Moon Night X Reader - Blog Posts

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Everything is so beautiful. It's been awhile since I last read some Moon Boys fic and this one was the perfect one to come back to the habit.

Lovely writing and the plot warmed my heart 🥹❤️

Celebrate (Marc Spector x fem!Reader, Steven Grant x fem!Reader, Jake Lockley x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So, I have had this done for a while and just never posted, so better late than never, amirite? And besides, we can all always use more Oscar Isaac and the Moon Boys in our lives. Enjoy! :)

Summary: The boys realize that they've never celebrated your birthday with you, despite being with you for well over a year and you celebrating their birthday. When they find out when it is, nothing will stop them from giving you a birthday for the record books.

Warning: Fluff (established couple with all the Moon Boys, super sweet affection, kisses, a very important question), angst (negative emotions about birthdays), implied smut

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 3,348

Steven, Marc, and Jake love you. They loves everything about you, from how you talk, to how you have a ‘lucky’ something for every category of item you own, to how big your heart is. But there is one thing about you that particularly irks them.

In the year and a half that you have been together with them, they has yet to find out when your birthday is. For all they knows, they could have missed it twice! Hell, you’ve remembered theirs twice and have done incredibly loving things for both.

They have tried everything—Steven even tried to sneak a peak at your license once, but turned out to be in a different wallet. Steven only knew his lack of knowledge wasn’t by virtue of him not trying extremely hard, because Marc and Jake couldn’t find out either.

Jake enjoyed playing around with the fantasy that you were a secret spy or assassin who stepped away from the action to lead a normal, quiet life. Steven and Marc were ready to quickly dismiss it when they remembered that they served as an avatar for the Egyptian God of the moon. In all honesty, there was a chance that Jake could be right. 

“Did you know that in Ancient Egypt, Pharaohs didn’t celebrate birthdays on the actual day?” Steven asks as he hands you a dish from the suds. “They celebrated their coronation day since it was when they were born into the role of ruler.”

“Interesting,” you respond as you use the towel to dry the plate.

“It’s a bit sad, though, innit? That other people didn’t celebrate their birthdays. It wasn’t a common thing.”

“Well, I mean, I guess people make a big deal out of birthdays and place a lot of pressure on them. Maybe the Egyptians had it right.”

“But it’s an important day, you know? Someone fantastic was brought to the world, that’s worth celebratin’.”

You have a feeling you know what he’s getting at. You choose to remain quiet.

“You’re worth celebratin’, (Y/N).”

You feel tears sting at your eyes, and you suck in your bottom lip to prevent yourself from crying.

“Why haven’t you told us when your birthday is?” he pleads softly.

You dip your head and shrug. “My birthday . . . I don’t know,” you mutter. “I have a lot of mixed feelings about it, and I don’t know how to say them without sounding whiny.”

Steven tilts your chin up with a sudsy finger so your eyes lock onto his.

“We’re all ears,” he says tenderly.

You let out a sigh, but Steven’s finger refuses to let your gaze leave his.

“No matter how old I got or whatever new friends I made, my friends and colleagues and even my exes always forgot my birthday. I always made it a point to remember theirs, get a gift, a card, whatever, because—it’s the friggin’ day they’re born! And then I always had these small, wistful expectations there’d be something done for me like a surprise, but it was always nothing. Once I got into my college years, I’d have these hopes and expectations of what I’d have done by that birthday, and most of them never came true. My ‘have a first kiss’ goal was deferred for eight years until I was 25.” You close your eyes and give your head a little shake. “I’m just always disappointed by my birthday with other people and myself. Never a real reason to celebrate.”

Steven dries his hands and wipes away yours tears with the pads of his thumb as he pulls you in for a loving hug.

“Will you tell us when your birthday is, love?” Steven whispers into your hair. “Please?”

Unable to resist his tender embrace, you tell him the date, and he pulls back to scan your face. “That’s Thursday,” he states.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It is.”

You don’t expect him to cradle your face in his hands while he kisses you deeply. “Boy, do we have some idea’s stewin’ in our brain,” he beams as he gives you another kiss. “And you know what? Since I missed it last year, you’re gonna have a half-birthday celebration that is gonna knock your knickers right off of you.”

“My knickers?” you laugh, your hurt feelings quickly leaving your body.

Steven whistles and moves his hand like a plane to emphasize the absolute absence of panties you’ll have before he hops up and rubs his hands together in excitement. 

“Oh,” he says as he holds up a finger. “This is why we couldn’t figure out your birthday, right? You’re not secretly a spy or assassin?”

You laugh at the implication, the sadness rolling off of your body. “Jake’s idea?”

Steven nods. 

“Well, I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. And then there’s the issue of getting rid of the body, and we’re on the fifth floor—.”

“See, I know you’re jokin’, but part of me is actually a little spooked right now,” Steven says.

“No, hon. I’m not a spy,” you giggle, moving to kiss his cheek and push his curly hair back. “Sorry to disappoint Jake.”

Steven breathes a sigh of relief and dips his head as you hold onto him. "Oh, thank the gods!"

You’re vaguely aware of the shifting on your mattress as you continue to enjoy a cozy slumber under the comforter with your head on the pillows. After a bit, you feel another shift on the mattress along with the warmth of another body whose smell you know all too well. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” Steven whispers with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You let out a tired moan as you roll into Steven’s body, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying your face into his chest as you try to pull yourself back into a deep sleep. 

“Come now, I’ve made you your favorite. And I have a nice big mugga mornin’ Joe with your name on it,” he encourages.

You unbury your head slightly, looking up at him with still heavy eyes. He smiles as he looks down at you, kissing your forehead.

“I knew if the kisses didn’t do it, the coffee would,” he chuckles.

As you sit up in bed, Steven twists his torso and places a breakfast tray on your lap, presenting you with waffles, fresh cut fruit, and veggie sausage.

“Thank you, hon,” you tell him, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Anythin’ for the birthday girl,” he hums, placing a kiss on your neck that sends goosebumps throughout your body. “I still wish you could’ve taken the day off.”

“Trust me, if I didn’t have these big meetings, I’d probably just stay in bed with you three.”

“Don’t give Jake any ideas—he’d find a way to make those meetings cancelled,” Steven chuckles, stealing a strawberry for himself. You know there’s nothing particularly aphrodisic or phallic about a strawberry, but watching Steven’s lips move around the red fruit and how his tongue licks away the juice sends your head spinning. Steven catches you looking at him and smirks. “Yes, love?”

“Oh, nothing,” you blush as you move to take a bite of the waffles in front of you.

“Mm, likely story,” he hums as he licks his lips once more, bringing his lips to your pulse point for a chaste kiss.

“I don’t know that I’m gonna be able to finish these, hon,” you chuckle as you take a closer look at the stack. “You made eight?”

“I’ve seen you devour a stack of waffles with no issue before.”

“Yeah, on a weekend where I don’t have to go do a full day of work later.”

“Then lucky for you, I am here to help,” he smiles, stealing your fork to snatch a bite of waffles for himself. “Bloody hell, I’m a good cook.”

We continue to sit in bed and eat the fluffy breakfast food until you have to get ready for work. As you fix your hair in the bathroom, Steven takes care of the dishes; he finishes drying them as you move from the bathroom to put on your clothes. As you slide on your sweater, Steven shuffles into the bedroom.

“Let me walk you to work today?” he whispers as he lifts out the hair tucked into the collar of your sweater. 

“I want to say yes, but then I wouldn’t want to go in or have you leave,” you respond just as quietly. “Especially after a morning like this one. It’d be the bed predicament on the sidewalk.”

Steven brings his lips to yours slowly as you wrap your arms around his waist. The kiss is tender and lazy, much like how you wish you could spend the day with one another. Steven lets out a defeated sigh as his lips part from yours, resting his forehead against yours.

“Text me when you get there?” he asks as his fingers play with your hair.

“Of course,” you tell him. "Love you."

Steven hands you your purse, letting you adjust it on your shoulder before he places more quick kisses on your lips, murmuring a "Love you more," as you attempt to make it out the door.

“What?” you chuckle as you put your purse on the table by the door. Jake is leaning on the kitchen table like a puppy that needs to be let out.

“I can’t wait for my girlfriend to do part two of her birthday?” Jake smirks as he suavely moves over from the wooden surface and meets you at the door, his hands on your waist as he plants a passionate kiss on your lips.

“And what would part two be, exactly?” you smile as you bite your lip, keeping them just out of reach of his so you don’t spend the rest of the night making out in the kitchen—although, you wouldn’t be opposed to it.

“I can’t give away all of the details, mi corazón. Now, go to the bedroom, put on what’s laid out, and then we’ll go to part two.”

You smirk at him and scrunch your eyebrows playfully as you try to figure out what he has planned. You do as he asks, nonetheless. Lying on the bed, you see a beautiful sky blue satin dress with an asymmetrical hemline and silver strappy heels. You slide on the dress and it fits like a glove—so much like a glove, you can see the line of your underwear underneath the fabric. Lightly chuckling to myself, you slide off your panties and take off your bra. Usually, you’d be opposed to going full commando, but when you see yourself in the mirror, everything looks better—the dress was made to be worn on your body without undergarments. You slide on the heels to finish off the look and quickly comb your hair to revitalize it from the day. When you meet Jake back in the living room, he licks his lips and smirks as he looks at you, giving you bedroom eyes as you move closer to him.

“Now will you tell me what we’re doing?” you coo as you run your hands up and down his chest.

“No,” he smiles as he pulls you in for a searing kiss, squeezing your ass for scientific reasons, you’re sure.

“You’re not wearing anything underneath this, are you?” he breathes against your lips.

“Not a stitch,” you hum as you move his hands off your rear, taking a step back and opening the door with your things in hand. “Lead the way, Lockley.”

He gives you a bedroom smirk and mutters a string of Spanish curses and erotic notions under his breath—something about not realizing how sexy you’d look and what he’d rather be doing to you.

“Don’t worry, babe, I think all of you boys will be able to do those kinds of things later,” you assure him as you pull him down by his tie for a kiss. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Not when vice looks as good as you in satin.”

Jake captures your lips in a passionate and lusty kiss that still maintains an air of chastity to it—his mind on the mission of the surprise, but his heart veering towards your shared bed.

“Come on, cariño,” he rasps as he takes your hand and leads you out of the apartment and down the stairs.

“I don’t even get a hint?” you try again as you walk along the sidewalk.

“Tell me what you think we’re doing.”

“Really? Twenty questions on my birthday?”

“Play along,” he chuckles.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically as you lace your fingers with his. “It’s definitely somewhere fancy?”

“Is it, though?”

“I’m dressed to the nines. I don’t see how it can’t be somewhere fancy.”

“Or I wanted to show you off.”

“Okay,” you say, processing Jake’s cheeky remark, thinking of all the possibilities. “Well, dinner would be too obvious, so it clearly can’t be that.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “Come on, cariño, I thought you knew me better than this.”

“Ouch, gut punch!” you say, poking at it side. “I’m still thinking. You are an expert at being sneaky, I’m trying to process my options.”

“Well, you should come up with one soon. We’re almost there.”

Knowing the area, you scan through all the storefronts you can bring to your mind, when something clicks with your ensemble.

“Jake Lockley, are you taking me dancing?” you hum as you look over to him, his eyes sparkling in the dim London light.

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” he chuckles as he guides you to the left into a little courtyard that is all done up where other couples are waiting to start the lessons. “We’re gonna put those hips of yours to a different kind of work. Just for a short while, at least.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything fun or culinary up my sleeves,” Marc says as the two of you walk hand in and through the quiet park, the path lit by beautiful old street lamps.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” you tell him. “I know how much effort you all put into today. It’s nice to wrap it all up with dinner and a little stroll.”

A gentle breeze begins to pick up, and Marc immediately shrugs off his bomber jacket to place on your shoulders. You want to protest, but you love having things that he wears on your body—the warmth form his frame, the smell of his skin and cologne, the silent gesture of love.

“Thanks, baby,” you tell him softly as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Did you have a good day today?” he asks, matching your tone. “I know you mentioned your meetings—.”

“Yeah, the meetings from hell,” you sigh as you roll your neck, the mere thought of them bringing tension to your body. “Not only could they all have been emails, but they were ridiculously long and were so unproductive that we knew less by the end than we did at the start. Debbie led both.”

“Oh no, not Debbie.”

“Mmhm. Don’t get me started with that one.” You let out a long sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. “But it’s all worth it, because I get to come home to an amazing system of men who love me.”

He rests his cheek on top of your head. “We love you, too, baby.”

“How about we go home and take a bath? Wind down from the day. Get naked and wet together.”

“Mm, two of my favorite adjectives.”

“Maybe we can add some other adjectives you like to that mix,” you chuckle, lightly checking his hip with yours.

Taking a turn off the path of the park, you hop on the sidewalk and make the short walk back to the flat, snuggling close in the old elevator as it drags its way up to the top floor. 

“You want me to put on a kettle for tea or coffee or something?” you hum as you unlock the door, tossing your keys into the dish as you make your way in. “Or are we going to save all the warm water for—what are you doing?”

In your living room, Marc is perched down on one knee, a little open box in his hands as he looks up at me with his rich brown eyes.

“We were actually gonna do this next week,” Marc starts, his voice soft, the edges brimming with emotion. “But we thought this might be a really great way to end your birthday.”

“Baby . . .”

“(Y/N), I don’t think I need to begin to tell you how much we all love you. If I did, we’d be here for a hell of a long time, I’d loose feeling in my legs from the knee down, and you’d offer to help me walk over to the bed, just like how you are always there to help me and Steven and Jake with whatever comes up. You see us as whole people. You make us feel whole. You have the biggest, most caring heart that a person can have, and you love so selflessly . . .” Marc sniffles and furrows his brows as he tries to keep his cool. You take a few steps toward him, kneeling down and wiping his tears away with your thumbs. 

“Marc,” you say softly, his name on your tongue dripping with emotions.

“We can’t imagine our lives without you in it, and we never want to,” Marc continues. “Will you marry us?”

“Of course,” you practically sob, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. He holds you back just as firm, neither of you saying a word. Marc is the one who eventually breaks the embrace, moving to take out the ring out of the box to slide it on your finger slowly.

“It’s a pink sapphire, but it looks purple, and you love purple—,” Marc starts.

“—and gold jewelry looks so lovely on your skin, cariño—,” Jake continues.

“—and it’s a vintage settin’ so there’s no ill-environmental effects,” Steven finishes. “Happy birthday, my love.”

“You guys are sure?” you sniffle, your teary eyes frantically scanning their faces. “Are you sure you guys love me? That this is what you want?”

“Mi corazón, where is this coming from?” Jake asks softly, brushing tears off of your cheek. “Of course this is what we want. We’ve never felt this way about anyone before. We only want you, amore.”

“It just doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream.”

“It’s very real, love,” Steven says, gentle hands on your shoulders as he leans forward to place a sweet kiss on your forehead. “And you already said yes—there’s no take-backs.”

You let out a wet laugh as you move back in to kiss Steven—he always knows just what to say to bring a smile to your face.

“Well, I guess if there’s no take backs.”

As Steven leans forward to kiss you again, and you feel distinct shift just before we part, and you’re met once more with Marc.

“Is it still a yes?” he asks carefully.

“Of course it’s still a yes. I’ve got the three best guys in the world—why wouldn’t I want to make it official?”

Marc smiles brighter than you’ve ever seen in your life. He leans forward to kiss you once more, his arms wrapping around you tightly and picks you up, much to your surprise. The two of you continue to kiss as he walks you to the bed and lays you down on the mattress, only briefly parting from you to brush some stray hairs off of your face.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, his forehead resting on yours, allowing you to feel his eyelashes brush your cheeks. 

“I love you all so much,” you whisper. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Marc gingerly kisses the tip of your nose. “Forever and always.”

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Marc Spector/Steven Grant Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @later-gators12​

I didn't know I needed a Rick!reader and Evelyn!Steven fanfic until now. Loved it!

I just re-watched The mummy (1999) and I couldn’t stop thinking about Steven Grant being Evelyn and a fem!reader being Rick, he’s just soooo like Evelyn but a little more shy, I’m so in love with him 😭 imagine fem!Rick just saving his ass over and over again while fighting against a mummy and him just knowing everything and reading hieroglyphs 🏺

MOON KNIGHT, THE MUMMY EDITION:

DOCTOR STEVEN GRANT

Nonny. This image you have planted in my head is gorgeous and I didn't want to let it go! I have no idea what the below is. But I hope you enjoy it and I did your idea justice.

Astroboot's Masterlist 

God he's so pretty.

Big brown wide eyes that could easily belong to a doe. The longest lashes you've ever seen on a man and you could easily get lost in the hypnotic way they flutter when he gets a bit flustered and looks up at you, apologizing for getting himself into danger, thanking you profusely for saving him from said danger.

Like the one he's currently gotten himself into.

Steven is screaming. A shrill and terrified sound.

Darting out your arm, you pull at the back of his collar hauling him back until his body gives and he's flung back dropping to the floor, on his ass.

One large step forward and you're standing in front, shielding his body with your own. Then you raise your rifle, steady your aim and pull the trigger at the rotting face that's howling with a demonic sound not of this world.

The bullet carves through its face, somewhere between where its eyes used to be, a crunch of a sound, like cereal being smoshed by a spoon. It doesn't sound right.

Not the sound of flesh and blood being teared into. Because there is none. Where there should be blood, guts and fluid, only shards of dust and bones are left behind in the air. Debris.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs, looking up at you through those said gorgeous lashes, with grime, ash and specks of black thick tar-liek substance splattered across the soft material of his white shirt. "I really should have watched where I was going."

You lower your rifle, smoke still rising from the barrel as your eyes remain fixed on the ground at the dried up corpse in front of you two.

Unnatural.

The bandage wrapped hand is still twitching on the ground. Flashes of white bone and knuckles visible through the black-tarred dried up flesh of its hand. The space smells like burning tar.

You've taken dodgy jobs before, but this is something else.

This is what you get for accepting a "simple escorting job" making sure Doctor Steven Grant has a safe passage to Cairo for his thesis studies.

It had all seemed so easy. You were provided with a map, instructions and an exorbitant deposit payment up front, three times your usual rate, with a promise of double once everything was done and dusted. Not to say that you didn't have your doubts. Your contact had refused to divulge who the payer was, simply referring to the benefactor as the "Traveller" and you had almost called it then and there.

But then you were dragged to one of the reading rooms of the national library "just to meet him". You were greeted to the commotion of books tumbling down, and a man narly falling off one of the ladders, flailing with his arms like a baby bird learning to fly, had you not caught him in your very arms.

Catching doctor Steven Grant himself.

The first time you laid eyes on him, hair tussled, cheeks flustered pink with shocked-wide eyes that gazed up on you, you knew you were in trouble.

The man has no survival skills to speak of.

No preservation for that matter either. He simply says whatever seems to be on his mind. Honest to a fault, even to his own detriment.

Soft-spoken and polite, he's a far cry from the sorts of men that usually find their way in dodgy business and dangerous foreign excursions.

There was no way you could leave well enough alone. Couldn't let this man go out on his own into the deserts of Cairo, with what is practically a big sign around his neck that read: "I'm defenceless."

You had to protect him.

Besides, you're a capable mercenary, you've guided important figures in the country many times before. Politicians who were assassination targets, royalty who wanted an exotic location that you had to ensure did not have so much as a scratch on them on their return, criminals trying to evade the authorities. You've done it all.

Meanwhile here was this man. Thick-rimmed glasses permanently perched on his nose. That same nose constantly buried between the thick pages of some old dusty book he had carted in that beaten-up satchel bag slung across his shoulder.

So gentle in his nature, danger would surely stay out of their way for him. For god's sake, you've pretty sure you've seen him wave and greet the camels that were going to take you across the desert on more than one occasion.

How would a man like this, ever get caught up in danger for something as innocuous as a thesis study?

Naively, you had thought, what is the worst that could happen with a mousey professor?

Mummies. Cursed mummies. That's the worst that could happen.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again, with a sheepish expression on his face as he raises himself up on his knees, before standing. His hand reaches out towards your face, thumb swiping against your cheekbone and it sends an electric thrill that is sharper than the adrenaline you had coursing through your system mere seconds ago while facing up against otherworldly creatures from hell itself.

When his thumb comes away, there's blackish goo staining it, and he grimaces at it. "Are you alright, you're not hurt anywhere are you?"

He reaches into his satchel, pulling up a small animal pattern handkerchief and starts to meticulously wipe your face with it until the clean fabric is covered in what looks like black tar.

Wide brown eyes, filled with concern for you. Your heart has lodged itself in your throat and is trying to gallop its way out of your mouth.

This man is trouble.

God he's so fucking pretty though.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

Soft!Jake is my religion! 😍🙏

come out

jake lockley x reader

summary: you don’t see Jake very often, he still doesn’t feel confident and comfortable enough to front frequently; his visits are not a regular occurrence but when it’s him, you know it. you couldn’t be mad at him. not when he had been hidden in this body for too long, feelings buried deep as he watched Marc and Steven express them freely from a distance while he had to drown them down and suffer in silence.

warnings: ending fades to implied smut, sexual innuendos

tags: tooth rotting fluff, literally no plot just fluff, soft!jake, seriously this man needs to be held

word count: 0.9k

The back of Jake's knuckles brushed lightly against your cold cheek. You stirred as you rubbed your eyes, still hazy from sleep.

You knew it was Jake from the soft and aching look in his gaze– you don’t see Jake very often, he still doesn’t feel confident and comfortable enough to front frequently; his visits are not a regular occurrence but when it’s him, you know it.

You smiled endearingly at him, brushing back the curls falling over his forehead.

“‘Morning, Jake” you murmured, smoothing your hand along his bicep as his elbow was propped beside you, planted into the mattress.

Jake felt his heart flutter at the demonstration of you recognizing him so easily.

“‘Morning cariño” he whispered as he leaned to leave a kiss at the bridge of your nose. “How’d you know it was me?” he asked, letting his fingertips travel down the side of your face.

“An intuition” you affirmed, leaning into his touch. “I missed you.” you breathed out, heart aching as the words escaped your lips.

“I know” he complied as he shamefully closed his eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry querida” he apologized, looking right back into your eyes, searching for a trace of blame in them.

There was none.

You couldn’t blame him, you couldn’t be mad at him. Not when he had been hidden in this body for too long, feelings buried deep as he watched Marc and Steven express them freely from a distance while he had to drown them down and suffer in silence.

“I know it’s hard for you,” you said, mirroring his actions and bringing your hand to the side of his face. “But I don’t want you to push yourself too much. Take your time, okay honey?”

He nodded, a pained look covering his face, and nuzzled your hand leaving a kiss at your palm.

“Thank you” he mumbled against your skin before leaving another kiss there.

You chuckled and buried your hand into his curls. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For being so considerate. For understanding me.” he affirmed, smiling weakly. “Us.” he corrected himself.

You hooked your hands behind his neck and brought him down to your lips. He kissed them with as much passion and devotion he could give you, cherishing the intimacy and rarity of the moment.

His necklace dangled under your chin and you lightly tugged on it, drawing a sharp gasp from him before he smirked into the kiss and flicked his tongue over your bottom lip in need to feel you even more.

It didn’t take long for him to lick into your mouth, tasting you thoroughly until he ran out of breath.

He pulled away but remained close, nuzzling your neck as you ran your hands along his bare back, nails softly scraping against his warm skin just the way you knew he liked.

“I love you” he mumbled into your neck. He had wanted to say it, but he hadn’t expected the words to escape his mouth so easily. It needed to be said anyways.

He left a kiss in the crook of your neck, punctuating his previous words.

You felt your heart skip a beat, and one of your hands mindlessly traveled to his curls like it was a reflex. You scraped your nails against his scalp, and soothingly swiped your thumb over his shoulder blade with your other hand.

“I love you too Jake” you replied, looking down at the man buried into your neck.

He adored when you held him like that; just you and him, nothing else around, no one else around, no Khonshu, no danger, no blood to shed– just him resting in your arms, cherishing his turn at fronting without it being an emergency to protect his alters; just him living his life with you, taking the time to breathe. He could get used to it.

“I would love to see you come out more often,” you affirmed as he looked back at you. “I know it’s hard and I’m not putting you under pressure but–”

“–Yeah” he nodded, pinching his lips. “I know” he said in a whisper as he dived to kiss your lips again, his fingers holding your chin while he did so. He pulled away, threading his fingers through your hair as he remained leaning over you. “Truth is– I want you all the time” he said with a small grin growing at the corner of his mouth. “All the fucking time.” he added through gritted teeth.

“Well… You can have me all you want now” you whispered with a small chuckle, and you knew from there that the atmosphere had changed. Jake stopped his kisses and stayed still for a moment. Did you break him?

“...Jake?” you called, confused at his silent state. Jake wasn’t very talkative but this was strange.

“...All I want ?” he finally asked back, his dark eyes carefully examining your face.

You chuckled softly. “All you want.” you affirmed, stroking the back of his neck.

A small smirk grew on his lips. “Mmmh okay. Interesting. Very interesting” he hummed as his hands met your hips, gently kneading the skin there before diving right back to your neck, leaving open mouthed, warm kisses there.

You almost choked on air at the sudden feeling of his teeth nipping at your skin– you should have expected it, it’s Jake after all.

“Jake!” you exclaimed, uncontrolled giggles escaping your mouth.

“I better take advantage of that free time then, mh?” he asked before kissing your cheek, tangling his legs with yours.

“Yeah you better” you teased, only hoping all of this will get him to front more often.

It was only a matter of time before Jake finally felt legitimate fronting as much as Marc and Steven did.

—

moon knight taglist:

@apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay, so this idea popped into my head today. Marc Spector, injury dialogue prompt 16, and a nurse reader. It’s just chef’s kiss

"I'd hate to be a burden..." || "It's alright, (Name). I don't mind taking care of you"

a/n: nurse!reader x marc is something that can be so personal actually....warnings for blood, injuries, etc.

"That guy is here again."

You glance up from the chart in your hands, frowning at your smirking coworker. She raises a brow and takes a long sip from the water bottle in her hands, not breaking eye contact.

She smacks her lips when she lowers the bottle, "Y'know, the really hot one?"

You don't respond, turning back to the chart and sliding your finger down the page, looking for the information you'd been trying to input into the monitor in front of you.

"I can tend to him, if you like. Slow night and all." She tilts her head, like she knows she's already got your goat, laughter in her voice. "Plus, he's all sweaty and miserable and I'm dying to see the abs he's clearly hiding."

A flare of jealousy you have no control over rears up.

"No," you respond, a little too fast. "I'll get him."

"Mhm," she hums. "Let him take you home this time," she advises.

You roll your eyes and squint at the screen in front of you, vision doubling as you stare, your eyes tired and body aching after such a long shift. "He doesn't want to take me home."

"Sure," she nods, eyes wide, tone sarcastic. "Just has a way of showing up here broken at the end of your shifts."

You don't respond, gritting your teeth instead, eyes sore with strain, a headache beginning a slow pounding at your temples. "Just let him know I'll be there in a minute. If he's not bleeding to death."

"He's right as rain, I imagine. He could patch himself up, I think. Says he'll only see you anyways."

You don't grace her with a response, and she laughs as she walks away, back in the direction of the clinic's waiting room.

After you finish entering the patient's information, you take a moment to breathe. In, out. In, out.

You can do this. You're almost to the finish line.

You shove the patient's chart back into the filing stand before turning to make your way to the lobby.

Lo and behold, Marc Spector stands alone in the clinic's lobby, leaning carefully against the wall, idly watching the silent children's movie playing on a TV in the corner. Something in your chest cracks, knowing that he hasn't sat down to avoid staining the newly reupholstered waiting room chairs.

He looks just the way he had the first night you met him, when he was just some blood speckled guy in the lobby, grouchy but kind.

"Marc?" You call, jerking your head toward the hall to the exam rooms. "C'mon."

His eyes snap to you, gaze softening a fraction as he pushes himself off the wall and follows you easily.

"That other nurse thinks I come here to hit on you," he says when you shut the door of the exam room behind you.

"Well," you lead him to the sink in the corner, holding a hand up to him. "Don't you?"

Marc grunts and looks away as you wash your hands thoroughly. "Your turn," you nudge him in front of the sink with your knee. "All the way up to your elbows. Scrub."

"I know," he grumbles at you, perpetually cranky.

You lean next to him, watching the pink and rust of blood swirl down the drain. "At least you've stopped scaring the staff."

"I don't mean to scare anyone," he rumbles calmly.

You smile, some of your exhaustion peeling away. "I know you don't." You want to touch him, but you turn to snap on a pair of gloves instead as Marc finishes washing and pats his hands and arms dry with paper towels.

"Do I scare you?"

"Not nearly as much as you'd like to believe, Spector." You follow him to one of the plastic chairs where he finally takes a seat with a groan. You know he hates sitting on the exam table and so you don't make him.

His eyes are hard, a little crease between them. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin'," you tilt his face up, examining the cuts that litter his skin. "Are you hurt anywhere I can't see? Linda wants to see your abs."

Marc chokes out an unexpected laugh. "Got a slash on my leg. Sorry I didn't get my guts torn out."

"What she doesn't know if that you've got a cute little belly," you say as you turn to grab the supplies you'll need to clean and bandage and suture him.

He's trying to hide a smile when you turn back. "That's not very nice."

"It's very nice actually. You're strong and it shows. Abs are over-fucking-rated. All show, no strength," you inform him, cleaning a cut along his cheekbone with long, measured, careful pressure.

Marc doesn't answer you. Though you notice his cheeks are a bit pink as he watches you staunch the bleeding on a couple of wounds on his arms and hands and along his jaw. You examine the cut on his thigh and sigh. "That's going to need stitches. Christ, Marc, what were you doing?" You ask, deciding that needs attention first.

"Nothin'," he lies. "Nothing you need to worry about."

You raise a brow at him, cutting some of the fabric around the wound away, before you set to cleaning it too.

"I hate to - I don't mean to take up your time like this -," he stutters suddenly. "You're always so busy here. I -,"

"It's alright, Marc. I don't mind taking care of you," you say gently, interrupting him. "I'd rather you come here. To me."

Marc's chest hitches, but you don't look up, not sure you'll be able to handle whatever expression is on his face.

You make quick work of the stitches, dabbing on numbing cream and angling your body to block Marc's view of the process as much as you're able to. "There," you say when the bandage is in place, straightening and stepping back a bit.

Marc remains silent, his face a carefully schooled neutral mask as he watches you work slowly up his body. You treat the cuts on his arms and face. He's stoic and silent but his eyes are revealing when you dare to look into them, the hardened cut of his resting face doing nothing to hide what lay in his gaze.

Guilt.

Your ribs tighten, squeezing at your lungs. You hate when he looks at you like that, like he would only ever take things from you.

"When Linda told me you were here," you start, swabbing some cream onto the bruises he's laden with. "She said you were all sweaty and miserable and hot."

He laughs again, the sound clearly unexpected to him, and you smile, having gotten what you aimed for. "And hot?"

You nod, "Precisely. And hot."

"Am I missing something here, baby?"

You finish with the last bruise and slide your gloves off, tossing them away and stepping between his thighs, to cup his jaw between your hands. "Probably. Like, I guess there's just something about a pathetic, miserable man, waiting for his partner that really does it for the ladies. Y'know?"

"Not really, no," he says, curling his arms around your hips, tilting his head against your belly as you bury your hands in his sweat dampened hair. "Sorry. I only want you."

Your heart flutters, even though you know he means to take care of him, that he doesn't like anyone else patching him up, touching him when they don't know how and when it's okay to touch him.

"Hey," he pulls back. "I am sorry. I know you're exhausted. I don't do this on purpose -,"

You smile, "You kinda do. That's okay." Marc lets you kiss him, hums when you slide your tongue against his bottom lip. His mouth falls open to you easily, breath warm against your mouth. He waits for you, waits for you to make the decision to kiss him again. When you do, again and again and again, he tastes like the coppery tint of blood, but underneath that, like Marc.

He hums again, tightens his arms around you. "You can always tell me to fuck off, y'know?" He says when he pulls back, eyes still closed. "If you don't want to deal with me."

"Deal with you?" You ask, cupping his cheeks between your palms, thumbs sweeping over the strong arch of bone. "Marc, I don't deal with you. Dealing is, like, something you don't want to put up with but you do anyways."

"Is that not what's goin' on?" He asks warily, blinking up at you.

"No," you say, only a little horrified. "No, of course not."

"So Linda's not gettin' the chance to see my abs anytime soon," he pats your hip and labors to his feet.

You laugh, and Marc does too. "No. Definitely not. You're my favorite patient."

"Hope I'm a little more than that," he touches the space beneath your eyes. "Let's get you home. You're exhausted. When's your shift over?"

"Now," you yawn, snuggling into his arms for the brief moment he hugs you close. "You're my last. Lemme go get my stuff."

Marc holds you longer than he usually does, nose against your temple. "Thank you."

You're not sure what he means, what he's thanking you for. Still you answer, "anytime, baby."

Steven is so cute 🥹 I loved it!

𝘼𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙡𝙡

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭

𝘈𝘕: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦!! 𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘣𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴! 𝘈𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 :)

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.2𝘬

“Hey, Dad. Just checking in.” Steven would recognize that voice anywhere. He heard it every morning when you would leave for work, exactly 7:30AM each and every day. You had lived in the flat right across from his for the better part of a year, and he’d never once had the pleasure of hearing that voice directed at him.

“Oh, no, everything’s fine. I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while.” You called your father every morning, asking him about work or his garden or to talk about whatever book you were reading that week. Steven knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he loved hearing your hushed tone, the quiet laughs, as though you were afraid to wake everyone on the floor. He couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face.

One day, he told himself, he’d find the courage to step out of his flat while you were there, to say hello, to strike up a conversation. But each time his hand found the doorknob, you were already in the elevator. He would talk to you, one day. Just not today.

____________________________________________________________________________

You hummed quietly as you got ready for work. You had just taken a shower and threw on a pencil skirt you hadn’t even remembered buying. Even so, it was a nice change of pace from the slacks you typically wore. You searched through your closet for a decent blouse to match, finally opting for a navy blue button down. It was simple, sure, but you had no one to impress.

Gathering your things, you finally stepped out of your flat. Usually, you would give your father a call, but the sight of the man across the hall stopped you in your tracks. 

You had seen him before in passing, while checking the mail or rushing to catch the elevator, but never this close. Calling him stunning would be an understatement. He was taller than you, though not by much. His dark curls fell over his face in a messy pattern, nearly covering his deep brown eyes. You could definitely see yourself getting lost in them. Your eyes trailed down to his lips, plump and parted just slightly in surprise.

After a moment, you realized you had been ogling him. You cleared your throat slightly. “So sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone else out this early.” You flashed your teeth at him in a wide smile.

You waited for him to respond for a moment, or even to walk off, but there was nothing. He just stood, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Eventually, you raised a brow at him. “Right, no, right. ‘S fine. Fine.” He nodded, curls sweeping over his forehead. 

You eyed him curiously, brows furrowed slightly. “Alright. Well. Good morning.” Your grin lowered into an amused smirk as you walked toward the elevator. You heard the footsteps of the man behind you, moving over to allow him room. “Are you going down?”

The look on his face had you biting back a laugh. “S-Sorry, am I what?” He coughed, like he had just choked on air.

“Going down. In the elevator? To the first floor?” You chuckled. He was quite strange, you thought, but there was something endearing about the man standing beside you.

Once again, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That’s me. Going down.” You watched as he readjusted his bag, rocking back and forth on his feet. He looked nervous, never quite meeting your gaze. You pushed the button for the first floor, watching as the man beside you toyed with the strap of his bag. You weren’t sure what it was, perhaps it was his structured jaw, or the warm brown of his eyes, or the innocence that lurked beneath them. You couldn’t stop staring.

“I’m Steven, by the way.” His quiet voice broke the silence. “Steven with a V, that’s me.” He nodded, almost like he was reassuring himself of the fact. “N-Not that you asked. I just thought… you know, neighbors and all that. Might be useful.” The last few words trailed off. He seemed nervous, you thought, though you couldn’t wrap your head around why. You weren’t particularly frightening, were you?

You chuckled quietly, holding out your hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Steven.” You offered your name as he took your hand. You were a bit taken aback by the roughness of his palms. He didn’t strike you as someone who was particularly active, given his physique was hidden behind a heavy jacket.

You broke your grasp on his hand as the elevator dinged, turning your attention to the doors as they opened. You sighed quietly as you stepped out. The way Steven followed you didn’t go unnoticed. You grinned over your shoulder at him. “Do you usually take the bus, Steven? I’m headed that way, maybe we could walk together.”

***********

Steven felt as though his heart would beat out of his chest. Here he was, talking to the girl he had dreamt about for weeks, and she was listening to every word he said like she was actually interested. Steven couldn’t help but stare as she threw her head back in a laugh at… whatever he had said. What did he say? Bollocks, he couldn’t remember.

She stood beside him on the bus, close enough that he could feel her arm bump his each time the vehicle stopped. He was sure the redness in his cheeks was painfully noticeable. All he could focus on was her presence. Her scent enveloped him, honey and vanilla, and he happily drowned in it.

Steven’s heart nearly stopped as the bus came to a screeching halt in front of the national gallery. “Right, well…” He cleared his throat. “This is me.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever sounded more melancholy.

He watched as your lips pulled downward in a soft frown. Oh, how badly he wanted to kiss it away. “Oh, that’s a shame. It was lovely meeting you, Steven. We’ll have to do this again some time.” Steven’s chest tightened as you placed your hand over his. He was sure this time that his heart had stopped, that you had killed him with one single touch.

Steven nodded vigorously, mouth dry as he searched his brain for something, anything, to say. “Bye,” was all he could come up with before he scurried off of the bus. The feeling of your skin on his would haunt him the entire day.

____________________________________________________________________________

You were in the middle of preparing dinner for yourself when the knock on your door made you jump out of your skin. You set the stirring spoon down on the stove, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel before opening your door. Steven stood on the other side, eyes widening as you came into view.

You smiled as he lifted a hand in greeting. “Hiya. I, um… I came to see if you maybe wanted… if you weren’t doing anything a-and didn’t have any plans…” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from chuckling. You weren’t wanting to mock him, by any means, but he looked so cute as he twiddled his thumbs and stumbled over his words. “O-Oh, are you already making dinner? Smells lovely.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you out, but you weren’t sure he knew how. “Well, I am already making dinner.” Your heart sank as his gaze dropped to the floor. “But I’ve made quite a bit, and I’m not sure I can eat all of it myself. Would you like to join me?”

Immediately, the nervousness that you suspected was always a part of Steven returned. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. I-I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if you were looking for a quiet evening in. I wouldn’t feel right about ruining-”

“Relax.” You chuckled. “You’d hardly be ruining anything. Seriously. Come in.” You stepped aside, allowing him through the threshold of your flat. “It’s not quite ready, but soon enough.” You flashed him a grin before returning to stirring the contents of the pan. “Oh, I should have mentioned. It’s vegan. Hope that’s alright.”

Steven nodded, standing just inside your doorway. You watched as his eyes bounced around your flat. It wasn’t much, really. The rooms all sort of blended together, and your bed sat against the wall in lieu of a sofa. It was comfortable and affordable, which was its biggest appeal. “Vegan, yeah, yeah. ‘S good.” His brows furrowed as his attention settled on you. “Are you vegan, then?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he started speaking again. “Nothing wrong with it! I’m vegan, too. Just… curious.”

You shook your head, grinning. “Oh, no. My dad is, though. He made this for me all the time as a kid, and its still my absolute favorite pasta dish. Here, come taste.” You lifted the wooden spoon as you beckoned him over. You smiled patiently as he hesitated, then watched as his lips curled around the end of the spoon. 

Steven broke out into a pleased smile of his own. “That’s amazing! You made that from scratch?”

You giggled, nodding. “Well, everything apart from the actual pasta. I’m not that talented.” You hummed as you set out two bowls, filling both. “Here you are. Dining table’s just behind you.”

***************

Steven was convinced you were fake. This was all some strange dream his brain had crafted and any minute he would wake up, still strapped to the coldness of his bed. You were a talented cook, sweet as melted sugar, and were beautiful beyond belief.

Dinner with you had become a nightly routine. Somehow, he found himself in front of your door each and every night. He listened to your tales about work and you listened to his ramblings on ancient Egypt. You didn’t even seem to mind, he thought. Each time he looked at you, which was frequently, you were staring back at him with the same intrigued expression.

Tonight was no different. You sat across from him at your dining table, tracing the edge of your wine glass with the tip of your finger. The small movement had Steven completely entranced. His mind ran wild with thoughts of what your touch on him would be like. Would you be as gentle as you were with the glass? Would your fingers be as soft as they looked? Would you treat him with the same delicacy?

“Steven,” your voice broke him from his reverie. He hummed in response, eyes lifting to yours. His cheeks caught flame, as though he had just been caught in some act. Still, his nerves eased as you flashed a winning smile at him. “Would you like to stay over?” You must have noticed the panicked look in his eyes because you quickly added, “Nothing scary, I swear. I just thought we could watch a movie, lay in bed and veg. You know, good, old fashioned slumber party.” You shrugged, as though your words hadn’t forced an entirely new series of thoughts into his head.

As though he wasn’t imagining feeling your touch on an entirely new section of his skin.

Steven waited for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Was he shaking? He was sure he was shaking. 

Then you grinned, and Steven wasn’t sure he would be able to focus on anything else. You had the most adorable smile. It was big enough that your eyes closed with the effort, your nose scrunching in response. It was brighter than any star in the sky. “Amazing! I’ll get this all cleaned up, then.

____________________________________________________________________________

The film had only been on for half an hour or so, and Steven could already feel his eyes getting heavy. Something about being in the same bed as you, your scent enveloping him and warmth radiating off of you, brought him some small amount of comfort. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this at ease.

You seemed to notice his exhausted state. Steven nearly jumped out of his skin as you set your hand on top of his. “You can lay down, if you’d like. I won’t be offended if you fall asleep.” The soft giggle that left your lips set him aflame. 

Steven wanted to protest. Truly, he did. As he opened his mouth to speak, a yawn left him instead. He turned to you, a soft pout on his lips. “I’m terrible company, I’m so sorry.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Really, don’t worry about it.” You patted your lap twice, and Steven felt all the blood in his body rush anywhere that wasn’t his brain. “Here, come lay down. You deserve the rest.”

Steven wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion fogging his brain or something else, but he hardly hesitated to adjust his figure in the bed, letting his head rest in your lap. You hummed softly, and he was ready to jump up, afraid he’d done something wrong.

As your fingers swept a few curls away from his face, Steven could feel his eyes drifting closed. Every muscle in his body relaxed for what felt like the first time in years.

Steven was only awake long enough to hear you whisper, “I’m so glad to have met you, Steven Grant”, before he finally allowed the darkness of sleep take him. This time, in a realm where nightmares often consumed him, he saw only you.

Steven knew, in whatever capacity, he was glad to have met you, too.

I want to cuddle with Marc and do cafuné 😭😭

“Your hair is really soft after you wash it” with Marc🥺(can we send in more than one lmfao)

pairing: marc spector x reader

warnings: fluff!

a/n: yeees you can send in more if you want ;)) btw i also combined this with an anon's request for a head massage!

Night has fallen over the city. There’s a calmness to the air that makes you softly smile as you wait for your husband to finish washing up. You pass the time by reading a book in bed, ready to turn in for the evening soon. 

The chapter you’re currently on has you completely absorbed that you don’t hear the water in the shower shutting off or notice a shirtless Marc entering the room a short while later. It’s only when he snatches the book out of your grasp and sets it on the nightstand do you finally acknowledge him.

“Babe, I wasn’t done with that,” you huff as Marc crawls onto the bed, settling between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Although, I guess it could probably wait…”

“Mhmm…” he hums in response, gazing up at you sweetly that it made you forget what you’ve read in the last fifteen minutes. “Hi, baby.”

“Hello to you, too,” you reply as Marc nuzzles his head in your stomach as if you’re a pillow. You feel him breathing in the scent of you, savoring the warmth of your body against his. 

Smiling, you thread your fingers through Marc’s dark, damp hair. “Your hair is really soft after you wash it.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles into you, voice thick with exhaustion. “I used your conditioner.”

You lightly chuckle as you twirl each silky curl around your finger. “I know. I’ve been smelling it for weeks now.”

“It’s a really good conditioner. Smells like strawberries, too.”

“It surely does,” you agree, gently drifting your nails through his locks. You then move your fingertips in circular motions on his scalp before moving to his temples, drawing out soft blissful groans from his parted lips. His breaths come out slow and even against your skin, and it’s quiet and peaceful and relaxing—

Then, Marc starts to snore softly, and you hold back the giggle trying to escape your lips, afraid that it’ll wake him from his slumber. Even though you’re beginning to feel pins and needles from where most of his weight is resting on you, you don’t have the heart to disturb him.

It’s rare seeing Marc this way. The usual deep furrow of his forehead and worry lines creasing his face is all gone, serenity now painting over his features. He melts into your hold; finds safety and comfort in the way a home does. Because that’s what you truly are to him— his home, his everything.

You take it all in, embrace the simple delicateness of this moment and let it etch itself into your memory for an eternity. 

Nights like this remind you of your abundance of love for him. And as you carefully brush Marc’s hair away from his forehead to press a kiss there, you wonder how life could be any more beautiful than this.

✨ send me an ask with a sentence + a character and i’ll write the next five ✨