This Is So Sweet! Marc Deserves All The Scalp Massages And Fancy Conditioner In The World! What A Gorgeous

This is so sweet! Marc deserves all the scalp massages and fancy conditioner in the world! What a gorgeous fic!

I'll Cry

Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You wash Marc's hair.

A/N: For the anon that sent this ask.

Warnings: Marc showering, swearing, a little innuendo, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 743

Marc grumbled as the warm water hit his back, the pressure was never quite right in Steven’s fucking awful shower. 

Not that he would ever tell him that, Steven would give him an earful and then rant about how ‘if Marc cared so much, he should do something about it.’ And, in all honesty, Marc just couldn’t be bothered. 

As he thought about it he almost tricked himself into thinking Steven was awake, so accurate was his mental impression. And this distraction was enough for him to drop the shampoo bottle. 

It slid out of his grasp, seemingly in slow motion, and while he did manage to grab the end of it with his other hand, it quickly slipped free and smashed against the shower floor. 

The sound was loud and god awful. Marc swore loudly when he released the cap had shattered in half on impact. 

You knock on the bathroom door, “Marc, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m- shit!” He nearly lost his balance as he leaned down to pick up the bottle, having purposefully forgone putting the mat down because he couldn’t be bothered. 

You throw the door open in a panic and Marc freezes, staring at you for a second with wide eyes and clutching the titled wall. 

He gives you a bashful grin and nods his chin towards the shampoo. “I dropped the bottle.” 

You chuckle, “I thought you’d hurt yourself.” 

“Just my pride,” he shrugs, standing. “Shampoo’s seen better days though.” He picks it up and holds it out to show you. “You thought I’d hurt myself?” 

You nod. 

“Sorry,” he swallows a little shyly. Only Marc could feel self conscious about causing a fuss while bare ass naked. Not that you hadn’t seen him without clothes plenty of times before. 

“Why are you sorry?” You tut playfully and give his cheek a kiss. “Come, sit down.” 

“Huh?” He stares at you with his large brown eyes. 

“Sit that gorgeous ass down, before you fall down.” You pause. “And why don’t you have the bath mat down?” 

He shrugs sheepishly, but turns and sits down. “I forgot.” He says quietly and you hum in a very ‘I don’t believe a word you’re saying’ way.

You gently take the shampoo bottle out of his hands, he hadn’t thought to put it down, and squeeze some into your palm before you begin to work it through his hair. 

“You don’t have to…” He shivers, his eyes closing.

After a few moments, his shoulders slump a little, tension easing out of his muscles as you run your fingers along his scalp. 

His head lolls a little, and for a second you think he’s fallen asleep. You lean a little to the side and see the small, sweet smile on his face. He looks so peaceful in that moment, content in a way he doesn’t usually let himself be. 

You kiss his temple before you wash the suds out of his hair, careful to keep the soap away from his eyes. 

He stays sitting obediently, soft and pliant in your hands. That is until you open your conditioner. 

He breathes in deeply, “That’s yours? Mines-”

“Yours is awful,” you kiss the wet top of his head, his curls slicked back under the weight of the water. “I don’t think it even counts as a conditioner.”

He snorts. “It’s cheap.” He says it like that’s a positive.

“Using washing up liquid to clean your hair is cheap Marc, but I wouldn’t recommend or do that.” 

“Hmmm, washing up liquid you say.” He giggles, his shoulder bouncing a little as he revels in teasing you. 

“Don’t even.”

“I could use the lemon one, you like that one.” 

“Jake would never let you.” You laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I could convince him… Steven would kick my ass though.” He lets out a content sigh as you work in the conditioner. There’s a small pause before he speaks again, “Yours is expensive, you shouldn’t be wasting it on me.” 

“Don’t make me cry, Spector.” A line you used sparingly, but always hit home when said sincerely. 

He shuts his mouth quickly and smiles sadly, his chest hurting from how much you care. “At least I’ll smell like you.” 

“I would say that’s more of a negative than anything.” You tease.

“Don’t make me cry.” He takes hold of one of your hands, guiding you so that he can press a kiss to your wrist. 

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