Reading This Was More Cathartic Than Expected

Thena x Autistic reader?? Reader has bad memory, talks at bad times and has tics? Tics that are like random head movements and saying things randomly? Sorry, just tryna make it so I can relate to it if you do end up writing it🏋️‍♀️

Hey! So I’m going to try my best at writing this, but I’ve never done Thena or an autistic reader, nor am I autistic, so if any of this is offensive, I really apologize and please call me out on it!

But here it is! Hope you enjoy it @whyisgam0raa

Let it be Known

Pairing: Thena x autistic! Reader

Warnings: protective Thena, mean Ikaris, overall pretty fluffy

Summary: Thena is very protective over you

You were a part of the Eternals, you could control water and ice. Most of the team liked you, most being everyone but Ikaris, he had something against you, and you weren’t sure what.

One day during a meeting with the team about a problem with the humans, that day your tics were really bad, possibly due to stress from the problem. Your head would make random movements while others were talking, you could tell it was making some people a little annoyed, mainly Ikaris, which made you a little embarrassed but Thena smiling at you from across the table when she saw you were, made that feeling go away.

Ikaris was in the middle of proposing what he thought the solution to the problem was when you blurted out, “the blue on your suit is made from Woad, Isatis tinctoria.” Your hand flew to cover your mouth, knowing Ikaris absolutely hated when you would blurt stuff out at the wrong time due to your tics. He glared at you, and you mumbled an apology. “You know what? Why are you even on this team?!? It’s obvious that your autism is affecting the productivity of this team and you really shouldn’t be on it! Those stupid tics of yours are just causing more problems!” Ikaris was full on yelling at you, but it was just making your head jolt more and more.

Thena jumped up and summoned her sword and shield, “you better shut up now unless you want this in a really uncomfortable place.” He glared at Thena but backed down. You ran off and Thena ran after you, leaving Ikaris to get chewed out by the rest of the team.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s alright, come here,” she moved to comfort you. “Ikaris is just being mean and an ass, it’s not true, I promise.” “I like you, a lot,” you mentally face palmed yourself, why did it have to be at this moment you blurt out your biggest secret. “I’m so sorry,” you quickly stated as soon as you saw Thena’s confused face. “I don’t know why I said that, I mean it’s true, but like you obviously don’t like me back so I probably just ruined our friendship.” You were rambling, you both knew it.

To stop you, Thena leaned over and planted a kiss to your lips, you immediately kissed back. After a little, you both separated, “what was I saying,” you laughed, only half joking. “Oh, just that you’d love to go on a date with me this Friday.” She winked at you, and you blushed, “sounds good to me.”

My heart is genuinely beating so hard right now!!! I think I might die from happiness!!!

Enamored [34] - The Masquerade

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Anything can happen at a masquerade.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules.

Word Count: 5500

Series Masterlist

You had always loved masquerades.

Picking a costume and a mask was almost as fun as the ball itself and now that your costume was here, you could hardly wait until the ball tonight.

When you woke up the next morning, the whole house was buzzing. The preparations were almost over, but of course there were always last minute changes and Aunt Lavinia had insisted on supervising everything with Cecily. Instead of sitting down to have breakfast, you just grabbed your plate and made your way to the ballroom, humming a tune to yourself. If your mother were here, she would have surely scolded you for carrying your plate around and not eating while sitting down, and yet, you were curious to see how the ballroom looked.

And as soon as you got there, you held your breath, stopping dead on your tracks.

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Oh yeah

You're getting married to your Tumblr pfp how fucked are u

Fuck now I have no reason to be exited on Saturday 🥹😢

Enamored [47] - The End

A.N: And the last chapter❤ I cannot thank you enough for your wonderful support throughout the story my loves, ILYSM ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Everyone finds their home, sooner or later.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of pregnancy.

Word Count: 5700

Series Masterlist

The morning of the ball was nothing if not complete chaos.

It felt as if nothing would be completely ready by the time for the ball to start, even though you had basically stayed up until dawn to make sure you hadn’t overlooked anything. You barely had any time to eat or sit down during the day and instead spent the whole time either in the ballroom or in the yard but now that you were looking at the result—

It looked absolutely amazing.

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YOU DID NOT !!! YOU FUCKING DID NOOOOT !!! HOW COILD YOU ?!? Whyyyyy NOOOOOO

The Surrogate [pt.3]

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: After months of peaceful living with Bucky he is called to arms as the fight with Thanos comes to Wakanda. Warnings: 18+ only, pregnancy, smut, labour, war WC: 3018 Set after Civil War, just before Infinity War and after End Game.

|| Main Masterlist || Drabbles Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 ||

The hospital bed was shaking as Natasha’s nervousness left her leg bouncing and you looked to Clint to try calm her but he was too busy enjoying the rare sight. He was poised against the wall with one leg bent behind him as he scratched at the empty spot that was usually taken up by his ankle bracelet. Finally, the sonographer entered the room and Nat’s head shot up from where she had been watching your stomach move under her hand.

There was no waiting around or polite small talk as she squirted the gel onto your stomach, everyone in Wakanda knew the longer Nat or Clint stayed in their country the higher risk of getting caught. No one wanted to implicate the Wakandans so it was best to get the scan done quickly so everyone could disperse back across the globe. Everyone except you.

“Measurements look great, everything looks to be growing at the right rate.” Dr N’Yana smiled as she took a rare look away from the screen. “Were you wanting to know the gender?”

“Please!” Nat begged as she leant even closer. “We have a bet.”

“It’s a girl.” You and Clint both reaffirmed as Natasha shook her head.

“Everything points to a boy.” She argued once again.

“Old wives tales don’t count.” You laughed, as you looked back at Dr N’Yana. “Put her out of her misery please.”

“Sorry, Miss Romanoff, she is definitely a girl.”

Natasha didn’t look disappointed at all at losing the bet, she was too busy wiping the tears of joy that filled her eyes. It didn’t matter that you had been feeling her kicks for over a week or that you had seen her sonogram at 12 weeks, it all suddenly seemed real now. A tissue was waved in front of your face and you realised you were also crying, Clint handing the tissues out to both you and Nat as he grinned at the news.

“Congrats, Nat.” You sniffed after blowing your nose. “I knew from those kicks she was going to be a mini you.”

Her arms wrapped around your neck as she quietly thanked you once again. The three of you were family, she never had to thank you for anything and you reminded her that as you cleaned the slimy gel off your stomach and accepted her hand to help you sit up.

“Things are getting pretty rough out there right now. I don’t know when we can stop in again next but no matter what, you call me the moment you think she’s coming.” She said as you walked her out to the jet, a new stack of images tucked close to her chest in a zippered pocket. “I can’t believe how much you are glowing. What I can’t tell is if it’s the pregnancy or Bucky and that vitamin D.”

“Shh…” You hissed as you looked around the public area. “It’s not like that, we don’t do that.”

“Wait. Seriously?” She asked as she skidded to a halt.

“No, I…we do other stuff, just not that.”

“You do realise there's a thing called a mucus plug that stops anything from getting up there, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“Oh god, I can’t have this conversation with you, or anyone for that matter.”

Clint’s laugh reminded you he was following a few feet behind and your face burned with embarrassment. “You’re gonna need it when it’s time to get that baby out.” He laughed. “I remember Laura going feral when she hit her due date, couldn’t get enough.”

“You do realise I will have to look Laura in the eye once all of this is over?” You grimaced. “I don’t need to hear this. Would you look at the time? Your flight’s set to take off.”

“I’m the pilot. It takes off when I say it does.” Nat laughed at your expense before sighing. “But you’re right, we should be heading off. There’s only so long Laura can wear the ankle monitor and replicate this dweebs movements.”

You were getting better with their goodbyes but you still felt a pang of hurt every time they left and this was no different. You gave them both a hug before Clint pulled the three of you all together and kissed your forehead before heading to the jet with a wave. Nat lingered a moment longer to press her hand to your belly one last time and you remembered what you had thought earlier.

“Can you tell Steve that he’s wrong about Bucky and he should visit next time?”

You could tell she was curious to ask what you were talking about but Clint had started the engines and so she just nodded in agreement and made her way to the ramp before he left without her.

═══════☆═══════

18 weeks later

You were gently brushing Bucky’s hair as he slept beside you, the long strands almost curling from how often you twirled them around your fingers. You barely slept these days, the weight of your pregnancy leaving you uncomfortable and unable to find a position to sleep in. Instead you spent the early hours laying face to face, watching him sleep as a breeze fluttered the curtain at the front door.

“You should be resting.” He murmured with his sleepy, gravelly voice.

“You go back to sleep baby, no point in both of us being tired today and my back hurts.” You replied softly, hoping he would go back to sleep but instead he climbed over the double mattress he had upgraded to months ago and began rubbing your back.

You sighed as his hand worked its magic and the soft sounds filling the room quickly left his cock growing hard between your thighs. There would be no going back to sleep for either of you until you could alleviate the pulsing ache between your legs and he hummed happily as you lifted your leg over his hip. The massage was forgotten as his hips rolled behind you, pushing his head through your folds to find your core wet and needy for him.

“God, always so ready for me aren’t you, doll?” He moaned in your ear between kissing your neck.

“Please, I need you, Buck.” You pleaded as he kept teasing you with his hips.

He shifted slightly behind you, the angle changing and when he rolled his hips his cock pressed into your dripping cunt, slowly filling you until you couldn’t possibly take any more. A high keen expelled as he stretched you and his own moan sent shivers down your spine while his fingers tightened their hold on your hips. Your patience ran out as you chased the release he could give you and you pushed yourself back against him and rolled your own hips, riding his cock and taking your own pleasure.

“That’s it, y/n, fuck, take what you need from me.”

His hand slipped over your hip and teased your clit, circling and rolling it to elicit the mewls you couldn’t hold back. His strong legs pushed you wider when your legs threatened close with ecstasy and his thrusts grew even harder, fucking you into oblivion as your body began to tremble around him. His growl ruptured the fragments of your mind and sent you over the edge, pussy gripping his cock and trying to keep him deep inside. You even whimpered when he pulled out and you missed the full feeling before you felt the heated splatters of his cum painting your lower back.

You went to climb out of bed and get cleaned up but he pressed you back into the mattress with a kiss and got out himself. You watched his silhouette make its way around the room and he came back with a cool washcloth and gently cleaned the mess he had made. When he was finished you were finally feeling relaxed enough to attempt to sleep again and he climbed back in behind you, arm hanging over your hip and already falling asleep.

When you woke again the room was bright and Bucky was missing from the bed. Fresh fruit and a glass of water was set on the bedside with a net over the top and smiled at the sweet thought as you picked at a slice of pawpaw. It wasn’t until you heard voices outside that you stopped snacking and pulled a flowing dress over your body to go and see who was visiting.

“T’Challa, what brings you out here?” You asked with a smile that was harder than normal to produce, the ache in your back only increasing as you got out of bed.

“You should be resting still.” Bucky sighed as he saw the pain in your features.

“This affects her too, white wolf, she should know.” T’Challa said before turning his attention to you. “We have a war coming, New York has already been attacked and Tony is missing.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as you thought of your old team mate and you pressed a hand to your forehead as your body suddenly felt too hot. A sweat broke on your brow as you tried to stop the tears that were building until you noticed a case sitting on the wagon of hay Bucky was unloading.

“What is that?” You asked as you touched the black and gold metal plates of the prosthetic arm. “How long have you had this?”

“Shuri built it in case he ever came out of retirement.” T’Challa answered without actually answering and a spark of anger ignited in your belly.

“You mean you knowingly kept that locked away when he could have been using it.”

“Y/n, it’s fine. I didn’t need it.” Bucky said as he grabbed your chin and turned your head to look at his sincerity.

You took a deep breath and blamed your irritability on the lack of sleep before nodding and apologising to the King, only for speaking to him the way you did not for what you said. You still thought they should have given him the arm as soon as it was made.

“Steve’s jet will be here within the hour, I suggest you find your way to the palace too, y/n, it’s not going to be safe out here when the battle begins.”

With that T’Challa turned and left with his Dora Milaje and you watched Bucky pull his shirt over his head and begin unwrapping the cloth he used to hide his stump where his arm was. You guided the top of the arm to his shoulder and felt a magnetic pull when it was a few inches away, the arm locking into place with the help of a mechanism and he rolled his arm, getting a feel for the new addition.

“I like the new colour scheme.” You ran your fingers along the plates and found his eyes watching you touch him. “I wonder what features it has.”

“You’re insatiable.” He shook his head with a rueful smile, looking at the King’s jet taking off back to the heart of the city. “When this is over we will figure that out, for now I need to get you to the palace. No arguments.”

He led you back inside to sit on the bed while he unlocked a trunk that had been stuffed in the corner for as long as you had been there. You watched curiously as he pulled out duffel bags and you heard the familiar rattle of guns inside one but the other was silent. He opened that first, pulling out his Winter Soldier gear that you had seen him wear in Germany.

“Does it scare you?” You asked as he held the leather vest up and shook out the dust that had gathered. “Wearing that again and fighting?”

“No.” He opened the weapons bag and began slotting the knives into the holders on the vest before looking up at you. “I have a reason to fight now and people to protect.”

You rose from the bed with a groan and made your way over to where he was dressing, buckling the many clips that crossed over his broad chest. Your fingers brushed his aside and you clipped him up before resting your palms over his leather clad chest.

“You be careful out there.” You ordered sternly. “I need you to come home to me.”

He dropped his forehead to yours, his hair creating a curtain to your own little world. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bucky, but promise me.”

“I promise, now let’s go.”

The quinjet was just landing as you arrived at the landing pad and Natasha was first off the ramp, hands reaching for your stomach that had exploded since she last visited. Not even the video calls could really do justice to the size of your bump and she was absolutely stunned as she cradled it.

“Your mommy’s here, baby girl.” You smiled as she started kicking wildly before groaning as she hit your bladder. “Great, excuse me while I go to the toilet, again.”

“Want me to come?” Bucky asked as you clenched your teeth at the strain.

“No, no. You haven’t seen Steve in years, I’ll be back in a minute.” You reassured him and pushed him towards Steve who was stepping off the ramp.

You hadn’t gotten far inside the palace doors when the pressure inside you shifted and a torrent of liquid ran down your legs. You still felt the need to go for a pee and swore at the realisation that your waters had indeed broken as you leant against the wall for support.

“Ayo, please go and retrieve Natasha and James.” You heard T’Challa order and looked up to find his concerned eyes taking in the scene.

“Sorry about the floor.” You muttered but he just laughed.

“It is the least of our worries today.” He said before the hurried footsteps of Nat and Bucky reached you. “Shuri has had a room prepared for her already. Bast bless you with a safe delivery.”

“Kid’s got a real problem with timing.” You tried to joke as Bucky’s new arm wrapped around your waist and supported you as they led the way to the medical wing high up the palace floors.

“Unknown aircraft entering the atmosphere.” An alarm alerted from the speakers in the elevator and your anxiety spiked at the thought of your friends out on the battlefield.

“What are you doing here?” Shuri asked as she looked up from the surgery she was performing on Vision. “Now is not the time to go into labour.”

“Tell that to her.” You groaned as the pain in your back radiated to the front. “She missed that memo.”

“On the bed over there.” Shuri nodded with her chin. “I’ll watch over her, they need all the help they can get down there.”

Your eyes widened at the thought of giving birth alone and you reached out, taking one of their hands. “Finish the bastards quickly and get back here.”

Natasha nodded rigidly before seeing the spacecrafts cast shadows over the city and bent over your stomach to whisper in her native tongue before kissing your forehead. “Stay safe.”

She disappeared from the room without looking back and you turned to Bucky. “What did she say?”

“Your momma will always be with you and she loves you.” He said after a moment's pause, wondering if he should tell you. “I know, I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

You smiled as he read your mind and pulled him closer by the buckles on his vest so you could kiss him. “Watch out for yourself too, don’t get all selfless and killed because I fucking love you, James. And I kinda need you if we want a baby of our own, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” He smirked against your lips before pulling away. “I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.”

You watched his purposeful gait as he left the room and wondered how even posed for war with aliens he could look so sexy.

“You really thinking about another baby when you haven’t even given birth?” Shuri laughed. “Crazy.”

“It’s not too bad right now.”

═══════☆═══════

“Fuuuuuck!” You screamed as another contraction ripped through your abdomen. “Shuri!”

“Breathe, y/n, you are doing great.” She said from the other side of the room where she was still performing the surgery and muttering under her breath. “Yelling is not making me go any faster.”

“I heard that.”

“Sorry!”

You relaxed as the contraction eased off and lifted your head to see the chaos out the glass windows, instantly regretting your decision. Wanda had been helping take the pain away and ease your mind but she had been needed on the battlefield and you were left without any pain relief and the contractions were coming hard and fast. A crash at the door pulled you away from your worry and a body was thrown across the room.

“Y/n! Get to that room.” Shuri pointed to a door close by and you pulled yourself off the bed and shuffled as quickly as you could into the supply room.

You made it inside just before a hideous alien stepped in the main room and grappled with Shuri, the destruction only ending when Vis threw him and the alien out of the window to cascade down the palace wall. It was all too much, too much chaos, too much fighting, too much everything that you slid down the wall and curled up on the cool tile floor. There was nothing you could do except grit your teeth and cry as the contractions took your breath away and suffer alone.

Suddenly a wave of peace washed over you and the battle outside fell silent. Did that mean we won? You prayed that Bucky and Nat were safe, along with everyone else as a strange weightless feeling took over your body. Every nerve tingled oddly and you looked at your fingers as they began to crumble to dust that quickly spread across your skin.

“What the fu-“

Click here for next part.

since its mother's day, how about bucky barnes being extremely protective over his pregnant gf

Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful people in the maternal role, it is hard so you deserve to have a day to yourself! 

Bucky is always protective and doting but the moment he saw that test come back positive he went into overdrive.

You couldn't even have a drink of water unless it came from a sealed bottle and even then he tasted it first. You didn't understand the reasoning, yes he may have enemies but you doubted they would be sophisticated enough to poison the random bottle you had picked out from a dozen on the shelf.

Bucky watched hundreds of videos and took a cooking class just so that he could learn to make your favourite foods that you craved, ensuring it was cooked through properly so that it was perfectly safe for you and the child you were growing.

Even Sam was shocked when Bucky almost put him in a choke hold for running towards too fast but he was excited to be an uncle. Soon they were both overprotective.

You thought you would be happy to have some space to breathe when he was called away on a short mission but you soon missed his overbearing presence, calling him just to hear his panicked tone as he answered with ‘Is the baby coming?’ every time. 

One time you spotted someone following you while he was away and you suddenly thought all his fears were true so you called him in your own panic, he ended up admitting he had called in a few favours to have some protective detail keep an eye on you at a distance. 

He was also very proud that you had been able to spot them and it gave him some reassurance. He still had to sleep on the couch for a night. Not that he listened. The second you were asleep he snuck back in and talked quietly to his child, feeling the kicks in response with a smile. 

You left Bucky to build the nursery and he enlisted Sam and Joaquin’s technical help, installing more than just he baby monitor you bought. You went to offer them lunch and found wires hanging around the room where they were putting CCTV camera’s in, silent alarms and a heartbeat sensor beneath the cot mattress. 

This is absolutely perfect !! I need a part 2 god

Moon Struck

Summary: Steven asks you out, Marc falls in love.

"“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you.

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes."

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: ~8.3k

Warnings: mostly fluff, canon-typical violence, threats of violence, angst mostly from Marc because he's just like that

A/N: My first moon knight fic! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

“Steven!”

Steven ignores the shout of his headmate as he hurries through the museum. 

He’s late, and he so hated making you wait for him. He had promised you long ago a personal tour of the museum. One you had insisted for months he eventually give you, when he had time. 

His heels drag, Marc putting on the brakes as he fronts for just a moment. 

Steven nearly drops the travel cup of tea he’s carrying, briefly tripping over his own feet and drawing the attention of several nearby people listening to a museum tour guide. 

“Sorry!” He gives an awkward wave before continuing on. 

“Would you stop that, Marc!” He glances at his reflection in the display case he’s passing. “You’re making us late.”

“I’m making you late. I didn’t agree to this.” Marc’s shoulders are tense, the line of his brows drawn together. 

Steven wonders if he’s wearing the same expression and briefly passes a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to be scowling when-

He bursts through a doorway, into the Egyptian exhibition, and spots you waiting exactly where you said you would be. 

A shy smile tugs at his mouth, and he tries straightening his shirt collar and running a hand through his unruly curls. He knows it's useless, that his shirts are perpetually wrinkled and his hair nearly always a mess. 

Marc has gone sullenly silent, and he knows he’s watching you too. 

Marc, for reasons Steven cannot begin to parse out, does not like you. 

Or, he pretends not to. 

Again, for reasons unknown. 

Which is entirely bonkers, because you are the most brilliant person Steven has ever met. 

He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, which is worried and frayed at the edges from his nervous fingers. 

Despite rushing moments earlier, he’s now anxious about how to actually approach you. 

You were his friend, he should have no problem with walking over and saying hello. 

Steven shifts from foot to foot as people swim around him in the doorway. He’s acutely aware that he’s stood in everyone’s way, the cup of tea in his hand going cold. 

The other thing he’s been promising you for months, a proper cup of tea. 

“Good,” Marc says, reflected in another display case, hands on his hips, chin lifted, “you see how stupid this is. Let’s go home.” 

But it isn’t stupid. 

It’s not stupid to want this. 

It’s not stupid to want you. 

Steven swallows, watching you move to read another plaque. 

As you read, your shoulders droop and then you dig in the bag slung over your shoulder. You glance at your phone when you find it, before tucking it away again. 

Then, you glance at your wristwatch, like it might tell you a different time than your phone had. 

You sigh and move toward the exit. 

Which is Steven’s cue to call your name, loudly. 

So loudly in fact that people turn to look at him. 

Brilliant. Already making a fool of myself. 

“Which is why we should just go home-,” Marc starts, but Steven ignores him. 

Marc, the absolute worry wart, thought you would break his heart. 

You’re smiling at him, a hand lifted in greeting as he approaches you. He would like to think you look relieved, happy to see him. 

But you’re like the sun, and probably look at everyone that way. 

He nearly stumbles into you, hastily handing you the cup of tea, wrapping your fingers around the cooling paper cup, his fingers laced over yours. 

“I was meant to bring you a proper cup and here I am with cold tea.” 

“Hardly very polite of you,” you tease. “Late to meet someone and with a cold cup of tea.” You smile and tsk under your breath. 

Steven fidgets and releases your hand on the cup, fingers nervously tangling together in front of his chest instead. “I’m really so very sorry. I’m always running late. I-I meant to be early today-,”

“Oh, my God,” Marc mutters. 

You lie a hand against Steven’s arm, stilling the nervous fluttering of his hands. “I was teasing you. It’s alright. I do expect an extra long tour though.”

Steven nods, staring at the shape of your eyes, the flutter of your lashes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

You’re quite close to him, his head bent over yours, and he thinks he can see all the shades hidden in your eyes. 

“You look like a love-struck moron,” he catches the reflection of Marc behind your head, arms crossed over his chest, brows still pulled together in that irritated line. “Stop staring at her like that.” 

But he notices that Marc is staring at you too, looking at the back of your head, like he could see to the marrow of you, and your intentions, if he just looked hard enough. 

But there’s a dip in his voice that makes Steven think he might be just a tiny bit jealous. 

Steven shakes his head, trying to ignore Marc’s acid comments. 

“Of course,” he says, glancing down at your hands, the cup held between them. “Would you try it, please?”

Steven had been shocked to find out you were a coffee drinker only, that you had never really tasted tea, at least not a proper cup. 

“I’ve had iced tea,” you had offered weakly, only for Steven to wrinkle his nose. 

“Cold tea? Why would anyone enjoy that?”

Now, he’s brought you a cup of cold tea anyways, and it was tea that wasn’t even meant to be cold. 

You smile at him, lifting the cup as you brightly say, “Cheers!” in your best impression of his accent. 

It’s quite terrible, and makes him laugh.

You take a sip, a considering look pulling over your features. 

“It’s really better when it's hot,” Steven says, awaiting your verdict like it really mattered, like it was incredibly important that you liked the cup of tea he had brought you.

You tilt your head to the side and nod, “It's still warm.” You take another sip, which Steven takes as a good sign. Marc is watching you too, and Steven knows that Marc thinks he isn’t noticing the intense attention he gives you. “I like it. Did you put something else in it?”

Honey. 

He had put honey in despite his better judgment, because he noticed the way you absolutely hammered your coffee with sugar packets. 

“Honey,” he murmurs softly as you look into his eyes with a bemused smile on your face. “Just a bit. Figured you might like it better that way.” 

“Can’t say I’m a convert. Coffee will always have my heart,” you say. “But it is very good.” 

Steven is glad, so glad, you like it. 

Maybe it makes him unreasonably happy. 

“Cheers,” he says, still watching you carefully, smiling, his face very near to yours. He can see the fluttering of your lashes, feel the ghost of your breath. 

You don’t seem to mind the closeness. 

Marc rolls his eyes, and Steven puts a hand on your arm to pull you away from the reflection. 

So he doesn’t have to think about his annoyed alter. 

He tries not to be too upset with Marc, with his brooding protective streak. But he does wish that he’d lighten up just a bit. 

Steven’s heart is soft, it was going to be broken no matter what happened in their life. He was okay with that, especially if it meant spending time with you. 

But that was a hard pill for Marc to swallow.

His habit of shielding Steven was still a hard one to break, even now they were working together. 

“Where would you like to start?” Steven asks you, something like pride filling his veins as he watches you continue to sip at the cup of earl gray. 

“You’re the expert,” you say, looping your arm through his. “You tell me where we should start. Although, I’m very interested in Taweret, after the stories you’ve told me.” 

“Oh, she’s bloody amazin’,” Steven says, watching the quirk of your lips as he takes your duffle bag from you, slinging it over his own shoulder, conscious of Marc’s silence at the back of his mind. “‘Course we can start with her.” 

Steven leads you, the pressure of your fingers against his arm welcome, a warmth spreading up from his belly to land at the back of his mouth. 

It makes his heart ache and his fingers tremble. 

The feeling is strange and welcome. 

He likes you. 

Quite a lot, actually. 

Which was why he hoped today was the day he finally managed to ask you out, the reason Marc tried so desperately to make them late. 

He had met you before he knew about Marc, before their grand Egyptian adventure and Khonshu. 

When he first met you some months ago, you were wandering the halls of the museum, a duffle bag much like the one you have today slung over your shoulder, your head tilted to the side as you examined an exhibit. 

Steven was meant to have been helping Donna move gift shop inventory when he spotted you, brows furrowed as you read a plaque. It was the way you stood that caught his attention, with your toes pointed out and heels together. 

He couldn’t have looked away if he tried, and so he wasn’t surprised when he ran into someone and dropped the box of inventory, stuffed goddesses and cheap replicas of the pyramids spilling across the floor right to the tips of your toes. 

People weren’t exactly nice to Steven. 

He didn’t have any friends, his co-workers overlooked him, forgot him, or were rude to him. He had his mother, of course, but things always seemed to keep them from speaking directly.

He knows the truth now, about his and Marc’s mother, about Marc. 

Still, that day, as the man he bumped into gave him a dirty glare as he turned away, you had stooped down next to him and helped him tuck the merch back into the box. 

You had been kind to him, friendly as no one else was. 

Your hand had touched his and it had been like those moments in all the cheesy rom-coms he didn’t remember watching. He had looked up into your eyes, realizing he was still apologizing repeatedly out loud.

“Hey,” you had said, before tilting your head to the side and glancing down, “It’s okay. Do you need some help?”

No one offered Steven help, not with anything, even when he asked for it. 

And so he swallowed and nodded even though you, as a patron of the museum, should not have helped him. He should have refused your gentle help.  

But you’d helped him until Donna came along and shooed you away. 

He’d thought that he’d never see you again, but you visited the museum all the time, at least once a week. 

He found out that you’d recently moved to London, that you were a staunch coffee only person, that you were a dancer, that your childhood dream had been to be an archeologist before your talent for dance had destroyed that hope. 

You were more interested in Greek and Roman mythology, but quickly became fascinated with Egypt, and Steven had been delighted, weirdly, bizarrely proud that he had put you onto it. 

That you read the books he recommended, that you listened to the music he told you about. That you listened to him without interrupting, or sighing, or checking the time. 

Well, those things were only an incredible bonus. 

You made his throat close up some nights when he lay trying not to fall asleep, because you were the first friend he can remember having besides Gus or his mother. 

Steven was lonely, but you made his world a little less so. 

Now he has Marc, who’s more than enough company some days, a friend that never left him. 

He’d been worried, upon coming back to London, that you wouldn’t be there, that he had dreamed you up and you were never real in the first place. 

He’d been excited to let Marc see you through his own eyes, though Marc claimed with indifference that he remembered you, that he already knew you through Steven and didn’t need to meet you properly. 

Steven had a suspicion that the disinterest was feigned, that he cared too, to know if you were still in London. 

Steven didn’t work at the museum anymore, and so it had taken a week of hanging around the place to finally catch you there one day after a rehearsal. 

To his utter horror, you had been visibly upset with him. Though he had missed you and worried after you, he never imagined that you would do the same for him. “I thought you just - I thought maybe something horrible happened. You just disappeared and they said you were fired? I thought you disappeared and didn’t bother saying goodbye. Steven what happened-,” 

You had demanded his phone number, so you could always reach him. 

It was amazing really, that you had never had it before. 

Steven was just grateful you were still around, still coming by the museum.

Most worryingly though, Marc had not been impressed with you. Or pretended not to be. Though he tried to hide it, Steven always had a keen sense of how Marc really felt, and Marc cared more than he ever let on. 

Now, though, he feels the gentle pressure of your fingers against his arm and thanks whatever god that might be listening, that you were still around, a person that rolled with the punches life dealt. 

Against the advice of his alter, who had almost seemed nervous, Steven had told you everything about what happened in Egypt, about Khonshu and Marc and Layla and Ammit and everything in between. 

“Don’t do it,” Marc had snarled. “She’s gonna think you’re nuts. She’s going to-. 

Marc hadn’t finished his thought. 

Whatever ridicule and judgement he had anticipated, you hadn’t fallen to his expectations. 

You had listened and somehow understood. 

“So,” you ask now as Steven leads you through the museum, “How is Marc?”

“Being a bit of a knobhead at the moment, to be honest,” Steven says, watching the smile that tugs at your mouth. 

“Oh. Khonshu related or..?”

Steven’s always honest with you, and so he doesn’t lie now. “Wasn’t too keen on my meeting you today, actually.” 

You nod as Steven leads you past an exhibit, into an adjoining room, past a miniature construction of the Pyramids of Giza. “Marc doesn’t exactly like me, does he?”

Steven waits for the snort from Marc, for a derisive comment. But nothing comes. 

The silence is more telling than anything. 

“No, he’s just a bit-,” Steven stops, wiggles his fingers, not really sure how to explain exactly how Marc was. 

You smile weakly at him, “We don’t have to talk about it, Steven. I know he’s very protective. In any case, I’m glad you like me. And I really care for you. I hope Marc knows that, at least.”

Marc remains stubbornly silent. 

Steven gives you the tour of the museum he always dreamed of giving when he worked there. You listen to him attentively, you ask him questions, and for the remainder of the day, Marc is quiet, though Steven knows he’s present, listening in instead of walling himself off. 

Mostly Marc leaves Steven be, when he’s with you. He can’t be mad at the happiness you bring, though he tries to protect the system in his own way. Steven knows it's why he’s so surly though he wishes he’d give you a chance. 

Marc claims that one of them needs to be clear headed, rational, when you inevitably break their heart. 

So, he’s surprised, when you’re leaving the museum near closing and asking Steven about what brand of tea he would recommend so you can start making it at home, Marc’s voice echoes in the back of his head. “Ask her out. You said you were going to today.”

Steven glances down, at the watery refraction of Marc staring up at him from a dirty puddle on the front steps of the museum. 

Marc says, surprisingly gentle, “You’re happy with her. Ask.” It's only  slightly demanding in tone. Steven suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. 

But his alter is right. 

So, Steven stumbles to a halt nearly knocking you into the puddle. 

And asks. 

“Wondering if maybe you’d come out on a date with me?”

You blink, your hand on his arm where you’d caught your balance, his fingers around your other wrist.

You just stare at him, your lips parting in surprise. 

Fear wells up into the back of his throat when you don’t immediately answer and he starts to stutter out an apology. “Sorry, sorry, don’t know what’s come over me just then. Just a bit taken with you, I suppose.” Steven swallows, feels the words pressing at the inside of his lips, nervous chatter threatening to break free. “You’re quite beautiful and very kind - bit inevitable that I’d have a crush on you, innit?” 

You blink again, stunned, like you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You have a crush on…me?” 

“Yes, no - well, yes, I do but -,” It’s not just a crush. Crush seems like a silly little word for the feelings you make flop around inside him. Squiggly, fuzzy feelings. 

“Shut up, Steven, give her a chance to reply.” Marc snaps at him, like he’s just as afraid that Steven will mess this up. 

He takes a steadying breath, reminding himself that you were truly very kind, and that if you said no, it would not be the end of all he held dear. “Yes, I quite like you. You’re kind and beautiful and smart. What’s not to like?”

“Nice job.”

And for once, Marc doesn’t sound sarcastic. 

His helpfulness is strange for someone who had been so against the notion mere hours ago. 

Steven bites down the rest of the words swimming in his mouth, telling himself that Marc is right about this thing. He needs to let you reply. 

“I, um, yeah,” you smile, almost like you’re unsure if he really just asked you, “yes. I’d like to go on a date.”

Steven stares at you, not sure he heard right. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“Jesus.”

“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you. 

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes.

Oh. Oh. 

Maybe Marc likes you too.

He was just shit at showing it, saying it.

Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned about the breaking of Steven’s heart, because it might break his too. 

“Oh,” you say, suddenly digging in your bag, still hanging on Steven’s shoulder. He shifts so you can better reach. “I got this for Gus the Second. I forgot to mention it earlier, although now is such a stupid time to be giving it to you,” you say, dipping your fingers into a pocket and bringing out a tiny replica of the Great Sphinx. “Sorry if he already has this one.”

You seem flustered with yourself, like you’re ruining a moment, when all your gift makes him want to do is kiss you. 

He flustered you too, apparently.

You got his fish a gift.  

Steven takes the replica from you gently, sliding his thumb along the surface. “Oh, he’ll absolutely love it.” He pauses, “You said yes, yeah? To a date? With me?”

Something about it doesn’t compute. Maybe you’ve confused him with someone else. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Did you have something in mind, Steven?”

“Er-,” he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but his name on your lips is like a balm. Everything would be okay. 

“Just dinner, Steven,” Marc says. “Doesn’t have to be elaborate.” 

Steven doesn’t dare look down at the puddle. Doesn’t want to see the smirk on Marc’s face that he can hear in his voice.  

“Dinner?” He hesitates. “Tomorrow sound good, yeah?”

“Yes,” and when he looks at you, you’re smiling. Like this was something good. Something you’ve been waiting for. “7 o’clock?”

“Brilliant.”

He tilts his head toward you, just to be a bit closer to you. 

It’s still a surprise when you lean up and kiss him gingerly, your lips soft and lingering. 

When you pull away, his heart is dancing and you are glowing. 

~

Marc is hesitant to speak to you, though he would never admit it to a soul. 

Steven probably knows, but he would never say so. 

He’s content to watch you through the eyes of his alter. You are Steven’s girl after all. 

Made of sunshine and steeped in warmth. 

You are not his. 

But Marc worries about you almost non-stop. He thinks about you constantly. He tells himself it's because Steven would break if something happened to you. 

But he knows. He knows when you laugh at something Steven says, he knows when you show up at the flat soaked to the bone from a downpour but smiling. He knows when you break in a new pair of ballet shoes against the hardwood floor of the flat. 

“You need to teach her self-defense,” He tells Steven when Marc is the one fronting.

“I’m not going to do that, Marc. She’s been safe before we met her, she’s safe now.” 

Yeah, only now you know about Moon Knight and Khonshu and everything. You know everything. 

Yet you never mention it, never ask. 

Occasionally, you will inexplicably leave a note for Marc, stuck against the glass of Gus the Second and Gus the Second’s Friend’s tank. 

Marc can’t make himself understand it, the way you leave little notes, ask Steven about what kinds of food he likes, ask how he’s doing.

Today’s note said - 

There’s a performance today. I know Steven has come to plenty, but I would love to see you there. 

You sign it with your name and a little heart. 

“She knows you care about her, Marc,” Steven says from the reflection in the tank, Gus and Friend behind his head. “She knows you follow her home when she works late.” 

“Only because you told her,” he snaps. “She didn’t need to know that.” 

Steven only gives a long suffering sigh. 

You know, you know that he follows your route home each night, to make sure you got there safe. And so you had taken up the inexplicable habit of talking to him as you walked. There was no way for you to know if he heard you, when he followed in the ceremonial armor on the buildings above you.

Still, you do it each night without fail. 

Marc, if he’s honest with himself, does not deserve to know you. Does not deserve the notes, the home cooked meals in tupperware left in the fridge with his name written in sharpie on the side of the box, does not deserve your late night chatter and one sided conversations. 

“She’s trying really hard. It hurts her feelings that you won’t even say hello to her. She isn’t expecting you to feel about her the same way I do.” 

Marc doesn’t respond, unsticking your note from the fishtank instead, folding it and tucking it inside his jacket pocket. 

He knows that it hurts your feelings. He sees it in your eyes every time you ask Steven about him, every time he refuses to meet you, even though he knows you, remembers you through Steven’s eyes from before Steven had been aware of him, back when he struggled to maintain Steven’s ignorance of the truth of his situation. 

You don’t know him though, so he’s not sure why it matters to you. 

But he catches Steven’s exasperated expression in the mirror by the door and he knows. 

It matters to you, because it matters to Steven. 

Not because you care about Marc. 

But because he is Steven’s best friend. 

And that is the problem. 

Because he wants you to care about him. 

“So you’ll follow her but you won’t just say hello? Marc, you could just introduce yourself and walk her home, yeah? Instead of stalking after her like a deranged bird?” 

Marc ignores him, ceremonial suit slipping over his skin, mask covering his face.

“Nope. This is much easier.” 

Steven only sighs again. 

~

“I just wonder if I’m any good for you,” you admit to Steven one rainy summer evening. You are propped in the window with a book, Steven on the couch with an open text. 

The air is warm enough that you leave the window open, the sound of rain and traffic drifting through the flat. 

Steven turns to you, taking the glasses perched on the end of his nose off. He frowns at you, brows pulling together over the round brown eyes you’ve come to love. 

He closes the book he had been pouring over. “What d’ya mean, love?”

“Just that,” you pause, trying to gather your thoughts. “I just know Marc is rather protective. And maybe if he doesn’t-,” You swallow, “Maybe I’m not really any good for you.”

Steven holds his arms out to you, and you readily cross the room to fit yourself in his arms, head tucked neatly beneath his chin. “You certainly are good for me. Too good for me.” You feel his chin against your forehead, gently drifting back and forth. “Don’t pay Marc any mind.” 

“Does he hate me?” You pull back to look in his eyes.

“Now, who could hate you?” 

You press a hand to the back of Steven’s neck, fingers trailing up to thread through his hair. He readily leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. 

You feel Steven tilt his head up a bit, and you know he’s watching the mirror, communicating with his alter who wanted nothing to do with you. 

“Could you tell him I don’t want anything from him? That I’d just like to introduce myself? He’s your best friend and I’d just like to say hello.” 

“He hears you,” Steven says. “Just being a bit of a pain in the arse as usual.” 

You suppress a laugh and tilt your head back to meet Steven’s eyes, cradling his jaw between your palms, sweeping your thumb over the thin scar above his brow. “He should know I’m not pressuring him, just that I would very much like to meet him, if he felt inclined.” Steven opens his mouth when you continue, “And that he’s become rather poor at hiding the past few weeks.”

“What?” 

“Just have noticed a certain caped individual on my walks home the last few weeks.” 

Steven’s mouth quirks, his eyes sliding to the mirror again. “He says you have a rather keen eye.” 

“Not so. It’s very hard not to notice sometimes.” As you speak Steven’s brows pull together and he frowns. “What's he saying?”

Steven glances back to you, his nose nearly touching yours. “Nothing you should worry your pretty head about,” he says, reaching up to cradle the back of your head, his lips finding yours, soft as the touch of a feather. “He can tell you himself if he bloody well pleases.” 

You feel slightly reassured as Steven kisses you, tilts you back against the couch cushions and slots himself against you, fingers running shakily up your side against your sweater. You dip your hands under his shirt, laughing quietly when he jumps at the sensation of your fingers against his scarred ribs. 

You feel better, at least, knowing that Steven wants you to meet Marc. 

You wonder what holds him back, what holds him back from even a hello. 

But Steven is kissing you and it becomes rather hard to concentrate. 

~ You talk to Marc on your way home from the theatre each night. 

You know he can hear you, walking on the rooftops above the streets you traverse each night. 

It makes you feel safe, knowing that he’s there, knowing that he cares enough to make sure you got home. 

You tell him about your day, quietly talking to yourself, drawing some curious stares but not too many. If these were the only interactions he would allow then you would make the most of them. 

You think you’ve seen Marc before. That he’d come into the museum once so that Steven wouldn’t miss work. His brows had been knitted tightly together, eyes narrower, mouth a hard frown. 

He hadn’t spoken to you that day, while Steven always made sure to, always. 

It’s raining when you leave the theater this night, your duffle bag slung across your shoulders, hood pulled up over your head as you race down the back steps, eager to get home, to make a cup of the calming tea Steven had gotten you and sleep. 

Your feet and ankles are sore and you felt like a good cry was in order. 

You don’t look up as the rain pounds down, sure that your guarding protector would be there as he always was. You just didn’t have the energy to greet him this night. 

Although you left rehearsal early, Marc always had a way of knowing when you left, of always being there. He was reliable, steady, even if he mostly avoided you. 

Tonight though, you wish you could go home and call Steven, though you know he won’t pick up, not until morning. Steven was who you called when you needed to cry, when you needed comfort. 

Steven was soft, in a way no one else you’ve ever known has been. 

You love dance, but the toll it took on your mental health some days made you wonder if it was at all worth it. 

Your thighs burn and your ankles ache, and you remember the way you were out of step and how the choreographer had sighed. The sound worse than disappointment and closer to condemnation. Maybe you aren't good enough to hack it in this particular dance company, and not for the first time, you think about going home.

The rain continues, drenching you to the bone. It pounds against the pavement beneath your feet, so loudly you don’t hear the footsteps trailing after you. 

You duck down an alleyway, a shortcut you don’t normally take because you’d rather take the longer way around and chatter at Marc. 

But you can’t be bothered tonight. You don’t even look up. 

If you had, you’d have known he wasn’t there, and then maybe you’d have stayed in the safety of the theater for just a bit longer, waited until he showed himself. 

One moment you’re hurrying along, the next a hand is pressed to the back of your neck, shoving you into the brick wall of the alley. 

You open your mouth to scream but a knife presses to the skin of your throat. It digs in just a little as the pressure at the back of your neck disappears and your bag is ripped off your shoulder. 

“Search that for me, yeah?” A male voice says before he leans into you, pressing your body into the wall with the heaviness of his own. 

You hear your things being ripped out of the bag, your dance garments and tights. Extra shoes. Ballet slippers. A bag of toiletries. 

“Search her, then. She ain’t got anything in here.”

Hands dig into you, rough and careless. But you don’t have anything on you, not even your wallet or phone, you know they’ll find nothing and then what?

What will be left for them to take? 

The knife divots into your skin, you feel the warmth of your own blood trail down your neck. 

Surreptitiously, you tilt your head up. Maybe Marc really has hated you all this time, and he’s about to let you be killed in this dirty alley. 

But there’s no one watching you, and you have to wonder for a moment if anyone ever had been there, as the unknown hand gropes through your pockets and then pats down the sides of your thighs. 

You wonder if you should fight. 

Was it better to let whatever was about to happen, happen? Or to try to fight? To at least be able to flee? 

You decide to fight when a figure appears in the corner of your vision. 

One that the two men behind you apparently do not notice. 

The knife disappears from your neck and your head is smashed into the brick instead. 

Your vision dances, Khonshu apparently only visible to you. 

“Do not worry, little bug. My Moon Knight is on his way.”

The skeletal bird you’re staring at can only be Khonshu or a terrible hallucination. 

If he’s a hallucination, does that mean they already stabbed you and you’re bleeding to death? 

“You are not hallucinating,” comes the booming voice of the god of the night sky. “Follow my instruction.” 

Khonshu, who you have no choice but to trust as your assailants argue about whether to kill you, tilts his head.

You are told to drive your right foot directly back, then twist and punch as hard as you can. 

“Then run,” is the last piece of advice before the blasted bird disappears. 

You have no choice but to follow the advice, and hope Marc or Steven really are nearby. 

When you drive your foot back, it connects with a knee. A strangled cry goes up as you twist and blindly punch. Your fist lands on something meaty, sending a shockwave up your arm. Bone cracks. 

You flee the second the hands leave your body, and you think for just a moment that you’ll get away, that you’ll make it to the deserted but well lit street at the other end of the alley. 

But fingers hook into the hood of your jacket which had fallen back off your head. You’re jerked off your feet, clotheslined jacket knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

Still you manage to scream as you fall, palms scraping against the pavement, the knee of your jeans ripping open. 

You roll, acting on pure instinct, driving your leg up into the gut of the man that falls on top of you to square a punch into your ribs. 

“You little bitch-,” 

You whip out a hand and claw his face, his friend stooping to cover your mouth as the knife appears again, shining metal gleaming by the curve of your cheek.

But something - someone - else has appeared. 

Indeed, Khonshu’s Moon Knight is stalking down the alleyway behind them. 

It gives you the determination to shove the man on top of you with all your strength, kneeing him between the legs as you go, the knife slices at your cheek as the man behind you says, “Oy! Stop struggling and-,” 

You never find out what else you should do as the other man’s weight disappears and a fluttering white cape engulfs you. 

You get to your feet shakily and when you look up, it's to meet the blinding white gaze of Marc Spector. His arm is around your waist, the cape like a blanketed cocoon against you. 

“Go to the street. I’ll come to you.” His voice is American and gruff and unexpected. 

“Marc-,” 

But he lets go of you, spins you and pushes you gently in the direction of the street.

You go, rainwater sluicing against your skin. You hear bones snap, the sound of flesh against flesh but you don’t turn or stop until you reach the street. Cars trundle by, a few pedestrians are walking further up the road. No one pays you any mind, the callousness of strangers shocking and not shocking in equal measure. 

The contrast to your fight in the alley is startling, and you feel the burn of tears at the backs of your eyes, the fingers of pressure on your throat as you hold them back.

You don’t hear anything from the alley now, but a few minutes of shivering in the rain later Marc appears, your ruined bag over his shoulder.  

He crowds close to you without a word, lifting your chin with a curled finger beneath your chin. The fabric of the suit is gauzy and warm against your skin, not damp despite the rain. He peers into your eyes, focus shifting to your cheek and then neck, before he takes your hands in both of his, and examines the broken skin of your palms. 

He makes a noise of discontent as he examines you. 

He holds your fingers so tenderly you wonder if he realizes who you are. 

“Marc?” You ask gently. “Are you okay?” 

His head snaps up but he doesn’t answer, just stares at you with that furious white gaze. 

“Could I see your face at least?” 

He hesitates, but only for a moment, before the wispy material covering his face slides away. The humidity and rain make his curls unruly, a lock of hair sticks to the sweaty skin of his forehead.

It’s Steven, and very clearly not Steven. 

You swallow, and touch his cheek. “Are you okay?” You ask again. 

You regret touching him immediately. It’s likely not something he wants from you. 

Steven would have leaned into your palm, but Marc goes still confirming your worry, his brows pulling together, eyes narrower than Steven’s rounded gaze.

You drop your hand, and Marc’s gaze follows your hand. 

Instead of answering, Marc asks, “Do you have a first aid kit at your place or do we need to go to Steven’s?” 

“I have one,” you say softly.

Marc is so very close to you, his head bent over yours. His skin is damp and glowing, eyes such a deep umber that you feel like getting lost in them. His breath falls against your lips.

You inhale sharply at the closeness, breathing in the smoky jasmine and lavender scent that lingers around him, the tang of copper just beneath. Steven smelled like tea and cotton and you wonder briefly if the fragrance is thanks to the suit. 

But then he nods, all business, the rest of the suit sliding away as he pulls away and nudges you in the direction of your flat, not taking the shortcut through the alley, of course. 

“Did you kill them?” 

Marc stiffens, responding gruffly, “No. Just some broken bones.” 

You watch his jaw clench before you carefully reach out and tangle your fingers with his again. He probably thought you thought the worst of him, that he was a cold blooded killer. “I wouldn’t have mourned if you did.” His eyes snap to yours, surprised at the brutality in your shaky voice. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” 

You smile, the movement making the cut on your cheek weep blood, “I received instructions from a rather strange looking bird.”

“Khonshu,” Marc mutters. “Bastard.” 

You hum, and feel the bizarre sensation of Marc Spector sliding his thumb gently across the back of your hand.

Once in your flat, Marc seats you at one of the two chairs at your tiny kitchen table in your tiny place’s kitchen. 

He kneels in front of you, even though he could take the other chair, and carefully tilts your chin up, dabbing gently at the cut on your neck, then your cheek.

“Did you hear me all those nights? When I spoke to you?” 

Marc nods, turning to grab an antiseptic ointment and a roll of gauze. “Yeah, I heard you.” 

“Why haven’t you-,” you bite your tongue. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me. Or, talk to me. I’ve been telling myself that ever since Steven told me the truth. You’re just very important to Steven, of course I would like to meet you.” 

Marc goes still for a moment, deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, makes sense.” He finishes with your cheek and gently brushes his thumb over the column of your throat. 

You tell yourself he’s checking the bandage. 

But your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“You’ll tell Khonshu thank you? From me? Suppose he did actually give me some helpful advice-,”

“No,” Marc suddenly says, intense in his fierceness, the set of his features grim. “Not when its his fault, my-my fault, our fucking fault you were alone in the first place-,” 

“Hey,” you take his hands and feel them shaking in yours. “It's not. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just something that happened. And I’m glad you were around.” You grip his fingers and don’t let him pull away until the tremors subside. “Are you alright?”

He clears his throat, suspiciously glassy eyes not meeting yours, and then goes about cleaning your bruised palms and your cut knuckles. 

Marc sighs abruptly, not answering you, and turns to look into the shining reflection of your floor length mirror. “Steven says he’s proud of you.” He looks away and continues wrapping your hands, “He also won’t let me forget that I haven’t asked you if you’re okay.” 

You open your mouth to reply when Marc bites out brusquely, “Are you okay?” 

You smile, imagining the irritation in Steven’s voice, Bloody hell, Marc! Telling her I’m bothering you about asking her if she’s okay and actually asking her is not the same thing!

“I’ll tell you if I’m alright, if you tell me if you are.” 

Marc snorts, “I can tell by looking at you.” His head twitches toward the mirror again and you know Steven must be annoying him about invisible injuries. You wait for a moment while they seem to have a silent conversation. 

You stop Marc’s hands when he moves to look at your knee instead of answering. “Just a simple yes or no. Nothing more.” 

He looks up at you, brows still tight over his eyes, expression stony, frowning at you so intensely you have to wonder what he sees when he looks at you. “Yes.” 

“Brilliant,” you smile. 

“Yes or no?” He asks you. 

You brace a hand on his shoulder, pushing yourself up, “Yes. I am okay. Does Steven know?”

“He hears you,” his grim gaze drifts back to the mirror. “Sit back down, I’m not done with you.” 

You pat his chest gently when he stands too, close and towering, what should be intimidating. “Yes, you are,” you return firmly. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you drink tea, or is that a Steven thing?”

“Coffee, if you have it.”

You can’t help but smile. 

“We need to wrap your knee though,” he doesn’t let the injury go. “It might get infected.”

You glance down at the scrape, then at the worried frown on Marc’s face. “Shall I change first? That way I don’t just tear the bandage anyways taking these wet jeans off.” 

Marc eyes your wet clothes, the way you shiver, head tilting to the side, like he’s listening. 

He concedes with a nod. 

~

Marc watches you make a cup of tea for yourself and hesitate at the coffeemaker. 

He thinks for a moment that you hesitate because you’re realizing that if you start the pot, you won’t only have to wait for it to brew but for Marc to drink it. 

But when you turn, you only frown at him and ask, “Are you quite sure about the coffee? You won’t sleep. I have more than enough chamomile tea-,” 

“Coffee is fine.” 

You dip your head and turn back to the pot. 

Steven sighs, “You can let her take care of you too, Marc.” 

Marc ignores Steven, refuses to meet his gaze in the shining reflection of your toaster. 

He feels the bone-deep weariness creep up on him, crash over his shoulders, as you set a cup of coffee in front of him a few quiet minutes later. 

“Steven pokes fun at me for my sugar habit. But this is a judgment free zone so don’t be afraid to tell me how you take it.” 

Marc glances into the cup, black coffee staring back up at him. 

“Sugar and milk,” he says and watches you smile, the gauze wrapped around your neck making his skin prickle. 

He should have killed those men for daring to lie a hand on you. He glances at your wet duffle bag, dejectedly lying in a heap in the corner of the kitchen. “Sorry about your stuff.” 

“It’s just things,” you say, wincing as you sit down across from him, setting down a carton of milk and bowl of sugar with a spoon.

He tips his head to the side to glance at your scraped knee under the table, the wince not matching the injury. Had he missed something? Though he supposes you’re probably sore after being thrown to the ground. 

“It’s not that,” you say, tucking your legs beneath you on the chair. “I was sore anyways. I’m always sore from dance. I have a high pain tolerance from all the years of training. Tonight wasn’t actually the worst night of my life.” 

Before he can respond, his heart sinking with your words, you continue. “That’s a neat trick though,” you fling your arms out and then around in an imitation of how he’d circled the cape around you. “Handy.” 

“It’s bulletproof. Most of the time,” he says, spooning sugar into his coffee, then a dash of milk. 

“Very handy, then.” You watch him for a moment before your fingers tangle anxiously together. “You know, I really am okay. Please don’t feel like you need to stay.”

“Marc,” Steven says, “She thinks you hate her. Open up to her just a bit, yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you,” Marc says, ignoring the exasperated goan from Steven at his blunt response. “I don’t. And I’ll stay, for a while at least. You hit your head,” he reaches out and touches the bruise forming at your temple. He should have cut off their hands for that, broken each finger, twisted the ligaments out. “You might have a concussion,” he keeps his voice as level as he can.  

You nod and swallow, “Is Steven okay? I haven’t worried him too badly, have I?” 

Marc briefly closes his eyes, hearing all over again the screams of his headmate when Khonshu told them you were in danger. The force of his worry had almost forced Marc into the backseat, but he knew he was better suited to handle whatever was happening to you. 

That he could steal himself and deal. With this, he could deal, after all the years Steven had protected Marc from himself, from memories better forgotten. 

If something had happened to you…

“He’s okay,” Marc eventually answers, opening his eyes to find you watching him worriedly. “He was very worried about you.” 

“He knows I’m okay now?”

Marc sees Steven nodding at the back of your head sympathetically. “Yeah.” He licks his lips, takes a sip of the coffee, “I can…I can bring him out if you’d rather be with him.” 

You tilt your head to the side, like you’re considering it. “It’s okay. Not that I don’t want to see Steven, I do. I just…feel very safe at the moment. Maybe something to do with the cape.” You look away and take a sip of your tea. 

Steven is smirking in the toaster’s reflection, smug in a way that grinds at Marc’s nerves. 

The pair of you make no sense to Marc. 

“You into the cape, huh?”

“Oh, only a little. I wonder if your god would give me one.” Your eyes are sparkling, you’re teasing him and it makes his chest hurt in a pleasant way. 

But there was an idea Marc could get behind. Not that Khonshu would ever acquiesce. 

When you finish your tea, Marc shuffles you to the couch, prepared to watch over you for the night. 

You lie down, your legs tucked behind his back when he sits at the end of the sofa, like he’s familiar to you. And he supposes in a way he is, that you spend almost every evening together, despite his silence, and that you know the body he lives in. 

Marc flicks through the various streaming services on your TV, resting his other hand on your knee when you won’t stop squirming. 

“Hey,” he says, thumbing at your knee but not looking at you. “I know you’re okay now. But you might not be in a couple days, when the shock wears off. Takes time sometimes for something like that to catch up to you.” He squeezes your calf. “Let us know if that happens.” 

“Are you - both of you? Either of you?” 

His heart sinks just a little. “Yeah. Either. Both.” 

“Aw, Marc, I knew you liked her! I knew it!” Steven’s hands are folded over his heart, eyes wide and round. “Go on and kiss her!”

He will not be doing that. Knows that you wouldn’t welcome that. 

Instead he massages the flesh of your leg, and says, “Heat can help with muscle soreness. Do you have a heat pack somewhere?”

You turn on your back and put your feet in his lap, “Maybe. I’m okay like this for now.” You pull a blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it over both of you. 

He cups a hand around your socked ankle and says, “Don’t fall asleep.” He traces the delicate knob of bone beneath his touch. 

“Don’t think I could if I tried.” You go quiet for a moment, then say, “For the record, thank you. I’m really glad you’re staying with me.” 

The feeling that wells up in his chest almost chokes him. Marc can only nod, and even Steven stays silent for once at the wave of emotion that crashes through them both.

Quadrabble #2 || b.b

A 500 word drabble for Bucky Barnes x fem!reader.

Summary: The men are educated on period cramps and the pain you endure each month.

Warnings: 18+ only, period, mention of sex

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“Guys, we’ve got a problem.” Bruce was pacing in front of his laboratory screens as he called over the comms to the team. “Y/n’s been hurt, we need to locate her and get her extracted.”

You frowned as you heard your name and you looked over at Sam who was just as confused. The fight had barely even worked up a sweat before you had beaten them back with the help of Sam. The two of you had then focused on getting the civilians to safety while Bucky and the rest of the team were rounding the bad guys up.

“Are you hurt?” He asked as ran his hands over your suit.

“I’m fine.” You reassured him before hitting your comms button. “I’m fine, Dr Banner.”

“Are you sure? I’ve rechecked your suit and the readings are still showing you’re in a lot of pain.” You could see Sam’s worry increasing and turned to find Bucky had sprinted over from where he had been separated from you, concern etching deep lines in his forehead. “I don’t even know how you are still on your feet in all honesty. I’ve seen heart attacks cause smaller readings than this.”

Bucky copied Sam and felt over the new suit that held more technology than was necessary, but came away with nothing. There wasn’t even any winces as he squeezed the normal culprits like bruised and broken ribs. Pressing his comms, your boyfriend’s gruff voice filled everyone’s earpieces, “Banner, you’re giving me a heart attack. She’s perfec- what was that?”

Your hand came to rest on your abdomen and you took a deep breath as you tried to stop another grimace at the pain. “It’s fine, let’s just go.”

“Stop lying.” Sam frowned as he saw your eyebrows pinch together in pain. “Doc, you’re right.”

“I’m sending medics now.”

“Just stop!” You shouted at the three of them and their overprotectiveness. “It’s just fucking period cramps for Christ’s sake.”

“Banner, didn’t you say her readings were bigger than a heart attack?” Bucky asked after he sighed with relief at the news.

“They still are.”

“Does that mean a heart attack isn’t that bad?” Sam asked and you punched him on the arm.

“No, Sam, period cramps are just that bad.”

Bucky and Sam turned to you with a newfound respect and you scoffed before making your way back into the action.

“Fuck I love her but she should be resting at home.” Bucky complained to Sam not realising he hadn’t turned his mic off. “Why would she come if she was in pain?”

You looked back over your shoulder and reminded him. “Because that’s what heroes do. Now, stop gossiping and let’s finish this.”

They rushed to catch up with you as Bucky began listing off how he was going to take care of you when you got home. He covered everything from a heat pack and movie to shower sex before you clamped a hand over his mouth. “You’re still on comms.”

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barry and rafe shipping account only from here on out. they were in love. barry was genuinely afraid of what was happening to rafe. he was pretty much the only one who cared about him

At this point I’m a @fanficimagery fan page.

But I don’t care your fics are to good for me to not share them

The Alpha’s Sister

Imagine coming home for Thanksgiving break and letting your family know you’re moving back home. Life in Beacon Hills ends up being a rollercoaster, but what a fun ride it is.

Words: 9.3K Author’s Note: Um, excuse me.. but how the hell have y'all let me go so long without writing anything for Derek Hale?! I wrote three books, each book having 77 chapters, and not a single imagine for my favorite werewolf.  Warning for this..? Some violence though it’s not detailed. And Scott’s pack only consists of his inner circle (Stiles, Derek, Lydia and Malia). I wasn’t a fan of the baby beta or his friends.

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