but Steven was all done with spooks. He walked home, quickening his pace, fueled by confusion and agitation.

Once he reached your front yard, he saw the curtain of his bedroom rustling.

"All right, ghost," he firmly declared, "I'm coming up and you bloody well better make yourself plain. No more games."

He rushed up the front steps to unlock the front door, hoping with all his heart that, if you were here - if Marc really saw you - that he might see you too.

So he called your name.

"Darling, I know I haven't been able to see you, and...I don't even know if you're here, but please...please send me some kind of a sign."

Turning this way and that, he checked the living room, the kitchen. With a heavy sigh, he climbed the stairs to the bedroom, pausing at your picture in the hallway.

"What's happening, love? Marc is seeing you, and I'm apparently having tea with a spectre instead of a shopkeeper. Please...are you there?"

His shoulders slumped in defeat and confusion, he trudged the final step into your once-shared bedroom

...and there you were.

Right there, seated on the edge of the bed, wearing Marc's hoodie.

"Oh my days," he breathed, his eyes widening as he stepped right in front of you. “Darling? Is it really you?”

Your gaze, so forlorn, snapped up to his. “Steven?” You gasped, “Can…can you see me?”

He rubbed his eyes for good measure, then nodded eagerly. “You are here. Aren’t you, love?”

"Steven, oh my god," you breathed, rising to meet him, wishing with all your nonexistent heart you could throw your arms around him. "I've been trying to talk to you, but you couldn't hear me, or see me," You emphatically explained.

"God, I'm so sorry," he sincerely returned, his dark eyes shifting, studying you with concern. "I didn't mean to doubt you. I'm sorry."

He shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe it. Marc was right. H-how are you here?" Stepping closer, he interrupted himself. "Are you alright, love? You're not hurt or anything? I mean, besides the obvious..."

He trailed off, granting you a bewildered smile as he drew his hands close to his chest. Oh, how you missed this precious, adorable man of yours.

"No, I'm okay. I was with Marc before. Then you left."

You explained to Steven a little of what had been going on, with your talks with Marc and Jake. Then you asked Steven if any of them knew how you died.

"Coroner said your heart just stopped," Steven explained.

"Yeah because someone injected me with something," you supplied, feeling the need to pace back in forth, even though you were really sort of floating. "They didn't find anything in my system? A drug, or a puncture mark under my arm?"

"Darling you're not...you're not suggesting that you were...killed?"

Just the thought of some asshole taking you away from your life - from your stories, your loft, from the town you adored, from this house and from the man you wanted to marry and have a family with - the feeling of the helplessness and despair you felt in that moment boiled into rage.

Without even realizing what you were doing, you curled your fingers into fists, squeezed your eyes shut and cried out, sending a wave of energy jolting through your bedroom, knocking Steven clean off his feet. The power was so strong, it knocked the lamp off the bedside table, crashing to the floor, and lastly, the mirror over your dresser shattered.

You acted out of pure spectral instinct.

Steven reacted equally, having summoned his Mr. Knight suit without a second thought. He didn't even intend to do it - it just happened as soon as his mind registered the danger of falling and flying glass.

The sight of your partner "taking arms", or suiting up in his defense against you...

It absolutely shattered you. The coherent thoughts you wanted to share with your partner were as scattered as the shattered mirror glass.

Powerful emotions swirled and blurred into despair. You found yourself untethered from the sweet conversation, longing and desire with your partner - the serenity you had experienced here over the last day or so, with Marc and Jake.

The broken lamp sent the room into darkness and as you fell further into despair, you could no longer detect the white of Steven's suit, or see even the moon's glow through the window.

You thought you heard your name called, but it was galaxies away, the way a voice above the surface of a swimming pool sounds when you're underwater.

The sound faded and all that was left was the Dark.

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ivystoryweaver · 7 months

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Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #7: Angel Heart

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Event #7 Summary: Halloween is a magical time, where mysterious things happen.

Pairing this chapter: Steven Grant x f!reader (alters mentioned)

Word count: 3k

Content: angst, fluff-adjacent, the yearning, dealing with death and COD, Steven is so very Steven, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

You acted out of pure spectral instinct.

The sight of your partner "taking arms", or suiting up in his defense against you...It absolutely shattered you.

You thought you heard your name called, but it was galaxies away. The sound faded and all that was left was the Dark.

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Steven was spooked.

After encountering what could only be described as a malevolent spirit in the form of his girlfriend, there was no way he would sleep a wink. Your pain had somehow devolved into rage, bursting out of you.

“A proper haunting,” he gasped, his Mr. Knight suit dissolving after you disappeared.

What was happening to you?

Unable to calm down at home, he ventured into town again, his feet shuffling desperately along the sidewalk, crunching dead leaves as he hurried away from the haunting.

“Don’t know what I’m doing,” he muttered, hands clutched tightly to the center of his chest.

Soon enough, Steven found himself staring into the darkened window of what was the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties," desperately seeking answers. The shop was gone. Ms. Marjorie was gone. You were gone.

"You blokes are awfully quiet," he said to his alters, feeling so alone and heartsick at the thought of your torment.

You were murdered? How could it be possible? How could they not know? You were young enough that an autopsy was performed to determine cause of death, but the coroner assured them that your heart simply stopped, and you died of natural causes.

That was unbearable enough- a life so young, with unlimited potential. A moderately successful children’s book author, beloved by the small town you inhabited, and a loving partner. Why had a life been snuffed out so needlessly?

Now they had an answer: someone took your life - stole it from you. But the answer brought no peace - only anguish. You died because someone hurt you.

Steven knew this discovery was most assuredly what had catapulted him to the front, and sent Marc spiraling.

One glaring question burned in his heart, above all others: why were you here? Was there some way they could help you find rest? Anything Steven could do for you, even in death, he would move heaven and earth - he would return to the sands of the Duat if he could help you.

With a weary sigh, he scuffed his foot on the sidewalk, giving one final glance to the Mystic Delights window. Walking around aimlessly wouldn’t solve anything. He would have to face what waited for him at home.

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What waited for Steven was a huge mess. He couldn’t handle cleaning it up tonight, so he made sure you weren’t in the bedroom before sleeping on the couch.

The next morning, he showered early and cleaned all the broken glass from the bedroom. He disposed of the broken lamp and changed the bedding. He wasn’t sure how to help you or Marc (or himself of Jake, frankly), but this, he could do.

The idea of work was daunting, but he decided to show up to the library anyway. He stopped at Triple B’s for breakfast. He passed the old storefront where Mystic Delights wasn’t. Not one damn thing made sense to him, but Steven had been playing catch up most of his life. One foot in front of the other. Keep calm and carry on - all that.

On the way home, he spontaneously decided to get a new fish. Everything was shit at the moment, so why the hell not? Walking his new finned friend back to Elm Street, he half hoped/half expected to witness the rustle of bedroom curtains in the window.

Standing in front of your bungalow, he sighed, his eyes traveling over the bright blue - ahem, cornflower blue front door. An autumn breeze swirled, tossing dead leaves carelessly about and sending a chill through Steven’s thin jacket.

“Come on, little friend,” Steven declared, holding up the clear plastic bag with a golden finned pal darting around inside. “You have to meet someone. An absolute angel. And you’ll have some company in your tank too.”

Once inside, Steven decided to introduce the new fishy into a fish bowl before adding him to the larger aquarium with the other three fish. Besides, he wanted to show it to you.

Yes, Steven was going to treat you with as much love and normalcy as he could muster. Maybe then you would feel comfortable enough to come back.

Trepidation built with each stair climbed. He hesitantly pushed open the door to your bedroom with bated breath, expecting to find the room empty. Deep in his heart, however, he hoped to find you sitting there on the edge of the bed, as you were last night.

Just as he thought, you were absent. He checked the bathroom, to be certain, but, as usual, he was completely alone. With a heavy sigh, he set the new fish in his bowl down on the nightstand and sank down on the bed.

“Wish you were here, my darling,” he sweetly uttered, glancing around the room. “It’s okay that you’re not. I only hope you’re somewhere good.” He nodded toward the fish bowl. “Brought us home a new friend. Thought it might be nice.”

He tried not to take your absence personally, but it was clearly he who’d encountered you the least. You’d spent substantial time with Jake and even more so with Marc. What was he doing wrong?

“Just gonna leave Mr. Fishy right here while I grab something to eat,” Steven declared, pushing off the bed, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. “That way, you won’t be alone if you come back and I’m not here.”

An hour passed before Steven climbed the stairs. Honestly, he didn’t want to walk into an empty room again. Having remembered Mr. Fishy would be waiting for him and needing some company, he braved the climb, wishing with all his soul he could see you again.

Halloween is a magical time, where mysterious things happen.

So when Steven found you sitting on the bed, leaning toward the night table, talking animatedly to Mr. Fishy, a piece of his wounded heart instantly healed. He spoke your name, soft and sweet, his heart bursting with love and longing.

“Steven,” you breathed, floating off the bed, holding up your hands defensively. “Don’t go. I-I won’t hurt you. I didn’t mean to, before. I’m sorry, I - "

“‘S’alright, darling,” he soothed, nodding encouragingly. “Didn’t mean to upset you. I was just surprised to find out…” He trailed off, figuring mentioning your murder was the wrong way to go.

Having spent more time in the darkness, you came back to yourself, to this room, before remembering the pure, unbridled rage that had burst out of you.

“Oh, no…no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I…” You trailed off, your gaze dropping as your shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, or if it even matters now that I’m gone. I just know I scared you. I could have really hurt you.”

“I don’t know,” Steven cheekily replied, hoping to lighten the mood, his eyes sparkling animatedly. “I’m tougher than I look.”

It didn’t exactly work. Shaking your head, you eased closer to him, the depths of your eyes sunken and sad. “You put on the suit to defend yourself.” Instead of arguing, he gave you a chance to say your piece.

“Steven…I know it can’t be good that I’m here. It will only hurt you if I’m…haunting you.”

Dark eyebrows shifted curiously as he held your gaze. “Well…Mr. Fishy isn’t afraid of you, so I don’t see why I should be. You’ve known me a lot longer, after all.” He flashed you a grin.

You smiled in spite of yourself, glancing at the fish bowl. “You named him Mr. Fishy?”

“Temporarily,” he laughed, his eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief. “I thought we might name him together. What do you think?”

The hint of relief you felt only a moment ago slipped away from you. “Are you sure you want my opinion? Won’t that be like…an upsetting reminder?”

He frowned, confused.

“Of what? Getting another chance to see you, and talk to you?” Steven challenged.

When you didn’t answer, he took a seat on the bed, near Mr. Fishy. Staring at the fish bowl for a few moments, he thought carefully about what he would say next. It meant everything to him that you not return to the dark, if he could help it.

“We died too, you know,” he softly uttered, tracing the fish bowl with his fingertip. “Marc and me. And Jake - he was trapped there, all by himself. And it was scary.” His warm brown eyes found yours. “And temporary.” He patted the spot beside him on the bed, beckoning you closer.

You complied, easing down beside him, your skin tingling with anticipation. Only you didn’t have skin.

“Can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, my love,” Steven whispered, staring sweetly into your eyes. “I know it’s hard, and lonely. I’m sorry. So sorry.

“Don’t know if it makes any difference at all, but…I’m here.” He reached for your hand, but, as always, swiped right through where you should be.

Marc did it all the time, but this was new with Steven. He gasped as his fingers tried to trace the vapor of you.

“Amazing, innit?” He whispered, his eyes wide with awe. “Here but not here.”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah…”

Clearing his throat, Steven withdrew his hand, hoping not to upset you. “Can you feel that, love? Or only see it, like I can?”

At that moment, you could have sworn you had a heart, because something inside of you was thudding. The air rushed out of lungs that weren't present and your non-existent cheeks burned with raw desire. You sat beside him, the honesty of your feelings for him evident in the flutter of your bright eyes. You moistened your lips, preparing to speak, but distracted by the feelings bursting inside.

You felt so real, you were certain Steven could pull you into his arms, hold you close and press his lips to yours.

“I…feel,” you stuttered out breathlessly. “I feel things. Inside.” Motioning to your slightly translucent form, you realized how odd you sounded. So you shrugged. “Steven,” you whispered, scooting closer to him on the bed. “I feel my heart racing. I feel…warm.” The tiniest hint of a smile curled the edges of your pretty mouth. “When I’m with you, I feel warm.”

Gazing at you adoringly, his deep brown eyes melted you on the spot.

You swallowed.

“With Marc, I feel…solid. Steady. Substantial,” Your forehead wrinkled as you tried to explain. “With Jake, I’m bright. I feel like I sparkle.”

He nodded encouragingly, sweetly - just so…Steven.

Which made you remember, “I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t know why you couldn’t see me.”

“I wondered that too, but…” he trailed off, wishing he could trace his fingers over your cheek, the way he loved to do. “Maybe it wasn’t the right time. And now, we’re here, together - "

“But that’s just it,” you desperately interjected, floating off the bed, toward the window.

“I’m not with you. I mean, we’re not really together. I can’t be with you. I’m gone and…and you’re alive, and the more I’m here, the more I want the one thing I can never have.” Squeezing your fists in frustration, you remembered that you shouldn’t get riled up. The goal was to not terrorize the love of your life.

A few quiet moments passed, until you could somehow sense him behind you. Turning your head slightly, you realized he was actually standing there. You imagined that if you could feel each other, he would wrap his arms around you protectively.

“I wish I could hold you,” he whispered beside your ear. The sound was so sensual, it permeated your senses, sending shivers where your spine should be. Your eyes drifted shut as you basked in his presence, certain you could sense him somehow.

Steven called your name, but your gaze was fixed on the darkened window glass. Your own, ghostly form reflected itself back to you, and Steven hovered behind you. The sight soothed you somehow.

“You can tell me what you want, my love,” he whispered, and you could swear you felt his warm breath on your cheek. “What do you want? If you could have anything. Don’t…bottle it up inside.”

You gasped out, emotions brimming inside your chest, but you could not cry. How would you ever have guessed you would miss crying?

“Steven...” you breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you want.”

“I wish I could show you…how much I love you.”

Turning around, you stared into his eyes, shining with love and concern for you. “I…I want to touch you.” Laying your hand alongside his cheek, you attempted to caress the handsome contours of his face, sighing wistfully. “I want a lot of things. But mostly that.”

He nodded sympathetically, his dark eyebrows shifting back and forth like a puppy. “I want that too.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You and Steven decided to name Mr. Fishy after one of your book characters: Jeremiah.

“Bit of a distinguished name, yeah?” Steven teased, pulling a soft white t-shirt over his head, driving you crazy as the shirt’s collar raked over his freshly washed curls.

Jeremiah was swimming happily in the fish bowl and you already felt a bit attached to the little guy.

Warmth and utter devotion bloomed in your chest at the gesture. Steven bought you a fish? You were gone and still he wanted to cheer you up, to make you feel as if you belonged. Such an angel.

You studied his face closely, truly feeling a little lighter after your confession about wanting to touch him.

“Will you lie down with me?” You ventured.

Steven’s face lit up with a warm, inviting smile that caused you to smile in return. “Yeah, Id like that.”

Lying on his side, Steven faced you, mirroring his pose, your bodies touching at the slightly bent knees, arms and foreheads.

“Tell me something wonderful. How does the town look this October?”

“Spooky as ever,” Steven answered, choosing not to bring up the mysterious Mystic Delights shop again.

“Describe it to me,” you insisted, wishing to think of only good things. “And don’t leave out a single detail.”

Steven was more than happy to describe, in excruciating detail, every cobweb or jack-o-lantern on every front porch or storefront, even tossing in a few classic Steven puns, which made you giggle.

“I love that - the sound of your laugh,” he told you. “Best sound in the world.”

“You make me happy,” you shrugged. As happy as a ghost could be, you supposed.

You were so close, talking the night away, falling more desperately in love with every moment shared. Dawn approached near and Steven was drifting.

“Help me stay awake,” he murmured, nuzzling his cheek cutely into the pillow.

“Um, okay, how?”

“I dunno. Sing really loud.”

You giggled again, tracing your fingers over his mouth, craving contact, but knowing it would not come. ”It's okay if you fall asleep.”

“But - "

“Shhh, baby...” You ruffled his hair. Somehow it felt good to him. ”I dont know how it will be for you if I disappear again. It's better if you fall asleep and wake up later.”

”I don't want to let you go,” he pouted, his words adorably slurred.

“It's okay. Shhh...” you hummed softly in his ear, something low and sensual, yet calmingly innocent. Steven felt more relaxed than he ever had in his life, as if your voice was pure magic. ”Sleep. I love you.”

“Mmm,” he drowsily hummed. “Wish I could love you back to life.”

That line zinged right through your body. You could swear those words alone restarted your heart.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven slept.

You watched over him, drinking in his beauty, basking in his love.

Damn, you sounded like a cheesy fanfic writer. Weren’t you an accomplished author while you were alive?

At any rate, you found a modicum of peace watching his long lashes kiss his cheeks. So peaceful, in fact, that you felt your own eyes growing…heavy.

Maybe the darkness was pulling you back. But this felt different. You felt…weary. As if you needed rest. Just a moment…

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You became aware of yourself differently this time.

It wasn’t like emerging from the Dark Place. It was as if you never left, and spent all night in bed with Steven.

You felt warm.

But not theoretically warm. You actually felt a wave of human warmth in your body.

Your…body.

Something was different.

The first thing you actually felt was breath in your throat. You exhaled in a rush. Your eyes darted around, attempting to help you get your bearings.

But they were hindered by a gritty, burning sensation. You blinked. Skin eased down, reflexively to cover your orbs, relieving the sting with fresh moisture.

Your lips parted in a gasp…only your mouth felt cottony. You found it difficult to swallow at first.

Thirst.

Instinctually, you reached up with your fingers to touch your lips…and your fingertips made contact.

Releasing a trembling breath, you whimpered as breath - real, heated puffs of air tickled your skin.

Your skin.

Fingertips traced parched lips, far too dry, yet moisture gathered. You realized then that your cheeks were wet.

Squeezing your eyes shut, fresh tears spilled down, blurring your vision. Reaching up reflexively, you swiped them away.

That’s when your hand collided with soft white cotton.

A thousand sensations electrified your body at once.

The clean, earthy smell of their body wash. The scent of fabric softener on their t-shirt. The way your tears left marks - slightly darker than the fabric.

The sensation of cotton against your fingers. So soft.

And then you dragged your fingertips down past the sleeve’s hem to his skin.

Warmth met your skin - your flesh met his.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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ivystoryweaver · 7 months

Text

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #8a: Us

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #8a Summary: is it really you?

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader (alters mentioned)

Word count: 1.5k

Content: romance, the least angst to date in this story, fluff-adjacent, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

Warmth met your skin - your flesh met his.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc groaned at the sound of his phone’s alarm, realizing someone forgot to silence it for their day off…if it was, in fact, their day off. Sometimes it was difficult to tell first thing in the morning. Reaching for the night table, his hand collided with the cool glass of a…fish bowl?

“The hell?” He muttered, silencing the shrill alarm, while quickly checking the date. Steven must have been around the past day or so. Flopping his arm over his eyes dramatically, he groaned, wishing for a few more minutes of rest.

Then something tickled, ever so lightly brushing his opposite arm. His eyes snapped over - he thought he felt something warm.

Something soft and feminine. The hair he knew framing your face, bunched up fabric and smooth skin.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of you.

Oh god. Marc could feel your breath against his neck like the sensual warmth of a sauna.

"W-what?" He gasped, rolling onto his side to face...you.

Not your visage. But you.

He whispered your name, his lips parted as he exhaled in a rush. His beautiful dark eyes darted from your own gaze down to the fullness of your lips.

Could you really be alive?

"Marc…" His name on your lips, spoken with wonder and adoration - the low sensuality of your voice set his every nerve ending on fire. This was your morning voice. The way you sounded after sleep.

Your trembling fingers gripped his bicep, and for the first time since you departed this earth, Marc reached out and touched you.

He gripped your arm - the warmth of which you could feel even through the sleeve of his old hoodie, which had somehow materialized along with you.

Tentatively, Marc reverently reached out and caressed your delicate cheek, nearly whimpering as his thumb brushed your plump, pouting lips.

"Baby..."

Long, luminous lashes fluttered once, then twice as your glassy eyes met his.

"Marc?" You murmured, your eyes darting around you, before locking with his again.

"Hi," he whispered, his eyes glistening in the morning sun that streamed in through the window. He was so close to you that you could feel his warm breath on your face.

As if not trusting his own five senses, Marc dragged calloused fingertips over the angle of your jaw to caress your throat, which electrified you utterly.

Dark eyes filled with tears as he allowed himself to feel the pulse of life; the heartbeat of his soul - you.

You had a pulse.

You knew nothing in the world except that you could feel. Marc was solid and broad and warm and you melted against him as he pressed himself against you fully, side-by-side on the bed.

"Am I in heaven?" You whispered with child-like innocence.

He breathlessly laughed, wondering himself if he had died and woken up in paradise. One arm slid around you, pulling you securely against his cotton-covered chest.

You must have left the dark place and gone to the light. How else could you feel so blissfully enveloped?

As his arm flexed against your back, he could feel your lungs expand with each breath of life you drew.

"Marc," you whimpered. "I-I can feel you."

"I know, baby," he nodded, pulling your bottom half closer still, pressing every inch of you against him possessively, while tenderly caressing your cheek once again. Your eyes cut the minuscule distance to his large palm and you swallowed, tentatively easing your hand over his, brushing the backs of his fingers with your fingertips while leaning into his touch.

Your lips trembled as you pressed a kiss to his palm, interlacing your fingers there on your warming cheek. His thumb affectionately wiped the puddle of tears that had filled and overflowed, wetting your joined hands.

"Don't cry, baby," he pleaded, paying no mind to the fact that he was crying as well.

"I can cry," you gasped, the beauty of the moment engulfing all your senses at once. "How? How did we…”

"We love each other," he simply replied, answering out of pure instinct.

The tiniest sob of joy escaped your throat as your pressed yourself closer to him at every point possible. "I love you," you murmured, your breath caressing his lips. "Are you sure you can feel me - that…that I'm really here?"

He brushed his mouth against yours, the taste of you completely tantalizing. "You feel that, dont you?" he whispered against your cheek.

"Yes," you whimpered. "Do it again.”

Marc instantly complied, melding his parted lips with yours. You responded with fervor, entirely overwhelmed by your returned sense of taste and the delectable flavorful essence of him. Your hands longed to discover every part of him, touching him everywhere until your fingers finally found a home in the thick mess of waves behind his ears. You pulled him deeper into a passionate kiss, opening your mouth to him as your body arched upward.

Marc tenderly tumbled on top of you, gasping as your velvety tongue slid across his for a real taste. You were soft and sweet and sexy, and Marc found himself dizzy with heat; both the hot flick of your tongue inside his mouth and the sweltering heat consuming him wholly.

The sensation of you overwhelmed him - flattened him like a tsunami...

...Which made him tear away, gasping for breath, a low moan of approval resounding in his expansive chest at the sight of you beneath him, lips parted and panting for more - more tasting, more touching, more of him.

You whimpered at the loss of contact between your bodies, unwilling to give up your favorite rediscovered sense of taste so soon. Marc held himself still over you, drinking in your beauty, allowing himself to reason that if you were real, and so recently returned to him, that perhaps you might be fragile, somehow, and he could not afford to lose control so easily.

"Marc, please - "

"Let me see you." His tone was soft but commanding.

But you didn't want to look; you wanted to taste, to feel as much of him as you could get your hands on; to make sure he was real. You felt frantic with need for him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders to pull his mouth back down where it belonged.

There was absolutely no way he could refuse you; nor did he want to, opening his mouth hotly over yours again, giving in to the sensations of your pliable lips moving insistently against his own; your ragged breath searing his lips, his tongue, every part inside that you touched and licked.

You spent a brief eternity in an intimate embrace, tasting and feeling and seeing and smelling until you were certain your five senses were intact and that Marc was here, with you, in the same space and time somehow.

"Missed you. Missed you so much," he finally panted, a short while later, easing down beside you - dizzy with desire and disbelief.

“I love you so much, Marc,” you whispered in a rush, a million emotions and sensations firing in your mind and body. But one thought stood out above all others. "How long do you think we have?"

Wetting his lips, his brow knit in concentration. "'Til what?”

"Until I maybe…disappear again."

Marc’s heart dropped to his stomach at the mere thought of losing you. His partner was somehow returned to him - real and right here, in his arms. He hadn't even stopped to consider that you might not linger.

"I - honestly, I hadn't thought about it." He glanced at the window, wondering what time it might be, and how many precious moments he had left with you.

You nuzzled close, whispering against his mouth, "I love touching you. I just don't want it to ever go away."

So many things to consider.

Slowly nodding, Marc kissed your soft lips again, reassuringly. "I'll do whatever I can to keep you with me."

Staring deeply into your eyes, he granted you a gentle smile - one more peaceful than his usual grumpy pout. "I wanna kiss you forever."

You smiled dreamily. "I never want to move from this spot…except maybe to venture outside of this room for a change."

"I think that's a great idea," Marc chuckled. "I guess we could get cleaned up and then go anywhere. Anywhere you want to go, I can take you," he sweetly offered. There were definitely a few things he wanted to do, but they involved staying in bed. Or the shower. Or both.

But you frowned.

"What is it?"

“I’m scared to move,” you explained in a strained whisper. “I’m afraid that maybe I’m dreaming.”

“I’m real,” he assured you, running his hands down the curves of your body, touching you all over reassuringly. “You’re here with me…somehow.”

You sighed dreamily, brushing his cheek with your soft hand. "Maybe you brought me to life.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

🎃HAPPY HALLOWEEN!🎃

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