summary:marc sees the world in your eyes. too bad he doesn’t realize that you see the exact same thing in his.
a/n: *gif is not mine, it’s from pinterest* listen as much as I love writing some toe-curling, nail-biting marc smut, it was time that I write a next-level fluff/angst fic for him (because he deserves all the love in the world). I have a ton of asks that I promise I am getting to, along with my mr. knight smut, it’s just taking me a lil’ bit. also, I have no idea why this took me so fucking long to write?? so, here it finally is, enjoy x
warnings:YEARNING to the max; this shit is angsty; pining (marc thinks it’s one-sided, but it’s not) readers still oblivious??; mentions of abuse; swearing; self-deprecation; fucking pain; but lots of fucking fluff; they’re so in love; steven grant: wingman of the year
And Marc knows pain. He’s experienced it in all forms; has seen it manifested into everything he’s known, and everyone he’s loved.
He’s felt the ache of being on the brink of death and the guilt of still being alive. He’s felt the loss of his brother and the torment of his mother’s wrath. He’s felt the sting of his actions as a mercenary, and the numbing of his mind through Khonshu’s control.
Butthis is new.
Because your presence is painful. Yes. But his love for you is debilitating.
It’s a sort of wound that comes from no physical injury. It’s not jagged and bloody, nor is it scarred or scabbed over. It’s not a grotesque bullet wound or a deep gash in his side. Simply, it’s a brand on his heart. One that cauterized itself on a random Tuesday morning when his eyes found yours.
And realistically, he should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve been able to sense it sneaking up on him ever-so-gently over the horizon. The rise of realization. The breaking point.
Realistically, Marc knows it was bound to happen. One way or another.
He was just never good with that sort of thing.
In his defence though, the whole moment happened in an instant. It was so quick, that he had already been swept off his feet before his mind could cement itself back to his body.
And maybe if it was better timing, maybe he could’ve prepared. Maybe he’d get the chance to be ready at the bridge with Khonshu’s armour. Have the time to shield himself before the proverbial sand storm ripped through everything.
But timing wasn’t Marc’s strong suit.
He never understood why it happened then. Why, out of all the time in the world, the universe had selected that exact—incredibly average—moment.But it had.
The two of you sat on the floor of his hotel room, splitting cheap room service breakfast and enjoying each other’s company as dawn broke behind the pyramids. The interaction was a comfort to him. Enough where he could let his guard down for once as you both sipped at your coffees and snacked on fresh fruit. It was something you had done a million times before, and would probably do a million times again.
But then you smiled at him.
This time, it wasn’t your usual smile; it wasn’t the typical snarky tick of your lips. It was lazy. Mellow. A gentle smile that slowly crept up to the ridge of your nose and the curve of your eyes. And when his gaze caught yours—when you gave him the softest, most intimate look he’s ever seen in his life—it all fell apart.
You hadn’t done much. And in hindsight, you never needed to.
Because, looking back on it, he was gone for you long before that morning. But it was at that moment he had decided you had the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. It was also then that he realized how very badly he wanted to taste the coffee on your tongue.
And he almost did it. He almost swooped in and kissed you with just as much tenderness as your eyes offered him. But it didn’t take more than ten seconds for Marc to realize that no matter how badly he wanted you, he couldn’t have you.
He would never let himself.
Marc was broken. Irreparable. An empty carcass of a man that wasn’t anything more than an abundance of self-hatred and trauma. He was a pathetic comparison to you. If he was the moon, then you were the sun. You were so far away, and so beautiful and bright. And he just lived in your shadow. Watching from the dark; pining over something—someone—he could never reach. Someone that was never meant to be his.
And it was truly idiotic of him to think he even had a small chance. Even if it was for a few seconds…
Because he wasn’t worthhaving.
He can love you, and he already does with every fibre of his being, but that’s not enough to make you stay. Because you have to love him back.All of him. Every sharp edge and splintered crack. Every piece of him you could cut yourself on, you would have to love completely. Wholly. Without any doubts or fears. You would have to love him the way he loves you.
And Marc knows that’s just too much to ask.
So he moved on that morning, and every day after, acting as though he hadn’t had the biggest revelation of his life. As though the way he felt didn’t matter in the slightest, and that his heart didn’t betray him every single fucking chance it got.
But you had made it so incredibly difficult these past few days.
Pretending was his biggest strength. He could fib until he was blue in the face; could bluff until he believed any lie to be true. But every time your eyes searched for his, every time they softened in his direction, and every time you gave him that smooth smile, his resolve would crumble.
Like clockwork, you took a hammer to the cavity of his heart and smashed down the walls. You’d break everything with ease until it all fell in a giant pile by your feet. And when he built them back up; gluing and haphazardly tacking them back together, you would simply tear them down again.
In those moments of defeat; in the times when he was far too tired to rebuild the fortress, he’d be stuck wondering.
Thinking.
Entertaining the smallest possibility that there’s something else hiding behind your eyes. That past the galaxies—all the nebulae and stars—he’d find a home, made just for him. A place that assured him that he was welcome. That he was wanted. That you lovedhim.
And it was when he wondered when he had the time to mull over every late-night fantasy, that he just ended up hurting more.
But he assumes there’s a point where he has no one else to blame. Because he’s the one who keeps doing this to himself. He’s the one on his knees, praying to whatever’s out there to just take him out of his misery already. To show him some kind of mercy. Not that he deserves it. He knows he doesn’t. But you do. You deservemercy.
You don’t deserve the burden of being what he lives for; of being his salvation. You’re more than just a lifeline.
Unfortunately, his soul had already decided that he needed you.
Holding himself back was a daily battle. One that left his heart contracting and his mind torn to shreds. It was a battle that gave him scars. Each night, he’d find a new scar in the constellation on his body. And every morning, it was accompanied by yet another one. Darker in colour. Bruised beyond anything.
A never-ending cycle.
Hehated himself for falling. Hated how easy it was; how little effort it took to gravitate towards you. He was like a pebble in a flowing river, constantly moving and being thrown around as he aimlessly barreled toward the lake. Marc lacked any sort of self-control when it came to you.
And he hatedit.
But not you. Even after all those times he convinced himself he should—for both of your sakes—he could never hate you.
Never.
11:20 pm.
You could never hate him.
But he could certainly hate you.
At least, that’s how it seemed. But there really was no other way to perceive it, was there? Marc had been ignoring you. And he had no problem in hiding that fact.
You weren’t sure if it was something you said. Whether you offended him or he just realized he was better off on his own. Regardless, he was ignoring you. Every joke, every small bit of conversation you tried to ignite would be shut down with uncharacteristic “hm’s” and a quick turn of the eyes.
It was almost like you disgusted him in a way. And that thought absolutely ruinedyou.
You felt stupid. Silly. Completely unlike yourself. But you couldn’t help it. You were heartbroken. And, really, there’s never been a light way to explain that kind of pain. It just was. You had already cried yourself to sleep over this. Had already imagined every possible reason why this was happening; why he was suddenly acting like this. But every time you got settled into bed, you couldn’t focus at all. Because of course, the guy you had to fall in love with had to be a massive jerk. Of course, the universe and all the gods had to do that to you.
It was just your luck.
But you should’ve seen it coming. It’s your fault for falling so easily. For thinking—wishing—that something good was finally coming to you. It was too good to be true and you just never picked up on that. It was your fault for interpreting the way Marc acted with you as something else. You two were friends, yes. But nothing more. Never were, and never willbe.
But you’ve always been naive. Too naive.
Because at the end of the day it didn’t matter that you loved his eyes. It didn’t matter that you had seen yourself in universes and worlds with him. You had convinced yourself the two of you walked on the tightrope of friendship and more. So set on believing that you actually would fall together; into each other, like all those happy couples you see walking the street.
But you were wrong. About all of it. Because it doesn’t matter that you feel that way. He doesn’t.
He doesn’t see your eyes the way you see his. He doesn’t love you the way you love him.
And you just have to accept that.
Though it would definitely be easier to accept that in your sleep. If you even could fall asleep.
It was one of those nights where you were just far too uncomfortable to get situated in your bed. The pillows weren’t cool against your cheek and the sheets were scratchy against your legs. There was no breeze sweeping through the open window, and the air had gotten increasingly more muggy over the past hour.
Sweat stuck to your forehead as you tossed and turned; desperate for your limbs to relax and your breathing to slow.
But you couldn’t.
You couldn’t possibly try to focus on anything other than the heart you ripped out of your chest and left on your bedside table. It would’ve been an ugly sight if your imagination was real. If that were the case, it would sit in a puddle of blood and mourning. Exposed and in misery as it convulsed in time with your anger.
You felt like a petulant child. A kid that didn’t get to have what they wanted, and so, they resort to throwing a tantrum. A physical display of their frustrations and raging emotions.
A tantrum.
Your head turns to the clock beside your head.
11:25 pm.
You’re out of bed before you can even think. Stuffing your feet into your slippers you walk over to your bathroom mirror. There’s a scowl on your face, eyes cast dangerously low in mock threat. Your breathing runs ragged. Heavy. You’re upset. Royally pissed off.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
You tuck a couple stray strands of hair behind your ears before throwing open your hotel door. It slams shut as you inhale deeply, stomping over to Marc’s room.
He’s down the hall from you. A couple doors away to the right at the end of the corridor. Luckily, it’s out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind from the other guests who would surely kick you out the second, you gave him a piece of your mind.
Banging your closed fist on his door, you wait a couple seconds. The sound of blood flowing thrums in your ears filling the empty, late-night silence.
There are some muffled noises—the soft padding of feet and the squeak of the doorknob—and then Marc opens the door.
You both stare at each other. Sizing the other up for entirely different reasons. “…is…everything okay?”
“How ‘bout you tell me, Spector. Is everything fuckingokay?”
You shove past him, barging unceremoniously into his space. His eyes grow to the size of full moons as he follows your pacing. The way you swiftly move back and forth from the balcony to him. You seem resentful, far more irritated than he’s ever seen you before. Then he’s ever wanted to see.
And he can tell that this won’t end well. He might not be the smartest man alive, but he’s perceptive enough. He’s been taught to pick up on reactions and situations way before they unfold. So as you grimace at him—as he watches the unfamiliar fire smoulder in the eyes he loves so much—he can’t help but feel the bubble of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.
Oh, this definitely won’t end well.
“Why are you ignoring me?” You snap. Marc, like the idiot he is, just stares right through you. You cross your arms and meet him in the middle of the room. “Did I do something wrong? Did I—did I offendyou?”
“Wha—“
“Why the fuck have you been ignoring me, Marc?”
It’s right then and there when he realizes what you’re asking. When he realizes that you know. That you’ve figured him out completely.
He doesn’t respond. Truly, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how he could answer your question without revealing everything. The constant fear he has of acknowledging his feelings nags at the edges of his consciousness. The words are trying to claw themselves out of his throat; rip through his vocal cords and float through the air. But he holds his breath. And for now, the words stay stuck in his mouth.
You’ve begun to quiet down, to an extent, as you wait for Marc to speak. And although he remains quiet, the tension—though it remains incredibly heavy—slowly dissipates the longer you stare at him.
The fact annoys you even more.
Because you want to be mad at him. And, to some point, you still are. But you’re also just sad.So fucking sad.
“Look, Marc, if I said something…if I hurt you somehow, I’m so, so sorry.” Your lip suddenly and unexpectedly quivers and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Marc’s focus shifts to your change in demeanour. And within seconds, he feels his heartbreak. He feels the internal fortified cage begin to crack beneath its own weight. You sniffle, and he winces at the sound.
Taking a shaky breath, you pull your arms tighter over your chest; taut until there’s no room to breathe. Until you’re as small as possible. “I just want you to talk to me. So…if you could just…if you could just cut the horseshit that’d be fuckinggreat.”
You wipe at your nose with the back of your hand and look away in embarrassment.
You’re exhausted. That much is clear. The bags beneath your eyes and the way your mouth falls are all clear indicators that you’re in pain.
You’re in pain because of him.
Which is exactly what he was afraid of.
I didn’t want this to happen.
“What?” You cry in confusion. Another sniffle. “What do you mean by that?”
He realizes then that he spoke out loud. His body had betrayed him once again. Unknowingly, Marc had opened the floodgates. Everything had been released, slipping away further and further away from his control.
You were so much closer now, face mere inches from his. Your eyes search his. And he gulps in a feeble attempt to gather himself.
“I meant that…” He takes note of the way the tears have glazed over your eyes and he grits his teeth. “Can’t handle seeing you cry, honey.” Marc shakes his head and tries to step back from you. “I’m sorry…”
Your hands cling to his forearms, slowly easing him back to you. The aggression in contrast with the tenderness makes him stop in his tracks; makes his breathing begin to stutter. “Marc…what’s wrong?”
He shrugs lightly, looking in the direction of the mirror beside the bed. He anticipates seeing Steven. To find some familiar comfort as he dangles above dangerous territory; as he dangles before you. Except he doesn’t find him. Instead, he’s just met with himself. Just his own reflection.
Andyours.
Even in the reversed distortion of the glass, you’re gorgeous. Other-worldly. He can see the way you look at him with intent; with both trepidation and determination. Even when he won’t meet your eyes, you give him all of your attention. You’re special that way. You make people feel special that way. So, if it were different circumstances, he would be preening beneath your gaze.
Time almost seems to slow when he actually looks your over. Fully. For the first time that day, really. From here, he can see you from another angle. In another light. It reminds him of how he sees you when Stevens fronting and he can stare in peace. When he can admire you from afar without any repercussions. Without any worry or fear.
Though he typically hates not being in control of his own body, most recently the reflections have been his closest friend. It’s the one time when he can allow himself to feel. When he doesn’t have to think about reality. When he can live in his delusions without judgement.
It’s a kind of freedom he doesn’t have anywhere else.
Except, he’s looking at your reflection—at you—now. He’s not hiding behind a barrier, not shielded by the safety of the unknown. He’s just there. Standing in front of you; present in front of you, with painfully obvious adoration all over his face.
Your hair is thrown up onto your head, and your shirt hangs over your left shoulder. You look partially unkempt. Messy. Natural. You look beautiful. The kind of lovely people can only dream of. And here you are. Looking at him in the mirror.
Shit.
He watches his mouth gape open and close like Gus, far too shocked to process what he’s witnessing. You’ve caught him in his dream. In seconds you stripped Marc bare until he was presented to you in just bones and muscle.
And sure you’ve never noticed before (at least he hopesso).But this? There was no way to get around this moment. There was no way to explain himself; excuse his actions and apologize in advance for putting you in such an uncomfortable situation.
He watches his mouth fall open again as he breathes in a gust of air. He goes to speak, but his throat is bare. Raw and sore and unable to form words. But then he’s watching your eyes drift from the mirror, up to his arm then to his face. You move so effortlessly; like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like looking at him is the only thing you want to do.
He feels it in his fingertips first. There’s electricity there; trickling up his veins through his arms and into his neck; down his chest and into his legs. His body, from head to toe, feels numb as he studies your expressions. He closely watches as a softness forms in your eyes and your lips turn into a small smile.
You’re looking at him. Actually looking at him.
And really, it’s no different from the way you always look at him. It’s just…he’s seeing it differently now. If he was anyone else—an outsider looking in—he’d assume with the way the two of you are wrapped up in each other, you were lovers. Two people with an innate connection that couldn’t fool anyone.
Something he’s wanted for a longtime.
Marc’s immediate response is to dismiss it. Pretend, yet again, that what he’s seeing isn’t real. It’s just his imagination. Matrixing, or whatever the fuck people call it.
But it’s difficult to brush it off. Especially with the way you’re looking at him.
“Marc,” you whisper. He can feel your breath on his neck; can feel the slight shake of your arms against his sides. You’re nervous.
So is he.
But something—someone—wills him to look down on you. Your mouth purses in shock at his confidence, as you come face-to-face with his dark brown eyes. They bore into you, yet they calm you all the same. You both reason, at the same time, that there’s no going back now. You lean into him. So much so, that his nose brushes against yours and your eyelashes flutter against his cheek. Your hands have come up to hold his shoulders, steadying yourself so as to avoid falling to your buckled knees.
And then he feels a push. It’s a gentle shove, a twist of his feet that aren’t his own actions, that makes his mouth collide with yours. The two of you stay there for a moment pressed into each other, eyes blown wide as you remain frozen in place.
It’s awkward and uncertain at first. But then instinct kicks in, and any confusion or hesitation you had left your body with a content sigh. Your hands smooth themselves over his arms as you gently move against his mouth; giving in to him as he touches your face.
He kisses you. Again, and again, and again. His lips glide over your bottom lip, tug at your top lip and peck at the corner of your mouth. He takes his sweet time exploring you. Exploring what you taste like. How you feel against him. How your kiss is better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.
All the while, he holds you in place. He cradles you as though you’re fragile like you’ll shatter beneath his touch. One wrong move and you’ll disappear.
But as your grip tightens on his body—as you pull him even closer to you; breath fanning over each other’s face, eyes screwed shut as you allow yourselves to finally feel everything you’ve ever wanted to—he understands that you aren’t going anywhere.
Marcloves your eyes. You lovehis.
And although it may have taken a while to get here, it’s better late than never.
Met Halfway [ Steven Grant/Moon Knight/Marc Spector x Reader ]
Summary: When Marc asks you to make sure Steven does not figure out about his mercenary life, you wind up making things more difficult.
A/N: Hello! Just want to clarify that this is ONLY based on the first episode, not the following ones as they have not been released! So if the storyline is a bit off or seems inconsistent, that is why! I wanted to write something already and have no patience lol
Other than that, I hope you enjoy and know that there is SPOILERS AHEAD!
It was a normal night, really, in your defense. There was not a thought in your mind that would have guessed you would be comforting your nice and mannered neighbor, Steven Grant.
Well, it was your promise to Marc to make sure he did not pursue the phone further or the reflection shaking his head in the mirror.
You had been relaxing peacefully in your apartment one Sunday night when you heard Steven screaming and yelling different things and doors slamming around. You were quick to react and exit your apartment only for the elevator doors to close with him in it.
It was difficult to keep up with this newfound life. Marc, who spoke normally and often had a confident manner, had approached you when you were trying to open your door with handfuls of grocery bags. He had offered you help and gotten to know you well.
However, sooner or later he knew that he had to tell someone the truth… and he quickly made the decision that you would be the exception. His neighbor who would likely hear his mercenary side kick in and experience it first hand. So, he revealed his alter and how he needed your help to make sure Steven did not wander too far off the deep end.
You surprisingly took it well as you were a retired SHIELD agent who took to London for a breath of fresh air after SHIELD had fallen to Hydra. It was a mess but London had screamed your name for an escape.
And now, once again you were wrapped up in a world of chaos and a little crush on both Marc and Steven. While Marc took control and was very adamant with you, Steven was often polite and kept simple conversations with you. Marc had convinced you to go out on a date with Steven to get more involved with that side of him. While you were often confused about your feelings, you fell for Steven who was always so confused and tired but was a love sick puppy.
However, when he agreed to your date, you found yourself wondering why you agreed to do this. You knew eventually this would fall apart, like Steven had told you… don’t get too attached because he does not know how it will all end.
But as you watched Steven run back from the elevator, you knew you were in for the long run.
“Steven! Everything alright?” You said hurriedly and ran to him. You met halfway and he immediately grabbed your shoulders.
“I don’t… I don’t know what I saw and everything is flickering and there was this mummy…” he was blabbering on and you knew that this would lead to nowhere good. You could almost hear Marc saying to defuse the situation.
“Hey, why don’t we go back inside your place and make some tea, okay? We can go and relax and get your mind off of this.” You smiled at him to hopefully help him calm, which helped him in the slightest. He would later admit that your smile was the one thing that always made his heart thump wildly and his thoughts seem to slip away.
You both entered his apartment where you began to set the kettle and Steven sat down on a nearby chair.
“I’m going insane,” he whispered and looked down at his shaking hands. He was on edge and you knew that you had to get his mind off of everything.
You knelt down to his level and grabbed his cold hands. He glanced into your eyes and there was a moment of complete, comfortable silence that he appreciated.
Steven knew you were not judging him but simply letting him calm down. He could trust that you would not run away, scared he was a mad man.
And for what he was too afraid to do the night of your first date, he leaned forward and you met him halfway, lips meeting and eyes closing in content.
He was gentle with you as he cupped his hands on your cheeks, while you placed your hands on his knees.
It wasn’t long before he pulled away and placed a delicate kiss on your forehead instead.
“Thank you,” he said quietly to you.
“For what?” You also spoke low as to not disrupt the special moment.
“For not being scared of me but rather offering to help me out. Others probably would have thought I was crazy and called the cops.” He chuckled, but you could tell it was not a genuine laugh. The brokenness and tired expression spoke for itself.
“Anything for my favorite neighbor,” you joked.
While the future was uncertain for you and Marc, you knew that at least you had Steven to worry about for the time being. And Steven wanted to worry about you too in a sense of protection and wanting to be by your side every day.
A/N:AHH this is my first Moon Knight fic! Let me know how I did!
Category:Hurt/Comfort - Mutual Pining - Fluff
Warnings:Nightmare
There were hands wrapped around your throat.
And not in a hot and heavy type of way, the fingers that pressed deep into your skin were cold, hard, and painful. You could hear himwhispering against your skin, soft lips pressed against the shell of your ear in a way that should have been intimate. You couldn’t breathe.
It was the same monster every night.
Every choked exhale, they inhaled. Any cry that slipped from your lips, they swallowed.
You were so dizzy. You were going to die.
Beg for your life, little bug.
The demand was a gentle hiss, curling against the deepest parts of your soul.
Beg.
And so you did. Who were you to deny them? This creature that held the delicate wisp of your life between its fingers, it terrified you in a way that had every atom in your body tense and taut.
You screamed, wailed, and fought to no avail. Those hands never loosened, no matter how you scratched or clawed, there was nothing there to fight. It was as if you were being suffocated by a spectre.
“You’re okay!”
You choked out a sob, begging every deity, every spirit that listened to spare your life.
“You’re safe!”
Those hands tightened against your throat, and you thought for a brief moment, that somewhere in the darkness there was a glimpse of color.
And when you drew your final breath, your soul falling into death’s awaiting arms, you thought you heard the creature laugh.
“Wake up!”
Your eyes shot open, dazzling beams of light immediately scorching your vision. You groaned, panting heavily as you scrambled up to rest on your elbows. Everything was sore and damp.The room was unfamiliar, there was the smell of male cologne and the blanket draped over you was too soft.
Other than your own hyperventilating, it was quiet. You took a moment to assess your surroundings.
Dark, curly hair obscured the view of the room and you threw yourself back. Your heart raced against your chest, sent right into overdrive.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry!”
The stammered words were panicked and light and nothinglike the whispers you had just endured. At that moment, you remembered exactly where you were and who you were with.
“Steven!” You gasped, gripping the blankets tightly between your fingers. The soft, golden wash of the room danced across the highlights of his face, illuminating sharp cheekbones and a prominent nose.
“Yes!” He choked on a wary laugh, his chocolate gaze scouring your features. “Yes, that’s me, everything is A-Ok”
You nodded but you didn’t feel’A-Ok.’ You were thinking something more along the lines of being hit by a bus that then stopped to do a burnout on your dead body.
You felt like shit.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, humiliation running red along the length of your neck.
It was meant to be a straightforward night: you had come over to discuss new research and have a casual take-out dinner. You had not intended to stay so late, you had not intended to crash for the night and you had most definitely not intended to have a full-fledged night terror in his living room.
You wanted to bury your face in your hands and let the universe swallow you whole.
“Oh goodness,” Steven exclaimed, startling you from your thoughts. He threw his hands up with a soft ‘pfft’, those soft eyes watching you sympathetically from beneath thick lashes. “I’d be a right old hypocrite if I said anything about sleeping habits- or lack of them, I suppose I should say.”
You huffed a soft laugh, the chaotic man had trouble when it came to resting. He had warned you about his sleeping arrangements and you weren’t in the least bit suprised by it. It made sense, the dark circles, the scattered brained ramblings, the confusion over simple things, it was definitely a result of lack of sleep.
Your stomach dropped suddenly, had you woken him up?
Steven watched the abrupt change in your expression with his brows drawn. “What is it?”
“Did I wake you?” You whispered, remorseful already despite not having heard the answer. You would literally curl up in a ball and die if he had been sleeping, a rare occurrence, just to be jolted awake by your screaming.
“Oh, no!” Steven shook his head rapidly, shifting closer to you. “Goodness, no. It’s too early for that.”
You glanced at the mounted clock over his shoulder, it was 2am.
“Actually, I was just thinking about that theory that you mentioned earlier- which, by the way, I have some thoughts on,” the man continued talking, completely off kilter from the question you’d asked him. He was brimming with energy, it seemed. Despite all that he had to say at this ungodly hour of night, you were glad that you hadn’t disturbed him, you’d much rather hear him talk than watch him resent you.
“But, you’ve just had an awful nightmare and I’m talking your ear off,” his words slowed to a sheepish murmur. You watched him raise his hand to rub the back of his neck, curls falling against his brow with the movement.
“What I should be asking,” he breathed, eyes narrowing with a sudden attentiveness that had your heart racing in your chest. “Is if you’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” you lied, nodding your head softly. “It was just a nightmare.”
Steven inhaled deeply, shifting his shoulders against the couch you were both sat upon. He cast his gaze to his lap, “well, nightmares can seem very real at the time. You sounded terrified.”
“I was,” you admitted.
There was a short silence, both of you avoiding eye contact as you reminisced on your separate experiences, your own tortures. Sleeping was a risky thing to do on both ends, one didn’t trust it and the other craved it. It was ironic that you were the two individuals that had decided to have a sleepover.
“Thank you,” you broke the quiet that had settled. “Thank you for pulling me out of it. You didn’t have to.”
There was a quirk of his lips and a shy red hue blossomed over his face. “I’d want someone to do the same for me.”
You nodded. Before you could both fall into another comfortable silence, Steven stood to his feet.
“Well, I better leave you to it,” he coughed awkwardly, “and not linger like a weirdo.”
You said nothing, but your chest wrenched at his words. There was nothing more that you wanted than some company, not so much to talk but the presence of another person always made you feel safe. Especially when there were creatures that lurked in the corners of your mind, waiting impatiently for you to fall asleep.
When your eyes were closed, that’s when they would strike.
Steven waved clumsily, a grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Well, uh, good night then. I’d say 'see you in the morning’, but it’s morning now.”
From the corner of your eye, a shadow moved in the reflection of the window.
Steven turned on his heel, abruptly trying to make a grand escape from the graceless situation, you called his name. You hadn’t meant it to sound so urgent, so desperate, but there was enough fear in your voice to make him freeze. The restless man before you turned slowly like he had been caught in a criminal act.
“Yeah?” He bounced on the balls of his feet lightly, hands fiddling from within the pockets of his sweatpants. When you didn’t reply straight away the anxiety across his expression melted into concern. “Everything okay, love?”
Love.
Your chest tightened.
“Would you mind…” Your voice was a timid rasp, and you were unsure if what you wanted to say would be overstepping. You figured you had both broken the rules already tonight. “Would you mind sticking around for a bit?”
Steven’s mouth opened and closed several times wordlessly. Oh, God. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. You were overstepping, you were friends, and adult friends didn’t do this.
“Of course,” the whisper traveled across the space between you like a gasp. “Of course, I’ll stick around for a bit.”
You stared at him, almost unable to believe he would agree to it. Everyone thought Steven was a pushover, you would beg to differ. You had seen him defend his thoughts and set boundaries many times, whether it came to work or social life, he was quite upfront about his feelings.
The man you had spent many nights thinking about stared right back at you. His eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t look quite as flustered as he usually did. There was a confidence in him when he moved toward you, almost like he knew exactly what he had to do.
The couch jostled as he sat down beside you, shoulder to shoulder. You threw the blanket over his legs, and from your peripheral, you could see scarlet bloom across his neck.
“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, offering a side-long glance.
“This is more than okay,” you said honestly. “I just need to be with someone right now.”
Steven nodded knowingly, humming in agreement. You could feel your breathing calm in your chest, and the shadows of the room didn’t look so daunting anymore.
“The only thing worse than a nightmare is waking up from one alone.” His words were painfully raw and honest. You looked up at him and the muscles in his jaw tightened from beneath the skin. You had never really looked at him this close up before, there was never really a chance to. His features were so unique to him, so expressive in every twitch and quirk of his face, Steven was simply breathtaking.
Your heart leaped into your throat when he turned his head, watching you just as you watched him. His eyes were soft while they washed over your features, over and over.
“Most people run off when I have nightmares,” you stated. You didn’t know what you wanted him to say, and you had no idea why you had even brought it up to begin with. It just felt right. You were vulnerable and you trusted him to not shatter your trust, but talking to Steven had always been easy.
“Well,” Steven sniffed playfully, nudging you with his shoulder. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Your heart stalled.
“I hope not,” you smiled shakily.
Somewhere from beneath the blanket, you felt his fingers tentatively wrap around yours, warm and soft and grounding. His breath whispered against your skin, and at that moment you could have kissed him.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, love.”
With the way that his gaze dripped with adoration, and made you feel warm and wanted, you believed him.
My first Moon Knight x Reader fic is due in the next hour, be ready peeps!
I’m 1000% ready for it to flop, as it’s the first non-Star Wars related thing on my blog but if you’re into Moon Knight please let me know how I did (basically please let me know if I should just stick to Din because the other shit I write is horrendous)
Pairing: Marc Spector X Fem!Reader / Steven Grant x Fem!reader / Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader
Summary: You move into a new flat with the moon boys and they have their first tastes of domestic bliss.
Warnings: Implied smut: p in v, oral (f receiving). Minors DNI. But mostly it’s fluff. A bit of hurt/comfort. Domesticity but that’s literally in the title. Omniscient pov.
Word count: 3.8K
A/n: I’m very excited about this. I worked really hard on it so please please please let me know if you like it. Thank you to @sugared-tea for proof reading. Dividers by @firefly-graphics reposted because it didnt show up in tags. wtf tumblr.
Marc was terrified.
His heart pounded in his head and it was hard to breathe in the small office he sat in. The stale air choked him, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and his nails dug into the cheap leather of the arm chair. The landlord glanced up at him briefly while explaining the tenancy agreement to you. He sat behind an impressive desk, wore a cheap suit, and smelled like his secretary’s perfume. It made Marc distrust him. You noticed that the landlord had stopped mid sentence and looked up from the documents in front of you. You followed his gaze until it landed on Marc.
Suddenly it was silent, he could breathe again, and all he could smell was the jasmine and honey scent of your perfume. You offered him a knowing smile, reached over and placed your hand on his knee.
synopsis ; jake lockley wasn’t your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just… he was just there. a ghost living in your house.
words ;3.5k
themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au
warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3
Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatinglyfresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze.
He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Mother Mother, Nothing But Thieves—were you singing them on purpose justto annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.
Heespeciallyhated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.
