#marc spector x child reader

[book-place]

Tempers to Rival

Warnings: cursing, mention of punching, bruises, bullying, mention of assault, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Marc Spector x daughter reader

Request: Reader is marc’s daughter. One of her asshole classmates tells her that her dad is crazy because he has DID so she beats him up and Marc gets a call from the principal. Dialogue #5

(I hope this is what you were looking for, and if not I’m sorry and just lmk and I’ll try to fix it!!)

Request by: @thattripleabattery

*not my gif*

Summary: A call from your school leads to obnoxious parents and arguments… what could go wrong?

A/N: The bolded is the dialogue prompt; this was kind of rushed- I haven’t really had a lot of motivation lately

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You kicked violently at the ground yet again, glaring at it so hard that one might have thought that a hole would be burned through at any minute.

Your arms were crossed defensively over your chest and your bruised knuckles were clenched into fists so tight that they were beginning to turn white.

One of your classmates sat across the room from you, as far away as he could get, glancing up at you nervously every five seconds, as if you were about to get up and walk over at any moment.

With each kick you sent to the ground, he flinched a bit and his bruised eye would close slightly, as if waiting for an impact that wasn’t going to come.

Running a hand through your hair, you slouched back into your chair even more before returning your hands to their white knuckled state.

This was not how you wanted to spend your Wednesday afternoon at all. You should have been back at home, kicking back and watching some Netflix before ordering a pizza and passing out for the night, not sitting in a waiting room right outside of your principals office, waiting for both yours and the kids parents to show up.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as the door opened and the boy's two parents came rushing into the room, fussing over their son as the mother panicked- close to tears- and the father glared at you slightly.

Neither of them said anything to you, and you were okay with that. You didn’t feel like trying to explain yourself to people who raised such a pathetic little human being such as the boy.

Only two minutes later did they go silent, and that was because your father stepped through the door, wearing his normal resting face that seemed to be able to kill ten people with a single glance.

As that very look landed on you, you resisted the urge to groan, he did not look happy in the slightest.

“What happened?” He said gruffly, not even acknowledging the other presences in the room.

That seemed to make the mother angry.

“What happened was, that little brat decided to-“ She had stood up angrily, only to be quickly pulled down by the husband who put a hand over her mouth, looking frighteningly at Marc.

This finally got your fathers attention.

His glare intensified and his eyes moved from you to the family now cowering in the corner of the room.

His lips pulled into a sneer as he looked down his nose at them, “What did you just say?”

Before anything could escalate any further though, the door to the office opened to reveal the principal, “Oh, good. You’re all here, come in.”

He stepped aside and motioned for you all to enter, the family scurrying in quickly and obediently while Marc just waited as you sighed, dragging yourself out of your chair, before making sure you were in front of him for the two of you to walk in together.

Stepping into the office, you immediately took a seat in the chair that was facing the desk farthest from the family, leaving Marc to sit between you and the father.

It wasn’t that hard for a person to look over the scene before them and tell exactly how each person was feeling at that moment.

The father of the boy was sitting with his arms tucked close to his body, fidgeting with his fingers slightly. The mother, on the other hand, was sitting up straight in her seat, hands shaking slightly in rage as she held her head high. And then there was the boy, sitting in between his parents, seeming to want to make himself as small as possible.

You were slouched back in your seat, arms crossed with a small glare on your face. The principal was sitting up straight with his hands folded in front of him, and if you looked close enough you could see some beads of sweat forming on his forehead. And Marc was leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, analyzing every inch of the room with his cold eyes.

Your principal finally cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “Thank you, parents, for coming.”

“Didn’t really have a choice when you called at the end of the school day saying that there was an emergency and to get here right away.” Marc said gruffly.

Truth be told, he had dropped everything he was doing to rush here as quickly as he could when he was told that something was wrong.

As soon as he had entered the waiting room though, he had realized that you were in no immediate danger and that the principal probably just wanted to lecture him about one thing or another, something he had to sit through all the time as a kid and didn’t exactly want to relive at that exact moment.

The principal cleared his throat in return, stretching out his collar in a way you would see in a cartoon you used to watch when a character was nervous.

“Yes, well, I of course wouldn’t have called if this wasn’t of the utmost importance.” He tried to explain, glancing off to the side as if that would get your fathers strong gaze off of him.

“I was in the middle of something when you called.” He growled, noticing from the corner of his eye that you shrunk down slightly farther at his words.

The mother let out a scoff, rolling her eyes, “Typical.” She ‘mumbled’ quite loudly.

Your fathers hard gaze once again turned to the woman, “Is there something you want to say to me?” He demanded, not once letting his emotionless expression shift.

“Sir, Ma’am!” Your principal practically yelped, trying to stop an argument before it even began.

And surprisingly it worked, both rolling their eyes and looking the other way.

“I’m just going to cut to the chase.” He hurriedly said, “You three are here because your children got into a fight during the last period today.”

Marc's eyes finally fully snapped to you for the first time since you entered the room.

He had been so focused on seeing if you were in any immediate danger when he first walked in to even notice your slightly bruised knuckles and the nice shiner around the boy's left eye.

He wanted to scold himself for missing such a big thing like that in the first place.

“Which was her fault-“ the lady began spitting out.

“Mrs. Stanley, please.” The principal stressed, then he flitted his eyes back and forth between you and the boy, “Henry, why don’t you start us off? Tell us your side of the story.”

Oh, so the boy's name was Henry. You had never bothered learning it before. Quite frankly, it didn’t even matter to you.

He was silent for a moment, before speaking up in a mumble with his eyes still cast to the ground, “I don’t know. One minute I was doing my science work and the next she was on top of me, punching me over and over again.”

Mrs. Stanley opened her mouth to speak, but the principal held and hand up and her husband grabbed her hand to silence her.

“And did she give you any indication as to why she was hitting you?” He asked.

Henry shook his head, “N-no. Like I said, I was just doing my work and then she had me on the ground and started beating me up out of nowhere.”

This time it was your turn to scoff and roll your eyes, “That’s such bull-“

But the woman didn’t even give you a chance to finish your sentence before she jumped up, “See? Don’t you see? She just started beating up my poor baby for absolutely no reason! That kind of thing can not be tolerated here, Mr. Hansley!”

Huh, you hadn’t even bothered to learn your own principal's name before either. You were new in town, anyway.

Up until that point, Marc had been silent, carefully listening to the boy spew out lies, watching from the corner of his eye to gouge your reaction.

His body had grown more tense then when he had first entered the room, but still, he remained silent.

The principal sighed, “What about you, Miss. Spector? What would you say your side of the story is?”

“Her side?” The woman shrieked, “How dare you even think that there is another side to this- this… assault!” Her eyes narrowed to slits, “After everything we’ve done for you? All the money we’ve donated to this school? You’re willing to throw that all away just to hear a pathetic excuse from some delinquent child?”

The principal looked like he wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole, “W-well I suppose that no matter what she has to say, she still hit your son… So, I’ll say that I am hereby suspending you, Y/n Spector, for the next two weeks.”

Marc still said nothing.

The woman silenced a little bit, seeming to think it over, before nodding her head in approval, “Fine, I suppose that will have to do… but I expect you to transfer her out of all of my son's classes!”

Mr. Hansley had progressed to looking like he wanted to slam his head through the closest wall, “I’ll see what I can do, Ma’am.” It wasn't really a sincere way, more of a please-stop-talking-to-me kind of way.

Without waiting for premmisson, Marc abruptly stood up and exited the small office, not even glancing back to see if you were following, which you were- scrambling after him.

You had to jog to keep up with his long strides that he took as he made his way out the building and to his car.

Quietly, you closed the passenger door behind you, glancing nervously at your father.

When it came to Marc Spector, if there was one thing to know, it was that it was alway quiet before the storm.

“This was a brand new school.” He said quietly, looking out the windshield instead of at you, “And you got suspended during your first week here.”

If there was one thing that you could confidently say that you inherited from your father, it was your temper. And you could feel it rising fast at his words. The temper was the thing that got you into that mess in the first place, after all.

But with the same tempers, came terrible and rageful fights. Both of you always ended up saying things you didn’t mean and later came to regret.

“He didn’t even let me explain myself.” You said angrily.

“Explain what, Y/n?” His voice rose, and he finally turned to look at you, “That you messed up when we were trying to start over?”

That was an example of one thing he would most likely come to regret saying later.

Your eyes narrowed, “I wouldn’t have done it for no reason, dad.”

“Oh, is that so?” He snapped back sarcastically, “You wouldn’t just punch a kid because you’re a teenager who had to go through a lot in your lifetime and you feel that violence is the only way to release some of that pent up anger?”

If that was the case then you were more alike him than he had originally thought.

“No, I wouldn’t-“

“And you wouldn’t try to mess up your new school so that you wouldn’t have to go anymore?” He began rambling, “So you could stay home all day and waste the rest of your life-“

You finally snapped.

“Just listen! For once in your life just listen to me!”

The sound of your screams bounced off the car walls as you breathed heavily, staring at your father, who appeared to be too stunned to speak.

“That boy- Henry- was making jokes to his friends while I was around, about you having DID. Saying that it made you crazy. I don’t know how he knows, but he does and he thought it would be a good idea to make fun of you for it. I was nearby and I heard it and I just snapped.” Your temper had dropped the slightest bit.

Marc opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish before finally seeming to find the words to say, “You… you punched that kid because he was talking about me having DID?”

You shrugged, turning your head to face your window.

He sighed, all anger immediately draining from his body. Instead, filling up with guilt.

“I’m… I'm sorry, n/n.” Your head snapped back over in his direction, and were surprised to see him looking right into your eyes, “I’m sorry.” He repeated, not elaborating on what part he was sorry for.

“I’m sorry for getting suspended.” You said softly in return, anger no longer present.

He shrugged, “Don’t worry about it, you’re not going back to that school anyway.”

If possible, you are even more surprised than before, “What?”

“I’m not letting you go to school with assholes like that.” He said.

With that, he pulled out of the parking lot and began driving the two of you home.

It was silent until about halfway there when he spoke up, “And, n/n?” You hummed in return, “Thank you.”

Like a Bee 🐝- @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @ip747

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #teen reader #marc spector x reader #marc and steven #marc spector #Marc Spector x child reader #daughter reader #Marc Spector x reader platonic #Marc Spector x daughter reader #mk imagine #mk x reader #mk #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #moon knight #the marvel cinematic universe

[bensolosbluesaber]

March Ninth (Marc Spector x f!reader)

Summary: It’s Marc Spector’s birthday, something you only know because of Steven and Jake. After Marc walks out on you, he realizes he needs to tell you why he really hates his birthday and let you help him. (Angst, fluff)

Pairings: Marc Spector x f!reader, some Steven Grant and Jake Lockley x f!reader

Warnings: A little angst, everyone is sad but it ends happy, DID portrayal consistent with Moon Knight show portrayal (please let me know if there are errors), child abuse mentions

A/N: I have like ten requests to write and instead you’re getting more sad Marc. Can you tell I have a thing for romantic food fights? Kind of a BB-8 cameo - I might start writing Poe Dameron fics soon. This story started to get away from me and I let it.

--

Marc watches you from across the restaurant. It’s not an overly fancy place, but it’s nice. He has a sneaking suspicion about why you invited him out tonight. He wouldn’t even be here, but Steven had insisted it had nothing to do with his birthday.

That was a boldfaced lie Marc realizes as he approaches you. Anger swells in his chest. You shouldn’t even know when his birthday is, and you certainly shouldn’t be acknowledging it.

“Hi!” You greet him cheerfully as he slides into the bench across from you. His face is fixed in that deep frown, and it mutes your excitement… but only a little.

“Is this a birthday dinner?” Marc whispers harshly, leaning across the table.

“Yeah.” Any remaining excitement fades away at his deep frown and cold tone. “Steven said-”

“Fuck whatever Steven said!” His voice is quiet, and somehow that harsh whisper is even worse than if he were yelling. “I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

When he stands, you can physically feel something in your heart crack. Painful fractures spiral outward as he fixes you with a cold brown-eyed stare. Marc has never looked at you like that before. It stuns you into silence, a silence so pervasive and heavy that even as Marc stands up and leaves you can’t call after him.

Marc Spector walks out. He abandons you. Marc leaves you sitting alone in a restaurant to stare at the space he occupied moments ago.

“Are you still expecting someone?”

Of course the waiter shows up right now. You finally tear your eyes away from the emptiness and clear your throat while you will the tears not to fall.

“He actually uh- he’s stuck at work,” you reply making eye contact with the table. “Can I just get the check?” — Marc storms into his apartment filled with a rage he can’t quite describe. He specifically avoided the birthday topic with you entirely. You only could have known because of Steven. Marc’s pissed at you. He’s pissed at Steven. Jake was probably in on it too, so he’s pissed at him. And Marc, he himself was the one who had just abandoned you. But then again, hating himself is nothing new.

“Fuck!” He swears and grabs the sides of his sink to stare at his own reflection. “Steven!”

“How was it, mate?” Steven is perky as he appears, his voice full of a misplaced optimism. “Did you see…” 

His voice trails off as he finally realizes that something is wrong.

“You told her it’s my birthday.”

“Well you weren’t going to,” Steven replies indignantly.

“Of course I fucking wasn’t! I don’t celebrate my birthday you prick!”

“I know that, Marc! I was trying to give you a cheery little day.”

Marc could have put his fist through the mirror right then. He didn’t want a ‘cheery little day.’ He wanted to spend the evening alone, maybe drink himself into a stupor, maybe give Jake control for the night.

“Where is she?”

Speaking of Jake. He is the one who realizes you are absent from the flat. Marc ignores the question. He has to direct his guilt and anger at someone besides himself. Even as he starts shouting at Steven he knows it’s unfair, but he does it anyway.

“You know why I never had a good birthday, Steven? Do you?” Marc snarls. “I gave them to you! Every good moment of every birthday went to you. When we turned fourteen and mum was doing okay, I gave you that whole day… I told myself next year. Next year it can be my turn, and today I’ll be content as a fly on the wall. And guess fucking what! There was no next year! But you, you got to remember turning fourteen and b- being happy!”

Steven is silent and hurting as Marc screams at him through their reflection, but he tamps down those feelings for Marc’s sake and for yours. Because Steven has finally realized what Jake already figured out - Marc should be at dinner with you, and he’s not.

“I know,” Steven says with a remarkable kindness and complete calm.

That stuns Marc into silence.

“Marc, we helped her plan tonight because we knew all of that,” Jake joins the conversation. He’s surprisingly talkative tonight. “We planned these birthday-ish things: cake, dinner, ice cream, a few gifts. But no actual birthday mentions, thought you’d need to work up to that…” — You weren’t going to so much as breath the words ‘happy birthday’ tonight. Jake and Steven had warned you that Marc wasn’t a birthday person but insisted that you could, should plan something. And you had. And he had left. And now you were in bed at 8 pm trying to stop crying.

To your credit, you did make it to your apartment before the tears came, but when they did, it was like you had removed a stone from a dam. There was no stopping the flood.

The darkness of the room surrounds you, numbing you to the outside world as you lay wrapped in it. For how long, you don’t know. Your comforter is pulled tight around you to keep you warm in the intentionally chilly apartment. The giant moon blanket - a gift from Marc - sits in an unused heap on the floor where you tossed it. All you want to do is sleep, but you can feel the emptiness beside you where Marc or Steven or Jake always slept. 

The rustle of keys in your door only vaguely registers, but when a thin sliver of light from the hallway falls across the room, you know who it is without even looking. The door clicks shut; the room goes dark again. Marc, or maybe it’s Jake or Steven, shuffles closer.

You’re too upset to talk to Marc, and though the rational part of you knows that Steven and Jake didn’t purposefully or maliciously set you up for failure, the irrational part is upset with them too. Naturally, you take the coward’s way out and pretend to be asleep.

Marc nearly trips over the blanket on the ground, the blanket you never sleep without. He swallows hard as he stares at the swirling gray pattern of the moon. He’d hurt you bad. He brings the soft blanket with him as he climbs into bed beside you, staring at your back. He can’t sleep without you, which is stupid and cliche but also the truth.

After the three alters had settled their differences, Jake had cajoled him into coming over for the sake of getting their body to sleep and for you.

Marc is pretty sure you’re awake, but you’ve made no move to greet him. Your breathing is deep and slow, but almost deliberately so. Maybe he should go, he thinks.

“She’s awake. If she didn’t want you here, she’d have kicked you out,” Steven says. Steven has a point.

Marc stretches out behind you. For a long moment, his hand hovers at your waist for a second before pulling back. Yep, it’s definitely Marc. He’s shifting behind you, and when he settles, you can feel just the light touch of his fingers grazing your upper back.

God, you’re so angry at him. And yet, despite the storm of feelings coursing through your body, knowing he’s there and listening to his his soft breathing, finally soothes you into sleep. Marc feels your body relax as you drift off. He desperately wants to hold you, to smooth away your tears, to explain, apologize. Instead, he settles for hugging your giant Porg stuffed animal to his chest. It’s the spot where you belong, and the stuffed animal is a pathetic substitute for your warmth.

-- When you wake up your eyes are puffy from crying, Marc is asleep. You sit up, careful not to disturb him. He’s cute, holding the stuffed Porg tightly with the moon blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Despite a stale anger that has taken up residence in your stomach, you press your lips to his temple before you climb out of bed and start coffee. Then you run cold water over a washcloth and press it against your swollen eyes, leaning back on the counter and listening to the quiet drip, drip of coffee in the pot. The sound is soothing, and it gives you time to think about the events of last night with a clearer head.

A few minutes pass before a warm hand smooths hair from your forehead and runs across your hands to pull the cloth away from your eyes. Marc’s big sad eyes meet yours, and you can’t hold his gaze for another second before your own eyes start to burn.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and takes your face between his hands, thumbing your tears away. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry.”

Someone taught you not to say ‘it’s okay’ when accepting an apology. It might have been Steven actually. But right now, you can’t find the ‘thank you’ that you had learned was the right way to accept an apology.

“I’m sorry,” Marc repeats when you don’t respond. His eyes implore you to believe him, and you do, but believing him isn’t enough.

“You can’t just apologize and expect me to be okay. You have to talk to me, Marc. You left me at a fucking restaurant! It was worse than being stood up.” Shit, now you’re really starting to cry again. Your eyes ache and burn.

Steven and Jake are surprisingly silent, and now of all times. Marc steps back and sits on the dining room table, his legs dangling in the air. He grips the table until his knuckles turn white.

“We went to your birthday party a few months back,” Marc starts. “You had family there. Friends. You blew out candles, and everyone sang and wore those stupid hats. That’s how you remember birthdays.” Marc runs his fingers through his messy brown hair and leans forward, elbows on his knees, head in his palms as he stares at the ground. “One year, on my… my birthday, my mom wouldn’t even come downstairs. One year, she got drunk and told me I killed my brother on purpose. The next year, she told me she wished I died instead and beat the shit out of me for being the one who lived.”

You can’t look at Marc. The sight of his red-rimmed eyes and streaming tears is going to make you cry harder.

“It’s not an excuse, but you deserve to know. I shouldn’t have left you there, and I’m sorry.” Marc reaches out a hand for yours. You let him take it. 

He pulls you closer so you stand between his legs. You had known his birthdays were awful, that his whole childhood was one mess after another, that his mother was… how she was. You hadn’t known all of this.

It’s a testament to how much Marc loves you that the usually reserved man would share so much of himself. It’s likely Steven had words with him after last night too.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whisper and smooth a curl out of Marc’s eyes so you can finally meet them full on.

The look you two share communicates more than words ever could - his regret, your forgiveness, a mutual agreement that it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen again. You pull Marc in close, letting him rest his head heavily on your shoulder while his body trembles.

“Don’t be mad at Steven and Jake,” he manages to choke out. “They meant well.”

“I was mad at them, but I just needed to cool off for the night.” Your voice is full of reassurance. “I’m still glad you came over.”

Marc leans back and presses his forehead against yours, your noses bumping together.

“The penguin isn’t as good at cuddling as you,” Marc smiles.

You roll your eyes. He knows it’s a Porg.

Just then his stomach growls, and an idea occurs to you. Maybe you’re pushing it, but it was an expensive cake.

“Can I show you something?”

Marc nods, and you pull him over to the cake box. You can feel the tension radiating out from him as he looks at it, and you grab his hand as you lift the lid.

The cake doesn’t say “Happy Birthday.” It simply says ‘Marc,’ but the ‘c’ of his name has been turned into the Chicago Cubs logo. The whole thing is frosted like a baseball diamond with little sugar candy bats and baseballs and gloves stuck all over. So what if it is a bit gaudy and over the top? What’s important is that it has exactly zero mention of birthdays at all. There’s not even candles. 

Marc squeezes your hand, then turns and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Are you suggesting cake for breakfast?” He asks.

“Yep,” you pop the p hard and hope he approves.

“You’re strange,” he mutters. But there’s affection behind his words, and he’s already reaching for a knife. You grab plates.

“Can I have home plate please?” You beg. That piece is absolutely loaded with icing, and Marc observes you with a tipped head then laughs and cuts you the piece.

“What? I love icing.”

“Is it good?”

“Icing? Yeah! Have you not…” you trail off and curse silently. What had you literally just discussed? Of course the man who hates birthdays isn’t out gorging himself on birthday cake.

“Not for a long time.”

When he takes the first bite of cake, it’s like watching the sun rising over the horizon or seeing stars appear in the night sky. His lips curl into a smile. His eyes go wide. Marc is absolutely delighted, and soon he’s reaching over to steal your piece.

“There’s more right there!” You protest and wave your fork in the direction of the cake that is actually closer to him than you are. 

Marc grins as he steals another bite from you. His eyes catch on your lips. He huffs out a small laugh. Then his hand is reaching out to swipe frosting from the side of your mouth.

“Simba her!”

“Steven… what?”

“Did you not watch The Lion King with us… oh never mind. Give me the body.”

For an instant, Steven takes control. It’s so brief you don’t even notice how his face changes, probably because you’re too busy having frosting smeared across your forehead.

“Simba,” Steven says in a low voice. A moment later Marc has the body again, and he’s relieved to see you smiling.

Bless Steven. Any remaining tension in the room is gone, any fight put firmly in the past as you blink up at him with surprise.

“Marc!” You hiss. You don’t realize it was Steven, and you never will.

The man starts to protest, but is cut off as you smear green frosting across his cheek, a whole handful of it. It doesn’t matter that Steven started it, the battle is on. The two of you are armed with frosting and chasing each other around the kitchen. 

As you back away from Marc, you slip on the tile. Your feet slide out from under you, and for a second you can almost see your head smashing against the kitchen table until Marc catches you easily. Superhero reflexes and all that. Your momentum carries you both to the ground, but Marc manages to guide you into a well-controlled crash landing that is cushioned by his muscular form.

“You’ve got something,” he gestures vaguely to your whole face as you lay on top of him.

You scrunch your frosting covered nose. His eyes flicker over to your bed, then back to you. Bed. You.

“What?”

“Your weird penguin thing is watching us.”

“It’s a Porg stuffie-”

“Stuffie?” Marc teases.

You narrow your eyes and pretend to be angry.

“Yes. Stuffie. And you know his name is Luke, so be nice, and he’s not watching us because he isn’t real.”

“So he isn’t real, but I have to be nice?”

“That reminds me,” you ignore Marc’s question - to which the obvious answer is yes - and jump up. There’s a big gift bag on the counter, and you pass it down and sit beside Marc. “Here. A, um, a present for... no reason at all.”

Marc stands, washes his hands, and pulls off his white frosting-covered undershirt before he takes the bag. He is devoid of frosting and completely distracting you with his bare chest as reaches into the bag and pulls out the stuffed animal, a little round orange and white droid. He chuckles a little and shakes his head.

“To be Luke’s friend,” you offer the explanation weakly, only now realizing that this adult man probably does not want a stuffie.

“Hi BB-8,” he says to the droid, then to you. “Is this because you think I look like that guy in the movie?”

“Maybe.” You grin, glad that he got the reference.

“Thank you, baby.”

He’s tense for an instant, then he hugs the stuffed droid in one arm and wraps the other around you. “I know you want to say it. You can say it.”

His dark eyes are serious. His bare chest is warm even through your shirt.

“Happy birthday, Marc.”

--

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[terry-perry]

Extra Protection

Pairing: Dad!Marc Spector x Mom!Reader, implied Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader (not the main focus of the story)

OC: Marcy Spector

A/N: Time for some more Marcy Spector content that's a little fluffier, in honor of Father's Day! Back when she still thought her dad was the coolest guy ever.

Marc was set to go. He couldn't believe Khonshu called him to do this. Of course he said yes, but from what the god discussed with him about the trip, it sounded like he was going to miss another birthday. He was lucky to have married the patient, understanding soul that was you, but that didn't make things hurt less. If anything, he kinda wished you would show him some irrational anger towards him. Might make things easier.

"Daddy?"

He paused his packing to turn toward the entrance of the bedroom. His daughter, Marcy, stood there with her stuffed best friend, Kermit, in her arms. That toy pig hardly ever left her side.

"You leaving, Daddy?"

"Yeah baby," Marc sighed, crouching down so he was at eye level with the 4-year-old. "Khonshu needs me to help save the world."

"You really good at it," she said, smiling.

Marcy was aware, more or less, of not only his condition, but what he did as Moon Knight. You and Marc didn't go into too many details, of course. Really, she should just know her dad does what he needs to do to keep the world a safer place and sometimes needs Papa Steven and Papi Jake to help out with things.

"I do my best," he said to her, smiling back. "Can I count on you to take care of things while I'm gone?"

"Yes, sir!"

She gave a little salute and did her best to give a serious face she's seen him do many times. This had Marc give an emotional laugh.

"Take Kermit with you, Daddy," she suddenly suggested.

When she presented the stuffed pig to him, he didn't think his heart can get any fuller.

"Baby, are you sure?" He asked, knowing how much she loved Kermit more than any other toy she had.

"He'll keep you safe!" She reasoned. "And he's a good pillow."

His eyes teared up a little as he accepted him. He'd be sure to take good care of him.

"C'mere," he lifted her up and put her on the bed where he sat next to her. "I have something for you, too."

He turned to dig through the drawer of his nightstand until finding what he needed.

"I know your birthday is in a couple of days, but I want to give this to you now. Sorry it isn't wrapped."

He instructed her to hold out her hand where he placed a small silver bracelet. On the center of it was what appeared to be a giant eye. Its pupil a shiny gemstone Marcy couldn't help but admire.

"Pretty..." she softly stated as she examined it.

"You know how Khonshu helps Daddy be a superhero? Well he's not the only god around. Has Papa told you about Horus?"

"I think so..."

He chuckled. He couldn't blame her for not remembering every bit of information Steven throws at her.

"Like Khonshu, he helps control the sky," he explained, slipping the bracelet on her little wrist. "And legend has it, he can see everything through the sun and the moon. Because those are his eyes."

"Cool!"

"Really cool," he lifted her hand to present the bracelet now on her. "He'll also be able to look after you through this eye. He'll watch over you and Mommy whenever I'm not here. Wear this, and you'll always be safe and feel like the strong warrior I know you are."

She nodded in understanding before scooting closer to wrap her arms around his neck. "Thank you, daddy. I wear it forever."

He kissed her temple and held her tight. Glancing up, he saw you witnessing everything from the doorway with your own watery smile. He smiled back and moved his eyes down to your wrist where you wore a bracelet identical to Marcy's.

He had reassured you beforehand that this didn't have anything to do with avatars. No way in hell was he going to involve you and especially your little girl in the business. The gods had simply wanted to find a way to thank Marc for putting a stop to Ammit as well as make up for not believing him and Khonshu about Harrow.

They didn't expect for him to request this. They accepted it, nevertheless, assuring him no harm would come to you or your daughter as long as you wore the bracelets. An extra form of protection as he did Khonshu's bidding.

#marc spector x reader #dad!marc spector #child oc #marcy spector #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #mom!reader #moon knight #moon knight series #moon knight spoilers #marvelcinematicuniverse #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu au #mcu fanfiction #mcu #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fanfiction #x reader #steven grant #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader

[juneknight]

Idling//2

Previous drabble here.

About this: Jake Lockley/fem!reader, inaccurate portrayal of DID, references to canon childhood abuse, brief mentioned injury.

Jake is called to front during a domestic moment with you.

The next three times Jake is called into the building, it is for Khonshu’s work. He wakes in Steven’s bed, heart still pounding from the body’s fear. He wishes there were another way for Khonshu to contact him in secrecy, one that doesn’t involve appearing in Steven’s dreams and scaring the daylights out of him, but if there is, he hasn’t thought of it yet.

He returns the body with aches and pains but no worse for wear. The work is violent and easy—and sometimes even enjoyable. It’s easy to call forward that fury that simmers inside of them, that helpless rage of a child abused by the one person who should have loved and protected him most. But there is no catharsis in killing, and when he at last he returns to the cab, it feels like the rain slips in through the windows and chills him to the bone.

And then—

You gasp, a sound of horror, and Jake’s eyes open into consciousness. He stands, entire body flooding with tension as his pulse skyrockets, looking for the threat, ready to Protect the Body.

The flat is dark except for the glow of the television. Your hand grips at the sleeve of his shirt.

“Oh my god!” You half-shriek.

Jake’s vision clears, blackness ebbing away until he can make out the Cubs game on the television. It is the top of the 8th inning, Cubs leading by one. There is a commotion on the pitcher’s mound with a player down surrounded by teammates, staff and paramedics flooding the field.

You tug on his sleeve and it takes everything in him not to pull away but to instead let himself be coaxed back down into his seat. All at once there is a warm weight in his lap—your bare legs thrown over his thighs, turning his mouth dry as sand. When he glances over to you, you still have one hand over your mouth, eyes glued to the television screen.

This is not an emergency. The annoyance he feels at being called forward is only on par with his confusion. Steven doesn’t even like baseball.

Then it hits him: Marc has a girlfriend.

They are literally sharing you, like a fucking milkshake with two straws, like a cigarette passed back and forth, like two people sharing a cab—

“Hey,” you murmur, pulling him from his thoughts. His hands are clenched into fists, held awkwardly away from the bare skin of your legs. Your face is lit up by the television and twisted with concern. “Are you okay?”

Protect the System, his brain prompts him. For now, that means nodding his head. Pretending to be someone else. Pretending Jake Lockley doesn’t exist.

“I’m sure Arrieta’s going to be fine,” you soothe. “Taking a baseball to the face is—well—he’ll walk it off. Probably.”

Jake’s face must not look as reassured as you like, so you slip your legs off of his lap and shift toward him on the loveseat, again coaxing one of his arms up and over your shoulders. Until your ear is pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beat out of control. He smells your shampoo again, as if he could have forgotten it.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” you whisper. “Cranial fractures aside, I’m having a good time. Are you?”

Jake nods again. Your smile makes something in his chest clench up tight, like his hand when it makes a fist. He did that. Except no—he doesn’t exist. The warmth of your body is tempting to relax into, but he refuses, sitting stiffly until his heart slows enough and he is pressed back out onto the rainy street where he spends most of his time.

Next drabble here.

#jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #tw: child abuse #fem!reader #fem!oc

[nowritingonthewall]

💍 with our Moon Boys please, especially Marc ☺

Hiya, I am so sorry for the late reply, this got way more angstier than I intended and tbh I was a little scared to post it. Thank you so much for sending this ask 🥰

!Content warning for the mention of trauma and child abuse!

A Marriage Headcanon for Marc

- It probably goes without saying that Marc would be the most protective husband that you could imagine. Laying his life on the line without thinking twice to keep you safe and always putting the needs of those he cares about before his own is just the bare minimum of his love language.

- At first he keeps telling himself that his need to hold you at night derives purely from his desire to keep you safe. After all, the only human touch he has known since childhood was mostly of the kind that involved pain, first inflicted upon him by his own mother, followed by his experiences in the Marines, his work for Bushman and all the gruesome deeds he has been forced to carry out in the name of Khonshu’s justice. The whole concept of the simple touch of a hand being warm and loving and gentle lies buried somewhere deep down with his need to be accepted and loved. They are buried under so many layers of projected shame and feelings of guilt that they seem to be out of reach for even the most dedicated of archaeologists to uncover.

- And yet, every time that he can feel you melting into his every embrace, snuggling as close as possible and burying your face in the crook of his neck whenever he opens his arms up for you, lovingly placing your hands on his whenever he hugs you from behind, it seems like another one of those layers is steadily being removed. It takes some time to tear down those walls that he has built around his fragile and vulnerable heart but once their foundation starts to crumble, he turns into the softest and cuddliest snuggle bear whenever he is near you. There is nothing that brings more happiness to his life than making his special someone feel safe and warm and loved.

- His deeply-rooted belief of not being worthy of love doesn’t go away over night, of course, but with every initially hesitant hug by him that is met with your gentle reassurance and warmth instead of the rejection he has learnt to expect, he becomes a little more confident, allowing his heart to open up towards you a little further.

- He has so much love to give and while he may not be able to find the proper words to describe his feelings for you (yet), he more than clearly communicates them to you via his actions, putting his heart and soul into even the tiniest of touches, from the very first cuddle in the morning to the very last hug good night and every little embrace in between.

- Being taken care of in return, on the other hand, is a completely different matter and something he has never actually experienced before he met you. Maybe it’s his inherent protectiveness towards people that he cares about, maybe it’s his deeply ingrained need to make others feel safe in a way that he has never known himself, maybe it’s simply because he has never been with a person who he felt safe enough with to let his guard down like that.

- The first time you try to spoon him, he immediately goes into defence mode, nearly panicking hard enough to make Jake front as he starts to prepare to fend off an attacker. But instead of withdrawing completely, as Marc has always feared that you would someday, you only back off far enough for him to no longer be overwhelmed by your display of affection for him. You always knew that it would take some time to convince him that there is no shame in letting other people provide comfort and support for him the same way that he provides it for you. So your actions just become slower and softer and gentler. You don’t force him to talk about things that he isn’t ready to talk about yet and you certainly don’t expect him to “just get over it”. You are just there, trying to give as much as he needs but never more than he is able to take.

- That night, you start by carefully taking his shaking hands in yours and drawing soothing circles on them with your thumbs, while repeating to him how he is safe and so loved, until his ragged breaths turns into softer sobs. Carefully watching out for the slightest sign that he might flinch away, you gently guide him to lie down next to you so that you are facing each other. When you slowly reach out to cup his cheek in your hand, you wait until you can feel him leaning into your touch ever so slightly, before you start to gently wipe his tears away with your thumb, never minding that they are immediately replaced by new trails of tears. Only when you feel that it is safe to do so, you pull him close towards you, letting him lean against you, slowly beginning to tenderly stroke his back in a soothing rhythm, while answering every sob of his with a soft kiss to his temple or the crown of his head. You lay with him like that all night, steadying him against your chest right next to your heart. The very first person holding him like he should have been held by his mother all those years ago.

- Nowadays he still cries now and then when you hold him like that. Sometimes the tears fall silently, sometimes they turn into heart-wrenching sobs. But they always end with him feeling just that tiny little bit safer, a little warmer, a little more loved. And every time the flow of tears made of pain and grief and despair becomes a little less overwhelming as they – drop by drop – turn into tears stemming from a heart so overflowing with love for you that not even the might of gods would be able to contain it.

- You’ll never forget the first time you wake up and find him snuggled up against you, with his head resting on your belly, his worry lines smoothed over by peaceful slumber, displaying a kind of vulnerability and trust that had seemed so utterly out of reach only a few weeks ago. As you stroke over his hair with the gentlest of movements, you are nearly afraid to wake him up. But he just leans subconsciously into your touch, makes the sweetest little content sound and tries to snuggle even closer to you. Finally safe, finally feeling the kind of peace he had been longing for all his life and yet so much better than anything he ever would have dared to dream of.

This is more of a bonus wedding headcanon than a marriage headcanon but I like to imagine that Marc did not only accept Steven as a part of his marriage to Layla, but he also arranged for them to have a (semi-) official ceremony to seal their bond. Marc knows how much Steven loves Layla, he knows how much Steven is in love with Egypt, so can you imagine Steven’s joy and happiness having his own wedding ceremony with Layla in Egypt? Marc spends all day watching from the sidelines trying his hardest not to cry because seeing Steven so happy and so in love makes his own heart burst with joy. The next day, Steven is still so giddy and bubbling over with excitement that he can’t stop himself from saying how he wished he could hug Marc for real, just one more time. This is when Marc loses his composure, no longer being able to hide his tears from Steven. Steven, who – not that long ago – had been convinced that Marc did nothing but hurt people and ruin everything that he touches. Steven, who is now beaming at him in front of the mirror acting as if Marc himself is the reason for the happiness he feels that day. And while Steven may not be able to hug him, he can still sit by his side without any judgement, reassure him that he isn’t alone and whisper softly how grateful he is for having Marc in his life.  

I am really sorry about making Marc cry so much 🥺 Not all tears are bad, though, and he just deserves someone to take care of him so much <3

#chrissie answers #moon knight #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc x reader #steven grant #my headcanons #chrissie tries to write #chrissie gifs #tw: trauma #tw: child abuse

[atlaese]

Tuscany getaway

#got the random urge to make a moodboard #and i spent so many summers in tuscany as a child so it has a special place in my heart #anyway random might make more of these tbh #honestly imagine this as marc or steven though #oscar isaac #oscar isaac moodboard #marc spector moodboard #steven grant moodboard #moon knight #moon knight moodboard #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader

[lovely-necromancy]

The Moon and the Stars ch 4

Pairings: Mark Spector/Reader, Steven Grant/Reader, Jake Lockley/Reader

Warnings: Swear words, inaccurate DID

Word count: 6,153

Marc had taken over fronting by the time the three of you had walked from the parking garage over to Nelson and Murdock. Jake apparently taking a back seat now that he wasn't needed to drive. It seems like a strange trade off but you also dislike driving and wouldn't mind having someone to take care of that for you. Though you're a little more than envious that each of them seemingly get to – for the lack of a better term, stop existing for a bit. Passing over the reigns when things get too much or they aren't needed in the moment.

Not that you think it's easy by any means to live with their condition or in their situation at all. You just find existing difficult to do constantly for something that seems to go on for so long. Maybe that's the reason people pair off in sets you'd get someone to do things you dislike; like doing the dishes and as a trade off they'd find cooking to be a chore and you'd gladly take over that. Or even having someone like Jake to drive for those few times that you had to.

Unlike Jake, Marc doesn't walk behind you and Layla to keep an eye out for you, something you're very grateful for since it gives you a rest from the searing feeling of eyes on your back. Instead Marc walks beside you and it's only when he catches sight of the marquee as you pass it, that he steps ahead of you making sure he holds the door for both you and Layla.

“Thank you.” slips out from habit, but you're no less appreciative of his chivalrous gesture.

Your voice catches Foggy's attention, he unfurrows his brow as he fiddles with the furniture parts laying around him.

“I told Matt to lock the door.” he mutters to himself sounding miffed.

You lock the door and motion for Layla and Marc to take seats in the waiting area, as they warily eye the man's tense posture.

“I promise he doesn't bite, anyway seems he's occupied.” you say oblivious to the agitation of the strawberry blonde on the floor, and the glare he's giving you.

Foggy flips you off as he double checks the instructions, “And definitely not in the mood for your shit.”

His tone rolls right off of you as you walk to hover in front of him. His jaw clenches and relaxes the clenches back up again, like he's biting his tongue to stop himself from saying something. You are too busy looking at the upside down booklet to notice any of his out of place mannerisms.

“What's this anyway?” you ask crouching down across from him, still reading the booklet.

“Fish tank.” tone short and clipped.

“Duh, why are you getting fish though?” tilting your head as your eyes rest on him.

“Jesus, because waiting areas have fish in them!” he snaps.

You held his gaze for a moment and wait for his shoulders to relax before speaking. But he goes back to the two pieces of wood that look like they are the same, and probably aren't meant to connect like he's attempting.

“Like who's gonna take care of them though? Y'know cleaning and stuff, you guys don't really have a secretary not to mention Matt's liable to suck a fish into a siphon while cleaning if he tried.”

The attempted ice breaker falls on deaf ears as Foggy ignores you, in favor of flipping back a page in the booklet.

“So...” you draw out the word until he looks at you brow hunched downward and lips off set in a semi snarl, “What fish are you getting?”

Foggy's exclamation of  'God Dammit' and throwing down the pieces of wood in a huff have Marc and Layla leaping from their seats. Layla hovering next to you, ready to pull you behind her and Marc standing in front of you both.

Marc throws a pointed look at you from over his shoulder, “I think you've done enough, now sit.” he orders pointing towards the seat he had occupied just seconds ago.

Your face scrunches up at that and Foggy's does too.

“Hey man, don't talk to them like that.”

“We came to ask you a few questions, not to antagonize you. We just want some answers then we'll be on our way.” Marc explains.

Foggy looks your way catching your eyes and you see the storm cloud swirling in them. The same concern and question Marnie's held not even an hour ago. The questions and uncertainty getting darker and heavier the longer you don't say anything. You thump your foot down in a mix of frustration and annoyance.

“Will you shut up,” you direct at Foggy, “this is Layla, that's Marc. And we're all gonna be friends in the future...I think. Nothing nefarious.”

Again Foggy looks at you, this time with a questioning look that makes you think you've said something wrong. But you aren't sure what exactly, maybe adding 'nothing nefarious' seemed nefarious in itself.

“Shit kid, is this why Matt and I got weird half texts from you?” Foggy groans out.

“They weren't half texts, I thought they made perfect sense.”

“Yea, only after we put our texts together, you set up a puzzle for us. You really need to learn how a group chat works or how to string together a coherent thought.”

“Uggh, I know how group chats work I just hate them...” tossing your head back with a groan, “Anyway you guys figured it out.”

“That's not the point, I was worried something happened.” the air feels heavier as Foggy's real meaning hits you.

Taking a moment you're sure he meant 'I thought you disappeared again' and that throwing out 'technically something did happen' wasn't the best choice right now. Especially with how fried his nerves must be. Looking off to the side you rub at your elbow sheepishly.

“I wasn't thinking...”

It was mumbled but it was as close to an apology as Foggy would get, begrudgingly he'd accept it; he always did. Sighing he harshly rubbed a hand down his face before composing himself and sighing.

“I swear, between you and Matt I'll go gray before the end of the decade.”

“Pfft, I can make it the year.”

That comment gets you a stern look like a father reprimanding his child, it leaves you grinning like a fool at Foggy. He turns his attention to Marc, “What'd you need to ask?”

“Have you seen a....uh?” Marc struggles to find a way to phrase it without making him sound insane, “Hell, you made this seem so fucking casual when you found us.” he only gets a shrug in return. Layla looking just as lost as he is when Marc looks to her for clarification.

Seeing this won't get you guys far you take over for Marc, a small mercy for everyone, “A kid, specifically my son from the future who can time travel, you seen him? Maybe Matt has an idea?”

It takes a moment of staring at you slack jawed and a bit of rapid blinking for Foggy to fully process what you've just said. And once he does he throws his hands up in the air, as if pleading with the gods for one mundane moment in life.

“Why am I even fucking surprised anymore, honestly just why?”

He distracts himself by looking over the pictures for the cabinet stand of the aquarium, before speaking up, “I haven't seen any terror running around. Assuming we are keeping this under wraps, because of a certain local DnD reject.”

The insult earns a snort from you and a grinning nod.

“Naturally.”

Shaking his head Foggy continues, “The Matt wouldn't have mentioned anything to me if he did know something. He did mention that...that...news kid...uh the one with the nice-ish camera?”

Seeing Foggy struggle on the name of the photography intern working with Karen at The Bugle, you fill in the blank.

“Parker.”

He really didn't need to look up to know what expression you held. And seeing the sullen look fills him with overwhelming guilt over not remembering such a simple name, though he vaguely remembers it isn't his fault in the first place. Still he mutters 'Parker, Parker' under his breath a few times trying to commit it to memory. Despite the fact you both know he'll eventually forget again. Just like all the other times.

“Yea...Parker. Matt said he nearly crashed into the kid on his walk to your place that first night. Says he was a mess...more so than usual.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “Not surprised, asked him to look after Coo for me.”

“Shit, that devil bird is still alive?”

“And well – thanks for asking.” he rolls his eyes at you.

“Anything else you needed?” his eyes roaming the schematics before him.

“Will Matt be back soon?”

Foggy just offers you a non-committal noise, not even bothering to look up from the new piece of wood he's grabbed, “He went to the library; been a slow week and he wanted a few audio books.” his eyes flit over to you briefly, “Apparently the 17th Street Library doesn't offer a delivery service, who knew?”

You hum once again, “Yea we don't – just something I did to keep things in circulation. Same with the free libraries we have stationed around. Plus you trust Matt in a library?”

He gives an 'alright' motion with his head. When he doesn't speak again you take that as the end of the conversation and look towards Marc and Layla, you motion them to the door.

“Thanks Foggy, promise to keep you updated...but probably not today though my phone's dead.”

“For the love of – here you two take a business card, my personal number is the first just hit six as an extension. If this idiot gets themselves – or you into any trouble just call.” Layla takes the cards and smiles at him, glancing sideways at you.

“Reassuring that they have good friends, I've known them less of a day and can already tell they're quite the handful.” her voice is full of mirth as she speaks.

Whereas Foggy's is filled with exhaustion when he replies, “Like you wouldn't believe.”

Once she catches up with you and Marc outside the door she asks, “Where to now?”

“Library.” you say simply.

“Foggy said Matt should be there – operative word being should. Doesn't hurt to look; if he's there we can ask if he's noticed anything strange around my apartment.”

You're a little surprised when Jake doesn't take over for driving instead letting Marc stay in command of the body. You have no clue how long the boys will be in your life but since they seem close to Layla it wouldn't hurt to look into DID after everything gets back to some form of normalcy. It could help you understand the trio a little better and make sure you aren't sticking your foot in your mouth around them constantly, that would be embarrassing.

You notice Marc waits for you and Layla to put your seat-belts on before he starts the car, unlike Jake who would start the car the moment he got in but refused to move until seat-belts were secured.

Marc turns to face you, Layla makes a similar move in the passenger's seat to stare back at you. It's a bit disconcerting and makes you feel like you're being taken about under a microscope. Sweat builds in the palms of your hands and your stomach feels like it's taken up macrame.

“Ok, look we've been trying it your way since we stepped foot off the plane – and to be honest we're getting no where.” Marc speaks unknowingly breaking you from the build up of an anxiety attack. Distracting you from the twisting and twirling of your stomach.

You just offer a mute nod at his pause, not sure if he wants you to speak or just listen.

Sighing he continues, “We need to think of an actual game plan. Something more than aimlessly searching in possible areas. It's taking way too long – especially the way we're going about it now; it could be too late when we do find him. He's what seven? I don't know many kids who can be out on the street for days on end without any sort of help or being nabbed.”

“I don't know what you're expecting from me. This is literally the only idea I've had.” you jump to your defense.

“Well,” Layla speaks up with a thoughtful look on her face, “you said you had a few other crime fighting friends. Could they help?”

It's a good suggestion and an earnest one but you'd be giving up a lot of identities if you did get more heroes involved. You bite your lip and find a loose thread to play with on your jeans. This was the problem with having vigilantes in your corner, even when you got some of them together for a common goal things were bound to get messy. Personalities and morals tend to clash at some point and it's a security issue to have so many people know what face to put with the name.

“I can't out them like that, or you two for that matter. A lot of them would be able to pin Scarlet Scarab and Moon Knight on to the two of you the second you showed your masked faces.”

“Listen, you don't need to give us names or home addresses. Call them, send a text. Anything to get the word out for more eyes looking for this kid.” Marc's response comes off a little rough but you can tell he's trying to be reassuring.

You pull out your phone, “Nice idea and all but my phone's still dead.” you make a show of pushing the on button.

Layla turns back around with a frown. Her brown eyes skim the below street before landing on a corner store. She barely utters out 'wait here' before she's sprinting to it leaving you and Marc in the car.

“Layla!” Marc tries to get her attention but she's a woman on a mission.

He slumps in his seat and closes his eyes as the bridge of his nose wrinkles up. You watch silently from the rear view mirror. A familiar feeling eating away at you.

You can't help but sigh as you think about what just took place in Nelson and Murdock. You really don't think a lot of things through and act recklessly. This past week alone you made Foggy and probably Matt worry, forced an added responsibility onto Peter, and got Layla and the system wrapped up in this time traveler hunt. Marc especially; the man had to deal with getting bullied in his own body by his patron of sorts. It's understandable that he's so frustrated, and he is right about the search and how it's going. You aren't too proud to admit you don't know what you're doing.

“Hey Marc,” he glances up into the mirror to lock eyes with you, it nearly makes you loose your nerve but after a moment you continue after breaking eye contact, “Sorry for dragging you guys into this. I'm not really sure what to do in this situation. I may be on good terms with a few vigilantes but...I've never been on this side of the mission before. As soon as we find the kid you don't have to stick around. I know what Khonshu said but future me only said I needed Layla's help finding the kid not sending him home.”

When your eyes lock again you see that the stern look in his eyes had softened a bit, the crease in his forehead and nose were gone. The man in the driver's seat was still tense but he looked like he wasn't as stressed as a moment before.

He doesn't say anything though and you're both left in comfortable silence as you wait for Layla to return. It isn't a long wait though and she returns with a car charger in hand.

“Here give me your phone, I figured that mini mart down there would have even a crappy portable charger for us to use.” you hand over your phone easily and she plugs it in.

Once everyone's buckled up again, Marc drives out to the library.

“Hell's kitchen more like Hell's parking lot. Where the fuck do you even go – what's that guy doing...is that even legal?!” Marc's been ranting for three minutes on the lack of parking, you really want to suggest he let Jake take control since he hadn't had an issue – though if you're being fair Jake had a parking garage near the firm. So instead you keep your mouth shut.

“Marc look to the right, what about there – think it's a spot?”

Your eyes land on the section Layla's talking about, it's an open area near a cafe on the other side of the street. By the time you spin around to get to it, it'll be taken.

“Nah, just keep straight we've gotta hit something on this side at some point.”

“How the hell do you live here?” you just shake your head before going back to your phone and texting Matt.

Marc's eyes are focused on the road and scanning the area like a hawk for any opening. Actively cursing Jake out for his stupid idea to rent a car in a city where parking isn't always available; when a flash of tan and orange catches his eye. A fluffy tabby just sitting proud and tall on the black top near the edge of the side walk. The cat looked like it was waiting for something and no one seemed to notice it. One thing Marc did notice was the spot it was in was large enough for the van to pull into. Hoping the cat wouldn't have a fearless attitude and would move on once the car came near he made move to take the spot.

The cat elegantly stood up and hopped onto the side walk and sat patiently staring up into the windows. Layla having seen the whole thing eyes the cat carefully and didn't make any moves to get out of the car.

“Is it me or it that cat...waiting for something?” she asks not taking her eyes off the long haired tabby.

“It's still over there?” Marc asks as he unbuckles his seat-belt and tries to crane his neck to see over her window.

Looking up from your phone you notice the cat.

“Oh don't worry, that's Horus, he's like the library's pet. Probably hunting for someone to let him back in. Foot traffic's slow this time of day.” you scoot towards the right hand door and step out.

You catch Steven's mirthful musing of 'a cat named after a bird and god of the sky', just before you step fully out of the van. The second you're out Horus comes over brushing up against your legs and cooing up at you. You squat down as Layla and Marc get out and come up to the two of you. Upon seeing the new arrivals Horus goes right on up to Layla and brushed up against her without even sniffing. She passes the vibe check, honestly it's hard to fail a Horus vibe check – you've only seen it happen a few times. Made sure to stay clear of those few.

“Aww he's cute. He just lives at the library?” Layla asks scratching the top of his head and looking at you.

“Pretty much. His decision. We've tried to take him home a few times but he's thrown genuine hissy fits when taken away from the area, or even brought into one of those apartments about three blocks back.” The cat didn't have a mean bone in his body but the second you tried taking him way from the library he turned down right feral.

Marc's hands ball up at his sides and twitch occasionally as he unclenches and clenches his fists. He stiffens when Horus locks on to him and walks away from you and Layla to rub all over Marc's jeans. You smile knowingly because Horus is known for finding cat lovers and milking all the attention he can get. It's always a treat to see how fast big tough grizzly men fall to the feet of the overly friendly cat. Meanwhile Layla is surprised to see just how friendly the cat is with Marc, she knows most animals have a weird reaction to the system. It's the main reason Steven keeps a goldfish, despite suspecting all three men have a love for cats.

But watching the man now even he was surprised at the cat currently loving all on him. You however took his shock as nerves. “Don't worry he's super friendly. He normally does this when he wants to be held. Just pick him up like you would burp a baby. He'll be in heaven.”

Marc opens his mouth to say something before his jaw clicks shut and he goes stiff before swooping in and picking up Horus, just  like you said to. His hand even went behind the cat's ears and began giving them a good scratching. Horus of course ate up all the attention and was purring up a storm, just watching the two left you grinning. You loved this cat dearly and would never get tired of watching him shamelessly beg for affection.

Layla was also left smiling knowing that the system was probably having the time of their lives. She'd have snagged a picture if she knew Marc or Jake wouldn't ruin the moment after she got caught.

When Marc spent a few minutes longer than anyone else would spend holding Horus you figured all the men were taking their turns with the cat. A cat who certainly didn't mind all the attention, furthering your belief that he is a ragdoll mix of some sort. But you were still technically on a mission and needed to move things along.

“Alright let's get a move on, Horus wants in the library so you can just keep holding him till one of you gets tired with this arrangement you've got. Fair warning Horus never gets tired.” the small tease you threw in was so worth it to see the way those brown eyes lit up and glittered with excitement.

It was a pure unadulterated joy that shone through and it warmed your chest to see, the added endearment of Horus purring so loudly was nearly drowning you in a wave of unending cuteness. The scene so sweet you were sure to be left with a mouth full of cavities, your molars practically tingled at the thought.

This time you held the door open for Layla and Marc who was still holding Horus. Stepping through the door you took out you phone to check if Matt replied yet. Though it was useless to check when a soft muted tapping sound reached your ears. Barely glancing up you spot Matt on his way over to the three of you. Layla noticing his approach and thinking you were too involved with your phone to notice the blind man walking towards you gently grasp your arm and guides you off to the side of the entrance. You send a small questioning glance her way, confused by her actions, before Matt gets close enough to tap the end of his cane with your shoe. He does it a few more times, like he always did; you think he just does it to get a laugh out of you.

It doesn't fail to make you smile, your head snapping and shaking a little at a stim from the sudden burst of excitement. Even though he can't see your reaction when he hears the small laugh that leaves you he smiles.

Such a dork.

“There you are, I'd ask what took so long but I can hear someone's powered up Horus.” Matt says bringing his cane back up.

“Yea, we got jumped the second we stepped out of the car.” you pause before starting in on the introductions, “Oh, by the way these are my new friends Layla,”

She takes your pause as her cue to speak, “Hello, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, sorry you've been dragged around by this one.” he taps you again with his cane, then sticks his hand out for her to shake.

“It's certainly been...an experience. Also this is Marc, his hands are full at the moment.” she says taking Matt's hand.

When Marc doesn't say anything you look over, a little nervous that he may not be the one fronting at the moment. You aren't sure who's fronting at the moment, their focus is entirely on the cat in their arms.

Looking back to Matt you can see the wrinkling of his forehead, he must have heard the tremor of anxiety in your heartbeat. Or did he hear some sort of internal shift with the system, did each man have a different heartbeat? It wouldn't be too strange if they all breathed differently, that may be more plausible than a change in heartbeat.

“Sorry seems he's preoccupied with Horus, you know how it is.” you joke, trying to seem like you aren't worried but you can never fool Matt.

A part of you wonders if you should have prepared them for meeting Matt; though you trust Matt to not say anything hell the man knows all heroes in the city and their identities and has never uttered a word to Foggy or you – the one who at least knows three mutual acquaintances of his. But right now you aren't sure if Matt is even able to tell of a shift in the system, or if it's something else he's concerned about. You aren't too personable so it isn't often you're found traveling with strangers. And who knows what Foggy may have told him.

Keeping information from your friends really hurts your head. It'd be so much simpler if everyone knew the vigilante thing and the DID thing but none of those tidbits of information are yours to share, so hidden they stay. Navigating the social structure of who'll be mad when everything inevitably comes out is so tedious and is starting to make you more than a little queasy.

“Can't blame him, Horus is a charmer.”

It may be you projecting but the way Matt says him makes you suspect he already knows. When will this man figure out he's not gonna get away with everything just because he's blind, there's only so many times 'just a hunch' will work for him. Matt's like the worst liar you know; it's really surprising Spiderman and Deadpool haven't figured out who he is yet...it's a bit obvious with the context.

“Oh and here I thought I was special.” Marc sasses the tabby to only get a head bonk in return.

Your lung feel like they can work properly again.

Marc smiles at the cat before putting him down on the floor, trying to get back on track. Only for Horus to keep demanding his attention by rubbing between his legs whilst purring like a little steam engine and flopping over exposing his belly. Tempting Marc in for more pets.

Marc has to stay strong, no matter how much Jake begs to pet the cat one more time.

'It's never just one more, with you and a cat Jake.'

'Bitch.'

Marc greets Matt, eyes raking over the other man, locking onto his cane and giving a side glance towards you for a moment. Your poker face is decent but your eyes show you're nervous clearly.

Matt's head tilts to the side ear closest to you turned slightly higher with a small twitch as he picks up the increase pulsing of your heartbeat. He suspects you may have said a few things that just didn't add  to your new companions.

“I think you'd like to know I nearly tripped on a misplaced book coming to meet you.”

Breaking you from your spiral you can only groan out, “Parker?”

Matt chuckles, “Probably, semester just started after all. I assume that's why you divvied up the house sitting.” Matt of course catches the way Layla's breath evens out and tension leaves Marc.

You mutely nod before answering, “Yea, that and the kid needs the money, he's too proud to take it without working.” you sigh before asking, “Science section?”

“Surprisingly.” Matt chuckles lifting his hand out in front of him again.

You easily guide it to your elbow for him to grasp and say, “Come on then.” Layla and Marc follow close behind.

Once you get to the aforementioned section you just have to follow the trail of chaos towards an isle that reveals the disheveled brunette.

“Peter Parker, you are aware we have tables, right? And please at least put back the books when you're done skimming. I've lost track of how many times I've told you this.” you sigh looking at his mess. A mix of workbooks, textbooks, notebooks, two library issued ipads and library books strewn about haphazardly.

“He-hey, you're back, that was quick. Wha – no when'd you get tables here, fancy.” he whistles out the last word but it dies down as he sees your unamused expression.

“C'mon no one comes down these isles we both know that, plus I'm still using these see – marked my place in those.” he gestures to a couple of books by your feet and you can see the cheap pale sticky notes marking various spots in the books.

Your shoulders relax as you look at the man just a few years younger than yourself. Hair a mess, clothes wrinkled with crumbs of his morning bodega breakfast sandwich still on them. You know school's been far from rough for the kid despite going through his second semester of college alone and his extra circulars. All this studying is for his own personal projects, he's been trying his hardest to follow in his mentor's footsteps. It breaks your heart because the kid could've had so much better, could be doing bigger better projects had things gone a little differently. Had they actually been worked out.

Sighing you hold out the hand that wasn't attached to the arm Matt was holding, “Gimme your phone, I still owe you for babysitting. How was he?” Peter's hazel eyes look at you with confusion, you normally lecture him a bit more so the sudden change is a bit jarring but he's not about to complain. Handing you his phone without question you open it to your account to transfer a little more than what you promised him for watching your bird. Before closing out and handing it back to him.

“Oh yea, no, he was fine. Was kind of a shock to find him just like in the middle of your apartment though. Really freaked me out, was not expecting that you know, a warning woulda been nice.”

You snort a bit, Coo had been messing with the lock of his cage for a few weeks now so of course he'd finally pick it when you were gone. Looks like you'll have to switch his lock, again.

“Honestly thought it was weird you hadn't just taken him with you, but we figured things out eventually. He's very smart and pretty independent which has been fantastic – don't get me wrong though I still left him with May when I went to class. Also she's gonna have several questions for you next time she sees you.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, “Peter you didn't have to do all that, I'm sure he would've been fine on his own for a bit. Is he with May now, I can probably swing by and pick him up later tonight...maybe I have some things to take care of still – so like technically not back yet.:

Peter blinks owlishly at you before his face contorts into a confused shock, “uuhm – now I have several concerns. But no he's not with May. I thought he could use sometime out of the apartment and brought him out here with me. “

“Like to the library?” he nods confused by your confusion, “Peter, why would you bring a pigeon into the library?”

It takes a moment for Peter to respond, his brain slowly catching up to the train you'd just been on, before dropping the bomb.

“I – are you talking about Coo? I was suppose to be watching your bird?!”

When it sunk in that Peter hadn't been talking about Coo you took off. Leaving the group behind without a single word. Matt had felt the shift in your muscles just before you ran and had let go, not wanting to get dragged down in your haste or slow you down. Peter scrambled to get off the floor and to follow after you, and while Layla had taken the time to guide Matt, Marc was running close behind you. Not wanting to loose sight in case something happened.

The library was fairly large and the children's section was on the second floor so you'd had to run up a flight of stairs. He had been right under your noses for a full twenty minutes and you weren't about to loose him. Though it was frustrating to know that he'd just been with the Parkers for the past few days you were relieved to know he hadn't been in any danger. Stars knew the crimes May would commit to keep a child safe, and a child she deemed family even more so.

Speeding to the children's section you round the decorative archways, letter blocks with open books tilted on to a tip, to find the small isles empty. The stage bare and quiet, it was a school day in the middle of fall so it wasn't unusual. As you stepped further inside and checked the homework station you still turned up empty. It was when you passed on of the smaller reading nooks, meant on for a single kid, that you spotted him.

In your rush you'd almost flown by him, your sudden stop almost had Marc careen into you. When he caught your line of sight he froze. There he was tucked into the reading nook, all cozy in his red and blue windbreaker that matched the primary colored walls surrounding him. But his warm toned golden skin and dark curls stuck out to you.

You took in every aspect of him that you could, you had never seen this child before and you worked near exclusively in this department of the library for the last three years. From the moment you saw the concentrated look on his face as he read you felt as if you'd known him forever. There was a stinging behind your eyes and a weight in your chest – you'd been detached from this mission until this moment. Everything was hitting you all at once, it finally felt real and you felt acutely aware of the world actively spinning around you the moment his large brown eyes met yours.

His eyes widening at your sudden appearance, book forgotten as it threatened to slip out of his hands, but he made no move to move or say anything. A growing fear was visible on his face as his eyes flickered between the two of you, an anxiety that was eating away at him with every passing second that you stayed quiet. You could see it in the way he curled into himself to make himself smaller.

It all washed away when you whispered a single word, a name.

“Mateo.”

His reaction was instant, as he leapt off the seat and ran towards you. Tears budding and spilling out of his eyes as he ran into your arms and wept. For you it had been a few days of knowing about and searching for a future you didn't know for him it'd been the first time he'd seen a parent in days, it didn't matter to him that you didn't actually know him yet – all that mattered was you were here. You meant safety and comfort to him, and soon he'd be back home in his own time.

By the time Layla, Matt, and Peter arrived to this hidden little corner they were met with you gently swaying side to side with a crying child buried deep in your arms. An anxious and faint looking Steven standing awkwardly to the side, who kept stealing glances at you and the child before swallowing hard and looking at anything else. Only to steal more glances every few seconds.

“Is this a bad time to bring up that your pigeon did bite me?”

#The moon and the stars #moon knight fanfic #Marcspector/reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector/reader #Steven Grant/Reader #steven grant x reader #JakeLockley/Reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley x reader #accidental child acquisition #Moonknightfanfic #moonknight fanfic #autistic reader insert #autistic system #autisitic jake lockley #autistic steven grant #autistic marc spector

[phantomspiderr]

Always

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, look i think Marc would be into Formula 1, is that just because I love F1... maybe?, sleepy!reader, soft!Marc🥰

a/n: 😬… I’m backkkkkkkk. Not that I think anyone noticed I was gone but I started anxiety meds and they've taken some getting used to. But I opened up my drafts the other day and found this and finished it, so essentially I started making it, had a breakdown... bon appetite?

(not my gif)

The other side of the bed’s cold, your hand swipes across the empty space in search of the warmth that is normally there. Your sleep-addled mind pauses to think—had your boyfriend even come to bed? What time was it? Is that noise in your head? Slowly, you pull yourself up from the warm cocoon of the duvet and your hands rub at your face in an attempt to erase the sleep that still clings to you. Blinking a few times you try to adjust your eyes to being open again as your hands fall into your lap. You can just make out some light in between the gaps in the bookshelf that separates the bed from the rest of the room. Your tired eyes look to his side of the bed again, still empty and the alarm clock shines the time a little too brightly, 6:22am. Reluctantly you move your stiff legs, pushing the warm duvet off of them and whining a little as the cold air in the flat hits them. You pull yourself out of the bed, immediately grabbing the blanket from the end of the mattress to wrap around yourself. The noise you’d heard becomes clearer now, it sounds like someone talking but it’s fast and all mushes together in your head. You take steps toward it, rounding the bookshelf to find exactly what you were missing.

“Hey,” Marc’s voice comes out in a whisper and he sits up the second his eyes clock you, his hand reaching for the tv remote immediately. The volume goes down with each push of the button, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You keep taking slow steps towards him, passing in front of the tv and going around the coffee table until you reach the couch.

“Are you okay?” You completely disregard his question in favour of asking your own as you sit next to him, he nods whispering out a yeah and so you move your body to lay down, placing your head in his lap.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” you look up at him as he speaks. One of his hands comes to rest on top of your head, “plus there’s a race on.” He looks back to the tv and you follow his gaze, twisting until you lie completely on your side.

“What’s a red flag?” Your head turns so you can look at him again briefly, a little smile graces his face and then you go back to staring at the screen, trying to understand why in the middle of a race none of the cars are moving.

“One of the drivers went into the barrier and they have to stop the race to clean it up before they continue. It just means it’s not safe for anyone to be on the track,” Marc explains it so gently, no annoyance or condescension crosses his tone for your lack of knowing.

“Are they okay?” There’s a slight hint of worry and you almost sound like a scared child.

“Yeah sweetheart, look, that's Albon there.” He points towards the screen and you watch as it briefly shows a young-looking guy speaking with someone else, “it was his car that hit the barrier but he got out of it straight away.”

For a minute it’s quiet, you both just watch the screen as it shows different people. Marc had turned the volume up a bit and you could make out what the commentators were saying now they’d slowed down their talking. Without any prompting, Marc starts to quietly tell you who everyone is every time the picture changes to someone new. He shares little pieces of knowledge with every name and you find listening to him soothing. You knew he sometimes watched these races but you’d never really taken the time to sit down and watch one with him. You’re starting to regret never doing it before, you’d been missing out on this beautiful opportunity to get to know his interests better.

Ultimately, though that tiredness still clings to your mind and the way his voice is quietly lulling you makes you think of the times when Steven reads you to sleep. Just as the race starts up again, your eyes begin to feel heavy, the blinks start getting slower and longer. You’re unsure if Marc’s noticed because he keeps calmly explaining what’s happening as it happens. His fingers had absentmindedly started rubbing circles into your scalp which was not helping the way you were quickly slipping back into your sleeping state. The tv eventually disappears, and your eyes are finally sealed shut again but some conscious part of your brain can still make out the race commentary in the background alongside Marc’s soothing voice.

The next thing you know it’s daylight, the sun shines brightly through the uncovered windows. It hurts your eyes when they open and instinctively you turn your body away from it, glad when you’re met with darkness. You comfortably bury your face into the warmth of Marc’s stomach while trying your best to stretch your stiff limbs without really putting much effort into it. You take in a deep breath before just relaxing for a moment. Your mind slowly wakes as you lay there, coherent thoughts begin to form and you start to feel more awake with each passing second. You could’ve sworn you’d only been asleep for a few minutes. The tv is still making quiet noise in the background and you can feel Marc taking slow deep breaths.

Once your brain has managed to come back to some semblance of consciousness, you slowly pull yourself to sit up on the couch. The sight you’re met with makes your heart melt it doesn’t matter how many times you wake up next to him, each time feels like the first. He looks so peaceful, his head propped on his fist that leans on the arm of the couch. Eyes closed, hair sticking around every which way and lips slightly parted. You admire him for a minute before you think about how much his neck is going to hurt after sleeping in this position. As slowly as you can you twist yourself around again and stand, taking a second for your brain to catch up with your body’s movements. Then gently you tuck your hands under his knees, pulling on the deadweight and turning them to rest on the couch. All the movement rouses Marc from his sleep, the top half of his body reluctantly following the bottom with a grumble.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.” Quietly you shush him as he continues to wiggle around until he’s settled down on the couch where you were just laying. The crease in his eyebrow slowly relaxes as your fingers comb through his hair, you’re crouched next to him trying to push him back into his little slumber. A long sigh comes from deep within his chest and you just know he’s back in dreamland. With a gentle kiss to his temple, you stand again, grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor at some point and draping it over his body. Satisfied with how much more comfortable he looks now you go to pull yourself away to shower and maybe start on breakfast—or maybe brunch at this point, but a hand grazes your leg.

“Stay,” the mumble of a plea falls past his lips as his hand blindly searches for yours. Without a second thought, you give in, encouraging him to lift his head so you can slip back onto the couch. Thoughts of how good a shower would be right now or of what to cook to rid the rumble in your stomach disappear completely. Now you sit with Marc’s head in your lap, mirroring the exact position you’d both been in just moments prior. You take a long moment to just watch him, the way he nuzzles his head into your thighs and how relaxed he looks for a change. Then you’re thinking about how happy he makes you. How lucky you feel to be a part of this moment and how you only ever want to be right here with him, always.

#moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #moonknight #moon knight system

[book-place]

Would Have Stayed

Warnings: bad mother, pregnancy, cursing, violence but not violence (??), let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Jake Lockley x daughter reader

Request: Ouh if I can still request a moon knight fix then here's one! Steven grant/marc specter/jake lockey x daughter!reader maaajorr angst with fluff at the end ofc..! So Jake had gotten his previous lover preggo and only knew about it when Steven and Marc was already trying to. Mend things with Layla and Jake's lover just kinda started screaming at Steven/marc. Reader must be young! Like.. 5 or 6 years old, really reallllyy angsty please? And if you're not accepting requests anymore then feel free to delete this

Request by: @nixonandelheim

*not my gif*

Summary: While Marc tries to make up with Layla, Jake gets a surprise visiter

A/N: Sorry that this took so long and doesn’t really have the best writing

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

No one had seen it coming. How could they have? All they wanted was for the day to be perfect, so even thinking about something going wrong seemed illegal at the moment.

With Jake and Steven there to support and back him up, Marc felt like he was finally ready and he wouldn’t do something stupid.

That was a lie. He would definitely do something stupid. But he had already granted both his alters complete permission to take control if he even took so much as one wrong step. They would be there to make sure the day was perfect.

Today had to go according to plan, Marc had to make up with Layla.

After having left her for such a long time, he had a lot of apologizing to do and things to make up for, and what better way to start than by bringing her out to a restaurant?

He arrived about five minutes before she did, probably looking like a crazy man as he sat in his seat and began fidgeting while sweating buckets upon buckets while waiting for her to get there.

When she finally did, he had awkwardly shot to his feet, doing his best to ignore the way his wife was trying to hold in her laughter as he pulled her chair out for her.

“So, Marc.” Layla was the first one to speak after a moment of stiff silence, “Why did you want to talk?”

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, a shrill and scratchy voice cut him off from behind.

“Jake?!” The tone held nothing but outrage.

Marc could just make out the sound of his Spanish speaking altar cursing in the background as both him and Layla whipped around to see who had spoken.

There stood a woman with one hand on her hip and the other grasped in what looked to be a painfully tight grip on a young girl, no older than fives, wrist.

Layla shot Marc a look, a silent question about if he knew what Jake had done.

“You complete and total asshole.” The woman hissed, not bothering to even filter her language around the kid, you.

Jake was yet to make an appearance.

“Listen, ma’am,” The American man tried to sooth her, “I am very sorry for whatever-“

She let out a cold laugh, “Oh, so you’re American now? You leave me pregnant with this,” she shook your arm slightly violently, “And decide to leave and change your whole identity?”

Silence had fallen over the entire restaurant, everybody was listening.

Your eyes had since downcasted to the floor, doing your best to push away any oncoming tears in fear of your mother seeing.

“Pregnant?” Marc whispered out in disbelief, face as pale as Layla’s.

That was definitely something that he did not plan on going wrong tonight.

The man moved to stand up, but when he reached his full height, he was no longer Marc.

“Pregnant?” Jake repeated, eyes locked on your tiny, shaking form, then back up at his ex girlfriend, “You did not tell me that we were having a child.”

Your mother scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes dramatically, “Please! As if you would have cared either way!”

He finally was able to look her in the eyes, “I would have cared. Me habría quedado.”

(I would have stayed)

“Well, you didn’t.” She snapped back, “You broke up with me after four months and took off without ever looking back!”

A slight whimper made Jake once again look down at you, who was wincing at the clearly unnecessary force that she was using to hold you in place.

“Let go.” Jake said softly, “You are hurting her.”

Your mother only glared harder in return, “Don’t you dare tell me what to do with my own child!”

“Our child.” He corrected softly before dropping down into a crouch before you.

“Hola, ¿cómo te llamas?” He asked softly, some part of him wondering if you spoke his native tongue.

(Hi, what’s your name?)

“Mi nombre es Y/n.” You greeted back shyly after a minute.

(My name is…)

“It is very nice to meet you, Y/n.” A small smile tugged on his lips.

Yet another scoff snapped the man out of his daze.

“Oh what now? You left me alone to raise the kid for five years, and now suddenly you’re acting all fatherly?” She dropped your hand harshly, “Well here, you can have her. Cause I don’t want her no more.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out the door, leaving a trail of whispering customers behind her.

After hesitating only a second, Jake bent down and scooped you into his arms- only after looking at you for confirmation, of course.

“Layla,” He said softly, turning back to the stunned woman, “Can you reschedule with Marc for another day?”

All she could do was nod slightly, not able to yet form words.

So with that, he too exited the building, staring down at your small form, already curled up to his chest with your arms around his neck.

And even though he had already missed five years of your life, he vowed that he would not miss any more. He would be there for you for as long as you still needed him. Still needed your father.

Like A Bee 🐝- @ip747 @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @jvdethirlwall

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #child reader #moon knight #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #mk x reader #moon knight imagine #mk #mk imagine #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader platonic #layla el faouly x child reader #Jake lockley x child reader #marc spector x child reader #Jake lockley x daughter reader

[angelltheninth]

NSFW Masterlist Part 2

Part 2 of my NSFW Master list.

DC COMICS

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader - Night on the Rooftops

Bruce Wayne Being a Sloppy Eater

Harley Quinn x Male!Reader - Fun Times All Around

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Game On

Dark!Conner Kent x Fem!Reader - Darkness Come to Light

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Jason's Hardest Task

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Fulfilling Desires

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Just One More

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Not Just a Friend

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader - Ride Around Town

MCU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader - Endurance Test

M'Baku x Fem!Reader - Used to This Feeling

Venom x Fem!Reader - Symbiotic Relations

Steven Grant with a Praising and Overstimulating You

Hydra!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader - To Have and to Take

Moon Boys Reaction to Ball Sucking

Moon Boys + Where They Like to Do It

Aftercare with Moon Boys

MCU Men Punishing You

Hydra Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader - Making You His

Moon Boys + Thigh Riding

Moon Boys Pining You

Moon Boys Reacting to Getting a Blowjob

Dominant Jake Lockley

Pietro Maximoff x Fem!Reader - Forever and a Day

Hooking Up with Steven Grant and Marc Spector

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader - Minor Cooking Accident

General NSFW Headcanons with Steven Grant and Marc Spector

Pietro Maximoff with a Praise Kink

Long Distance Relationship with Pietro Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff + Grinding

NSFW Alphabet with Xu Wenwu

Rough Sex with Xu Wenwu

TWISTED WONDERLAND

Idia Shroud x Fem!Reader - Different Kind of Heat

Vil Schoenheit x Fem!Reader - Not So Perfect Anymore

Overstimulation with Cater Diamond

Leona Kingscholar x Fem!Reader - Kingmaker

Corruption Kink with Idia Shroud

Trey Clover x Fem!Reader - Tears for Pleasure

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader - Under the Bubbles

Rook Hunt x Fem!Reader - Hunting Prey

Divus Crewel x Fem!Reader - Call Me Cruel

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader - My Fangs for You

Leona Kingscholar x Fem!Reader - A Welcome Awakening

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader - Dragon Love

CRITICAL ROLE

Percy de Rolo x Fem!Reader - The Gunslinger and His Beauty

Fjord Stone x Male!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Essek x Male!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Percy de Rolo x Vax'ildan + Grinding

Percy e Rolo x Fem!Reader - Nice and Warm

NSFW Headcanons with Percy de Rolo

GENSHIN IMPACT

Jealous Dottore Breeds You

Genshin Men After You Use the Safeword

Genshin Men Fucking You When Someone Comes In

Kink Discovery with Al Haitham

Size Kink with Dainslief, Enjou and Pantalone

Genshin Men + Scenting

Thigh Riding with Al Haitham

Thigh Kissing with Cyno

Thigh Riding with Kaeya and Dottore

Dottore with a Corruption Kink

CEO!Childe x Secretary!Fem!Reader

General Kinks with Dottore, Pantalone and Pierro

Zhongli, Gorou and Tighnari Having Their Rut Triggered

Dottore, Childe and Pantalone with a Fox!Reader

Fem!Dottore with a Fem!Reader who has Small Chest

Zhongli and Childe With a Quiet S/O

Genshin Men with a Fem!Reader who has Big Chest

Cockwaming Itto

Genshin Men Being Feral

Edging Al Haitham

Zhongli and Itto Giving You a Mating Mark

Genshin Men with an S/O who has Small Chest

Genshin Men Fucking You in Public

Itto, Zhongli, Gorou and Tighnari with a Primal Kink

Gorou Being a Mean Dom

Genshin Men Reacting to You Wanting to Go for Another Round

Half-Adeptai Zhongli

Genshin Men When You're Inexperienced

Cockwaming Zhongli

Zhongli with a Breeding Kink

Orgasm Control with Genshin Men

Itto, Gorou and Zhongli in Rut

Genshin Impact Men + Awkward Boners

First Time Blowjob with Genshin Men

Genshin Men Having A Quickie With You

Thoma Being a Service Top

Genshin Men Using Toys on You

Dottore x Fem!Reader - Please Doctor

Genshin Men + Thigh Riding

Genshin Men + Breeding Kink

Genshin Men Stamina Headcanons

Genshin Men Being Desperate To Have You

Genshin Men + Praise

Genshin Men Reacting to You Wanting Them to Finish Inside of You

Genshin Men + Grinding Headcanons

Zhongli x Fem!Reader - Sharing the Warmth

Genshin Men + First Time With You

Driving Zhongli Crazy Until He Snaps

Dominat Arlecchino Headcanons

#masterlist #dc comics x reader #mcu x reader #twst x reader #critical role x reader #genshin impact x reader

[terry-perry]

Papa Steven trying his best to bond with Marcy

Steven was the one up this morning. Marcy knew right away when she took into account his hunched-over stature and sweet smile upon taking off her earbuds. She did her best to hide her disappointment as she returned to her breakfast, but unfortunately, he noticed.

"Everything all right love?" He asked her as he made his way to the coffee. Not before he took a little detour at the stove so he could greet you with a kiss.

"Yeah, sorry," Marcy mumbled, her eyes focused on her food. "I thought you were Dad."

Your daughter had been aware of your husband's condition from a very young age. You wanted to make it as less challenging as possible for her to understand, going so far as to dub each alters as variations of dad to make things easier. She knew they were their own people and should be treated as such. It was also why she was a little sad Marc wasn't the one fronting that morning.

"Did you need him for something?" Steven went on to ask, growing a little worried in case it was something concerning. It was in his nature.

She shook her head, pointing at her earbuds. "I just wanted him to listen to this song. I wanted to get his opinion on it."

"You wouldn't want my opinion?"

"Well, it's a pretty heavy song. It's not exactly your taste."

Steven knew music was a big factor in her relationship with Marc. He was the one who would sing to her as a baby to calm her down and play her some of his favorite songs she ended up loving herself. It was nice they had their own thing. Steven knew Marcy loved him too, but sometimes he did envy that they had more shared interests they could bond over.

"I can still have a listen," he insisted, joining her at the table. "Maybe I l might like it."

She raised a brow at him, unsure. She gave him her buds, regardless. And she was right when she told him it was loud. He was right away met with a melody of roaring guitars and banging drums before a screaming voice spewed out the lyrics to the song.

"Interesting...beat!" He commented over the music.

Marcy didn't look very convinced and shook her head with a chuckle. She was ready to take the earbuds back when his next words stopped her.

"They remind me of Metallica,"

She was certainly not expecting that. "You like Metallica?"

"Oh yeah. Well, mostly their early stuff when they did a lot of guitar solos. And Justice for All was really good at showing that off. But I mostly like to listen to Rob Zombie since his stuff is pretty funky."

Well, this was certainly a surprise. Not a bad one though. You were even caught a little off guard by what Steven said, pausing your cooking to look over with a raised brow.

"Yeah...me too," Marcy uttered, smiling in disbelief. She pointed at her buds. "I'm actually gonna play this song tonight with the band."

Steven has never gone to any of her performances, not when he was fronting anyway. Marc was normally the one to go to The White Rabbit to see her play with her band since he would better appreciate their music. Steven and Jake were told by him that they were good, especially Marcy with all her solos. He wasn't sure about their frontman Eddie. He was an eccentric fellow, according to Marc.

"Dad usually comes to these things, but do you think you'd wanna?"

To say Steven was taken aback would be an understatement. This was the first time he was personally invited to hear her play. He was certainly not going to miss out on this opportunity.

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" He accepted right away, beaming. "I'd love to."

"Awesome," Marcy grinned back as she got up from the table to put her dishes in the sink. "Well, I actually gotta go get ready for rehearsal. Jack should be here any minute to pick me up."

She kissed each of you on the cheek before going upstairs to her room to change, leaving you alone with your husband.

"Metallica?" You inquired, going over to present Steven with his food. "Rob Zombie. How has that not been brought up in the 20 years we've been together?"

It technically has, just not through Steven.

"That's the adventure of marriage, love," he did his best to shrug it off, still smiling. "Always discovering new things about each other."

"Uh huh," you weren't buying it, but you decided not to say anything else about it. You simply kissed his forehead, your subtle way of thanking Marc for giving Steven the chance to spend more time with Marcy. No doubt he was also the one who educated him a little on her favorite musicians.

#dad!steven grant #x reader #mom!reader #child oc #marcy spector #dad!marc spector #dad!jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #marvel #marvelcinematicuniverse #marvel cinematic universe #mcu fanfiction #mcu au #mcu #mcu imagine

[xpao-bearx]

"Like A Virgin"

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Read Part 1 HERE

Read Part 3 HERE

Read Part 4 HERE

NOTES: Y'ALL the way my jaw literally DROPPED when not even H A L F a minute after I posted the first part, you guys were already exploding my notifs which I wasn't expecting AT ALL I swear Oscar Isaac's really got us sluts in a chokehold O_o

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!! 😭❤️❤️❤️ This is truly wonderful and encourages me a lot, especially since this is my first ever Moon Knight fic AND the first time a story of mine blew up this much! This is also great cuz I've been terribly sick, but of course ✨️priorities✨️ I gotta shower our Moon Boys with some much deserved lovin' and it's just so fucking nice to see that it's paying off! \(^o^)/ I was so happy and inspired that I couldn't resist and just HAD to write this second part ASAP!

Dissociative identity disorder is also briefly mentioned here and if I made any mistakes, then I apologize and please kindly correct me. And I feel like the ending may be a bit rushed, but it's the best my tiny brain could think of!

I'll shut up now and I'm very proud and excited to present... PART 2!!! 🥳 And if you'd like to be tagged for any of the next parts, feel free to tell me!

Also Marc does something very asshole-y here oop

TAGS: @autismsupermusicalassassin @ungracefularchimedes @pimosworld @ababynova @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @anapnovo-blog @am-3-thyst @harrys-tittie @zukoisbabee @wiltedwonderland

Part 2: You made me feel I've nothing to hide

After work, instead of heading home, you rushed straight to the nearest boutique to buy yourself a new dress for tomorrow night. The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults and you felt as if you could spontaneously burst into song like in those cheesy musicals your former college roommate was so obsessed with.

You knew the employees were all looking at you oddly as you constantly giggled to yourself like some lovesick schoolgirl while you perused through endless racks of the latest fashion. Of course you knew you were acting ridiculous--crazy--but wasn't that what attraction or, dare you say, love did to you?

Besides, you wanted tomorrow to go perfectly. In your eyes, Steven Grant was already perfect--perfectly imperfect or imperfectly perfect, you didn't know or care which was which. You just knew that you liked him. A lot.

And it relieved and pleased you to the moon and back that he actually felt the same! So, who cares what anyone else thought?

You just hoped that after tomorrow, Steven would like you enough to go on another date. And another. Then another...

Maybe you were looking--wishing--too far into the future, but you swore you could almost hear wedding bells chiming in the distance.

God, is this what happens after being a total virgin for twenty-something years? There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a virgin, but your insecurity bugged you. What if you weren't at all what Steven expected?

But another part of you, a positive ray of sunshine, clobbered all your doubts. For once, you were going to be brave! You were going to take a leap of faith! You were going to control your life!

Because, in the end...it was worth it. Steven was worth it. Sure, you've experienced various crushes throughout your life, but not like this. Not with Steven. This felt more...serious. Adult.

It felt as if right from the get-go crossing fates with "Steven with a V", your life was about to change--for the better.

Of course you were afraid, and yet you've also never been more sure of something in your entire existence. You've been waiting this long and you're glad you did, and now you were ready to jump head first (and head over heels) into whatever adventure was in store for you--with Steven.

You then squealed excitedly when you spotted the perfect dress, ignoring the judgmental stares other customers shot you as you hurriedly grabbed it like a child in a toy store.

Yes, tomorrow was going to be a dream come true.

♡•••🌙•••♡

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early. It was totally embarrassing how eager you were, but you couldn't help yourself. Though at least with how early you were, you snagged a good table overlooking the restaurant's beautiful back garden strung with fairy lights and you can have some time to calm down before Steven came.

And you looked stunning. Your hair tumbled down in elegant waves, light makeup adoring your face and donning the contact lenses you rarely used. And the dress you bought fit like a glove; it was the shortest dress you now owned, stopping around your thighs. It was baby blue and had an off-the-shoulder style with some frills, and it hugged your figure just right.

You felt very self-conscious. You've always fancied clothes like this, but never actually had the guts to wear them--until now. Did it really suit you? But you couldn't deny that you were happy and, truly, isn't that all that mattered?

"Shall I get you started, ma'am?" A waitress snapped you back to reality and you shook your head.

"Not yet, thank you. I'm still waiting for my...date." The word made you blush furiously, as if sharing a dirty little secret.

The waitress smiled and nodded, leaving you by yourself once more as you sighed wistfully.

You took out your phone from your purse, checking the time. 6:45 p.m. Alright, not too long now. And you double checked that the address you texted Steven was correct, which it is.

You settled back in your chair, peering over the garden and giggling softly.

"I'm right here for you, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

"It's about time, innit?" Steven murmured, glancing over anxiously at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. It was already eight p.m., a whole hour past your meeting time (not to mention he arrived embarrassingly early). And he was just informed by one of the servers that the restaurant was closing in thirty minutes, to which a pitiful look was also casted to him.

"It's not 'about time', Steven. It's late." Marc gruffly pointed out, Steven seeing Marc's reflection glaring back at him from the shiny silver flower vase set in the middle of the table. "Face it: she's NOT coming."

"Don't you dare say that." Steven's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a certain edge to it that one would normally not hear from the soft man. "Y/N would never do that. Not her. She's just running late, I'm sure. Traffic and all."

"Oh, please, we both know that even the traffic here doesn't take this long." Marc scoffed. "Stop kidding yourself, Steven. She's. NOT. Coming."

Steven frowned, and with a shaky hand he pulled out his phone. He should've called you since way earlier. It was the logical thing to do, after all. But he was...scared. Scared that, maybe, a terrifying maybe, Marc was right.

He found your number and called you, pressing his phone to his ear as it began to ring. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until you finally picked up, voice groggy.

"Hello..?"

"Y/N..." Steven heaved a relieved exhale. "Hey, uh, I'm at the restaurant. Guess you got stuck in traffic?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

A long, dreadful pause. And then:

"Fucking EXCUSE me?"

Steven's eyes widened, having never heard you swear before. He was just about to ask what was wrong when you continued without skipping a beat.

"Are you playing with me, Steven? Is this what it is?!" You definitely sounded angry, but he didn't miss the faint sniffles coming from you. Shit, were you crying? What the hell was happening?

"How can you be such a...such a DICK?!" You shouted, causing him to jerk his phone a few inches away from his ear. "I fucking waited for you like a total idiot until closing time, you prick! You never showed and you never answered my calls! What the fuck can you POSSIBLY gain from toying with me, huh?!"

"W-Wait, I don't understand!" Steven was nearly hyperventilating, all the colour draining from his face and his mind running a mile a minute. "I-I'm here! Right now! D-Didn't we agree? Friday night, seven p.m.?"

You were dead silent. Steven was going to check if the call was still connected when you beat him to it.

"Steven... It's Sunday."

Steven froze. Then his eyes landed on Marc's reflection, refusing to meet his gaze and it clicked.

"Y/N." Steven said slowly, steadily, despite feeling like crying himself. His eyes were still on Marc, cold and pissed. "Please. I promise I have an explanation. I just... God, can we meet? Y/N, please, I'll come to you."

"No need." Tears threatened to spill from Steven's despondent eyes at your flat response, before you suddenly added: "I'll come to you. You said you were at the restaurant, right? Stay there."

You ended the call, and Steven flared at Marc--no longer caring if other people perceived him as a lunatic fighting with himself.

"Why the fuck would you do that, Marc?"

"Steven..." Marc struggled to find the right words, and the asshole actually had the audacity to look ashamed. "Listen, she's nothing but a distraction--"

"You always think you know better, yeah?" Steven laughed humourlessly. "A distraction? YOU stop kidding yourself, Marc. This is not just your life, but mine. And it's about fucking time you stop being such a selfish bastard!"

"Um, sir?" Steven winced, greeted by a baffled waiter. "We'll be closing soon, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave if you're not ordering anything."

Humiliated and repeatedly babbling apologies, Steven abruptly sprang out of his chair and dashed outside. He sighed deeply and collapsed listlessly on the ground, finally allowing the tears to fall.

He vaguely heard footsteps approaching until he saw a pair of worn bunny slippers in front of him. His eyes heavily dragged upwards, finding you staring back at him with an unreadable expression and breaths coming out in ragged pants.

"Y/N!" Steven jumped up, surprised you actually came despite the way he--the way Marc--treated you. Your bloodshot eyes and the dried tears on your cheeks only made him feel even shittier, much more fucked up than any beating he suffers on a mission.

Because at least with those, he can be confident that he and the boys would win no matter the challenge. But with you?

He had everything to lose.

Your hair was a total mess; glasses slightly crooked and you were in your pyjamas, a matching set of a purple tank top and shorts with stars and moons. The only thing you had covering you was a purple silk robe, drawing it closer to your chilly body as your eyes narrowed at Steven.

You should be mad at him, and you were. Still, despite everything, you hopped on to the first bus you saw and scrambled the rest of the way here as fast as you could.

But now that you were here...what in Khonshu's name were you going to do? You could scream at him with all the pain you haven't had the pleasure to release like you did on the phone, but you'd just be wasting your breath. Then again, he wasn't lying. He really is here. And it confused you more than anything.

And seeing him like this, looking so...sad. Well, it made you sad. Him miserably clenching onto a heart shaped chocolate box, fat globs of tears cascading down his cheeks as he gawked at you with his pretty doe brown eyes.

You raised your hand, and Steven shut his eyes as he braced himself for the slap he very much deserved--only to be met with your soft palm, wiping away his tears tenderly.

"Explain to me, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

The travel to Steven's apartment was spent in deafening silence, but it brought upon a strange sort of comfort. Unconsciously, you hugged Steven's black jacket that he had offered you earlier even closer to your much smaller frame. It soothed your nerves, being completely enveloped in his smell; fresh soap with a hint of musky cologne.

Once you reached his unit, you couldn't help but smile. It was just so...Steven. It was a bit messy, but a good kind of messy. You didn't really know how to describe it, but it warmed your heart especially when you saw a giant fish tank with only one goldfish.

"Cuppa tea?" Steven asked to which you shook your head, facing him fully.

"No. I'm a 'get over it' kinda girl so whatever your explanation is, I'd rather we just nip it in the bud." You huffed before you halted, biting your lip. "Oh, uh, sorry... Of course, if you wanna have tea, you can. It's your home, after all."

Steven laughed, his first real laugh that entire day. "Are you always this nice to blokes you should be mad at?"

"Only if they are really into Egyptology and have beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous curls." You rolled your eyes though you couldn't suppress your grin before you cleared your throat, getting a hold of your stupid giddy self. "Now, explain."

Steven's demeanour instantly shifted, serious now and quite uneasy. But he nodded and gestured towards the couch. You walked over and plopped down, Steven sitting next to you and keeping a respectful couple inches between the two of you.

He looked down at the ground, carefully considering his words before meeting your gaze solemnly. "Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?" You nodded, previously learning about it in Psychology class and researching about it due to personal interest. "That's...what I have. I'm an alter within a system, and there are two others--Marc Spector and Jake Lockley."

"Am I correct to assume that when you asked me out...it wasn't actually you?"

Steven blinked, rather startled that you were taking this so well. "Yes. Jake was the one who asked you out."

"Was he also the one who didn't show up for the date?"

"No, that would be Marc." He grumbled. "And listen, I'm truly sorry about him. He's a right twit. It may not have been me who didn't show up, but that absolutely doesn't excuse the hurt it caused you. I am so, so sorry, Y/N."

Your brows furrowed, mulling over this new revelation. But...you believed him, especially when it explained all those times you secretly caught Steven muttering incoherently to himself or staring at his reflection and quietly reacting to something. You were curious about more, of course, but Steven didn't have any reason to lie about such a serious matter. And if he was lying, there were plenty of other things he could say. But the way he acted, and just the look in his eyes--he knew the risks of opening up to you, but he did it anyway.

You clasped his hands in yours, sighing. "I know I look calm right now, but trust me, I'm freaking the fuck out." You chuckled, and Steven felt safe enough to join you. "But... I trust you, Steven. And I believe you. Tell me one thing, though. Are you...into me? Like, at all?"

"Of course I am!" He replied in a flash, making you both pause before erupting into easy laughter. "Why would you even have to ask that, love?"

"It's just... Well, if Jake was the one who asked me out, it made me wonder if you really did like me." You mumbled, looking away.

Steven gently grasped your chin, tipping your face back towards him. "I've liked you since the day we met, Y/N. In your pink skirt and the cute little pigtails you had." He smiled, eyes so amorous and gleaming with sincerity. "Truth is, I've wanted to ask you out since forever. I'm just not as...forward as Jake is."

"And that's fine. But hey, we gotta thank him 'cause Lord knows I'd just spiral into a panic attack if I ever made the first move." You chuckled. But it gradually died down as Steven continued to stare at you, and you never thought you would ever have someone look at you the way Steven did; as if you were precious treasure hidden within a sacred tomb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, your body started moving of its own accord. You were leaning closer, closer, closer--a mere breath away from his lips before he piped up.

"I'm also Khonshu's Avatar!"

"Say what?"

"Um, well, you see--" He stammered, mentally slapping himself.

'Don't say anything, Steven.' Marc warned, and it took all of Marc's willpower not to seize control and actually slap Steven.

But it was too late now. Steven already said too much, but he wanted to be honest with you. Utterly so. And since you wanted to nip this in the bud, now was the best time more than anything.

"Erm... You've seen the news, yeah?" He didn't grant you the chance to respond as he rambled. "Masked vigilantes... Moon Knight and Mr. Knight? They're actually...Marc and I."

"Steven, this is--"

"I'll show you, Y/N. I'll summon the suit."

"Summon the soup? What is happening--"

Steven stood up, and a split second later there was a whirl of white. And sure enough, there was none other than one half of the mysterious heroes you've been seeing a lot on the news recently; his glowing white eyes locked with yours, crisp ivory suit and batons clutched tightly in his hands.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in--"

"Handsome..." You blurted out before you can restrain yourself.

"Huh?" Steven blushed underneath the mask, and you were the same as your cheeks tinted crimson. Then you rose from the couch, closing the gap between you two and removing his mask.

His curls stuck every which way and his eyes were as wide as the full moon, making you giggle. "You're so handsome, Steven. And yeah, this is a fucking lot to take in. To be honest, a part of me is still wondering if this is all just a dream." You reached up, caressing the side of his face sweetly and smiling. "But...thank you. Thank you for being honest with me."

His batons dropped to the floor, trembling hands hesitantly settling on your hips. You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he looked down at you, tears once again glistening in his eyes. Happiness, relief, adoration--how can so many exhilarating emotions crash over him all at once?

"Can I be more honest?" He whispered, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes. "I...want you to stay with me."

Your cheeks hurt from how impossibly wide your smile has stretched, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with yours.

"I'm staying whether you like it or not, Steven with a V."

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight Smut #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #Marc Spector #Steven Grant Smut #Jake Lockley Smut #Marc Spector Smut #Steven Grant x Reader #Jake Lockley x Reader #Marc Spector x Reader #Steven Grant x Reader Smut #Jake Lockley x Reader Smut #Marc Spector x Reader Smut #Reader x Steven Grant #Reader x Jake Lockley #Reader x Marc Spector #Reader x Steven Grant Smut #Reader x Jake Lockley Smut #Reader x Marc Spector Smut #Oscar Isaac

[softlyspector]

Disaster

Summary: Marc's mental health takes a turn for the worse when you give him some news. After chasing him to Chicago, you, Steven, and Jake are left to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Word Count: ~5.9k

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, mental health issues, excessive drinking, tense encounter with police, insensitivity (insensitive language) towards mental illness, pregnancy, mentions of past child abuse and trauma, mentions of abortion. If there's anything else please let me know!

A/N: Please read the warnings! Let me know what you think! Happy holidays!

Marc Spector is a disaster. 

He’s a walking red flag. 

His mind is fucked up, and he’s never known how to deal with it. 

There are triggers and tripwires inside him that even he can’t guess at, that he doesn’t want to look at. 

His knuckles are bleeding, the palms of his hands scraped raw, and he can’t say whether he was in a fight or if he fell. 

Did he stumble and fall? 

Why is no one ever there to help him up again?

Something swirls inside him, a voice telling him to stop, but he won’t listen to those voices tonight. He won’t be the guy shouting on a street corner to a person no one else can see, to people no one else can see.

There are, some part of him knows, people to help him up again. 

He’s just left them behind, shut them out.

“You’ve gotta go buddy.” The voice is American and gruff. It confuses him because he’s not sure how he got to the States. He glances up and around, vision blurred and doubled and tripled but he manages to make out the logo of the Cubs on the far wall of the bar. 

The rough voice is still speaking to him when a hard hand grips his upper arm. He’s dragged upright but he doesn’t remember falling to the floor. There’s a bottle of something in his hand, amber liquid turning around the inside of the glass that feels like shards of a broken mirror in his brain. 

Look, look, look, the mirror says. Look what you said you’d never become again.

He jerks away from the hand on his shoulder, memory like draggers, like the shape of a mother’s love and broken promises, twisting deep inside him. 

The bottle clatters to the floor. It doesn’t burst, the glass is too thick for that, but the sound of it makes him frantic, reminds him of slamming doors and mistakes long past. 

Someone is crying, someone is shouting, someone is hitting him -

No. 

His own hands. 

A whine lodges in his throat, his face smarts. He manages to still his hands.

The hands on his shoulders are shoving him now. “Get this fucking guy out of here. He’s fucking crazy. Something’s wrong with him-,” 

He lands on the street in a heap, and it's cold. 

It’s winter and it’s cold and there are Christmas decorations on this street. Winter decorations, the city of Chicago would probably say. White lights that twinkle overhead when he lands in the gutter, that spin and smash into each other before separating and diving away.

His hands are still smarting and the hard press of iced over snow and slush only makes it worse. 

“Hey,” there’s a voice, feminine and kind, “What’s your name? Are you okay?” He can’t focus on the face that swims in front of him. 

“Marc,” he manages. 

He wants to go home. He wants to go home, he wants this person to call-

“Get away from him, lady! He’s fucking crazy. Someone call the cops, he’s gonna freeze out here-,” 

“Marc,” he manages to meet her eyes. She’s older, eyes familiar.

“It’s gonna be okay, Marc," she says.

Marc doesn’t move, but he nods. 

He blinks and blinks and blinks, until his eyes stay closed and the woman is tugged away. “Let them handle it. Cops’ll be here soon enough-,” 

“Cops are going to-,” 

The voices fade away, he stops listening. 

His shirt is wet, his jeans too, and he doesn’t have a coat anymore. 

He thinks about his mother and how he doesn’t want to be like her but it seems like it's inevitable that he will be. He thinks about how he’s shoved Jake and Steven so far away he hasn’t heard their voices in days.

Last, he thinks about you. About the tears slipping down your cheeks when he left, about the way his throat had been scraped raw with the blunt nails of his voice. The things he’d said to you, the fear in the pit of his belly, that poisoned seed long ago planted that spread blackened vines over his body.

Blue and red lights flash, and he finally hears one of his alters. Steven, panicked and worried, and Marc, what have you done now-

He’s answering, the voice in his throat choked, like there’s something wrapped around his lungs and heart. “Fuck off, Steven!” His voice explodes out of him, and the guy from the bar that dumped him on the ground jumps. “I didn’t do anything! I did what I had to-,” 

He’d left you, he’d said horrible things to you, when you said- 

Marc, I’m pregnant.

It should have been okay. 

That should have been okay. 

He should have been okay, should have been able to talk it out and over with you. 

But it wasn’t, he isn’t. 

Another bender.  

He thought he was past this. He hasn’t done this in…eighteen months? Longer? Since he decided to be better for you. Since he decided he couldn’t keep doing that to you - disappearing and getting fucked up and not calling and coming home to you crying. 

How many days has he been gone? Are you okay? What if something happened to you while he was out here fucking wallowing and screaming inside his own mind -

There’s nothing about you that he understands. He’s never understood how you could bear it. How could you bear it? When he does this, when you have to pick up the pieces, when Steven has to clean them up and Jake has to smooth things over with you?

But it's been more than a year, of reconciling his identity, of learning to live with Steven and Jake and not shove them down, of getting help and letting you help support him. 

And now, this. 

Pregnant. 

One word had undone months of work. 

For no reason. 

He wants to go home to you, apologize, work it out with you. 

But he’s drunk and he can’t move. 

The blue and red lights flash behind his eyelids, rough hands again grip his shoulders, sick rolling up from his gut at the feeling of hands against his skin. Hard hands, rough hands. 

Marc doesn’t want to be touched. 

“Stop-,” 

“He’s drunk.” 

“Don’t touch me-,” 

“Hasn’t been violent yet but he’s talking to himself. Something’s fuckin’ wrong with him but we didn’t want him to freeze to death. Some lady said his name is Marc.” 

“Stop, stop-,” 

“Okay. We’ll throw him in the drunk tank, let him dry out.” 

“Stop touching me,” he manages not to slur, to speak clearly. 

Still- 

“What was that, pal?” 

It’s too much. 

Marc throws the hands off, stumbles away from the touch that burns like coal. He doesn’t want to be touched, he doesn’t want to be touched, he doesn’t want-

He’s knocked into the snow, handcuffs cold around his wrists, so cold they’re hot. He’s trapped and something is burning him and - 

~

“-fucking kidding me?” Your voice is incensed. It comes to him warbled, like he’s hearing it through a tunnel. “His skin is raw. He’s fucking bleeding. He’s bruised.” 

“It was for his own protection. He assaulted an officer and tried to hurt himself.” The voice that responds is feminine and surprisingly calm. “We didn’t have anywhere to put him besides the drunk tank. Couldn’t have him causing problems.” 

Marc shifts, pushing himself upright. His hands are still behind his back, cuffs digging into his skin. His cheek hurts from being squished against the metal bench he’d been slumped on. 

There’s a long silence before you take a breath and sigh. “Okay.” 

A buzzer sounds and then a door slams. “You’re lucky,” another voice says, much harsher than the first. “If that lawyer hadn’t called he’d be facing charges right now. He should be facing charges right now.”

You let out a humorless laugh as Marc stands, shuffling past the other drunks, most of them sleeping, to the door of the holding cell. He tries to peer down the hall, tries to catch a glimpse of you. 

“Right. Lucky he’s bleeding and bruised and near hypothermic because of the negligence of this department.” 

“You’re lucky he’s not dead in a fucking gutter,” the harsh voice says, male and aggressive. It raises Marc’s hackles, because no one should be speaking to you like that. Not his brave girl, standing up for him in a police department like that wasn’t completely fucking dangerous. “Word of advice, sweetheart? Drop him. He’s not worth it. Guy doesn’t even know his own fucking name. He’s batshit crazy. He should be institutionalized.” 

A door bangs shut again, the receptionist’s voice returns now, much gentler, “He needs help, honey. Serious help.” 

“He’s not-,” you sound broken and raw. “He’s not crazy. We don’t use that word. He’s fine, usually. There was just - something happened that triggered him.”

“He talks to himself,” the receptionist says, not unkindly. Marc leans into the bars of the holding cell, the metal cold under his skin, against his cheek. There’s a heavy pause, the sound of a tissue being pulled out of a box. “My son was diagnosed with schizophrenia and-,” 

You blow your nose and Marc misses the rest of the sentence. “He’s not schizophrenic,” you say. “Thank you, though.” Paper being folded, shoved into the interior pocket of a coat. “Can I take him home now?” 

Hesitation. “Are you sure you don’t want to call someone else? To help you at least? He was fairly agitated earlier.”

The meaning of her words are clear, and shame wells deep inside him, threatening to swallow him whole.  

“He would never hurt me,” you reply immediately and vehemently. “He knows me. He would never.”

“If you’re sure-,”

“I am,” you answer without hesitation. “Can you - Do you know who asked you to call me? If it wasn’t Marc-,”

Marc closes his eyes, presses his face harder into the metal, eyes clenched shut. “He - uh -  introduced himself as Steven. Sounded British, I guess.” A pause, and then, “Multiple personalities then, not schizophrenic. How many personalities does he have? Are you sure none of them are dangerous?”

Your voice is tightly controlled, a nugget of familiar embarrassment digging into his gut. “Sorry, I’m - I’m not comfortable talking about that. I would just say - just in case you ever deal with someone else like Marc - they’re alters, not personalities. That’s important. It’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder.” Your correction is gentle and Marc isn’t sure why he feels like crying. “And no. None of them are violent. It’s a terrible stereotype.” 

The receptionist doesn’t respond, but he imagines her nodding. “Of course,” she says eventually. “And the others know you too?” 

“Yes,” you sniffle. “They work together really well, usually.” 

“Of course,” the receptionist says, clearly placating now, clearly beginning to believe you were delusional about the truth of your situation. 

“Okay. Let me see him now,” you say, voice thick. Marc knows you hear it too, the sympathy and empathy that was rapidly drying up.

And a moment later you’re moving down the hall. You’re there and meeting his eyes, and the look in them is flush with relief. “Marc,” you say, his name safe in your mouth. 

The cell is unlocked by an officer, a different one to the aggressive, angry one. The cuffs are taken off his wrists only slightly roughly, and then your arms are coiled around him, squeezing tightly. 

“You’re so cold,” you’re saying in his ear, a ringing in his ears that makes it hard to hear you. “Honey, you’re so cold. C’mon. Let’s go home.” 

He follows you down the hall, through the buzz of a door and into the lobby. 

Home. 

Home, where?

“Merry Christmas,” the receptionist calls after you. “Hope everything works out.” 

“Thanks,” you say, hand around Marc’s, even though neither of you celebrate Christmas and he isn’t sure there’s anything to work out between you anymore. 

~

The car is a rental. 

It smells new and the seats are still warm. 

You reach into the backseat and hand him a coat.

He pulls it on, lets you fuss over his bruised wrists, the scrapes and cuts and blood that coats his skin. 

You’re pissed, but he can’t tell at who or what.

“Marc,” you murmur and tug his hands to the air vents. Your voice is sweet, like a balm to him. His hands are cold, like icicles, and he hadn’t even realized. “Keep your hands here ‘til they’re warm,” you say before releasing his fingers and reaching to shift the car into drive. 

Chicago is grim in the daylight, gray and flat, a winter that will last too long. Snowmelt drips from overhead, and the streets are all black slush. 

He’s still not sure when, or how, he got to Chicago. 

His hands start to feel warm again and so he sits back in his seat, not saying anything, not for a long time, not until you pull the car into the hotel’s parking garage and you’re opening the door. 

“They’re right, y’know.” 

You settle back in the driver’s seat, one foot on the ground, one leg in the icy cold. “What? Who?” 

“I need serious help. You’re better off without me.” 

You just stare at him, one tear trailing down your cheek that you flick away with an irritated hand. “C’mon,” you prod. “Let’s go.” You get out of the car, you shut the door and wait.

But you don’t deny it. You don’t say it's not true. 

Marc watches you for a moment, fists shaking in his lap. “Marc,” Jake says, his eyes watching him in the rearview mirror, the first time he’s heard his voice in days. “Let go, hermano. You can rest now.”

He shakes his head, closes his eyes, tries to shove Jake down. 

But he’s there, he’s not going anywhere. 

“Don’t be so fuckin’ hardheaded, Marc. You need to rest. We need to take care of the body. You’re going to upset -,” 

“I won’t,” he snarls, catching the way you jump at the outburst, even through glass and metal you hear him. He’s exhausted, close to burn out, already in the middle of a never ending melt down. He won’t upset you again. He won’t. “I won’t upset her. I will not,” he enunciates and shoves the door open. 

You hold out a hand to him and Marc takes it, letting you guide him through the hotel lobby to the bank of elevators. He knows as soon as he steps inside that he’s made a mistake. The elevator is mirrored and when he meets his reflection’s gaze-

~

“Querida,” Jake says, tucking you into his side, nose against your temple. He inhales the icy scent of your skin. You smell like cold, like Marc’s soap. “I’m sorry. We tried to get him to go home. We tried to call you but Marc-,” 

“Where is Marc?” Your eyes are wide and wet and Jake feels something inside him sink. “Why did he leave?” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say - he only remembers bits and pieces of the last few days, he remembers almost nothing of the conversation that had sent Marc into a self-destructive spiral. Jake settles for what he knows to be the truth, “He needs to rest. He’s exhausted. I need to take care of the body.” 

You nod and the elevator stops. 

He follows you to the room you’d checked into. It’s small but nice. Clean. The bathroom has a bathtub. A big one with claw feet, the way you said you’d always like to have in a house someday. 

“Can I help?” 

Jake turns, finds you in the doorway to the bathroom. “I want to help you clean up. I missed you.” 

Jake nods. 

He feels sick, hungover and groggy. He feels dirty. He looks dirty and tired when he meets his eyes in the mirror over the sink. There are circles beneath his eyes and his cheeks look hollowed out, like someone has dug a spoon into the meat of him.

 “Yeah, if you want,” he concedes. 

Jake doesn’t want you to see them like this but you already have and so he might as well accept your kindness, your warm touch. He doesn’t know what Marc’s done, and so it might be the last time.  

You run a bath, you settle Jake in the water, you sit on the edge of the tub and wash his hair. The scratch of your hands against his scalp is nice, soothing. The smell of the shampoo bothers him a little but not enough to say anything. You dig your hands into his hair, into the muscle at the base of his neck until he relaxes into your touch. 

When he’s clean and you’re cupping his chin, running a razor over his jaw and cheek, you ask, “Do you remember what happened?”

“No. Wasn’t aware until we were here and it felt like Marc’s heart was going to-,” 

Jake had come to in the cemetery at the foot of Randall’s grave. Wendy would be to his left, but Jake didn’t dare look that way. 

“No. No, I don’t remember, hermosa.” 

You nod and touch his cheek. “Can I tell you? Is Steven listening?” 

Jake nods, touches your hand. “It’s just us. Me and you.” 

“Jake,” you say. “I told Marc that I’m pregnant.” You swallow and continue before he can answer you. An odd feeling lodges in his chest, hot with something unknowable. “I should have told him in a different way but-,” 

Jake remembers now, flashes of Marc’s despair, the worry gnawing at his gut. The panic and the memories and the fear. It was too sudden, too much-

You. 

Pregnant. 

With his child. 

Marc hadn’t known how to handle it, his mother’s face swimming before his eyes. All the damage he’d be able to wreck on a tiny little life. 

We aren’t ready. 

I know, that’s why we’re talking about it. 

So, what, you want to get rid of it? 

I didn’t say that. I just wanted you to know so we could-

It’s okay. I know I’d be a terrible fucking parent. Just get rid of it. I don’t know why you even told me. 

You’d shrunk away from Marc at that. Marc, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I’m trying to say. 

He’d scoffed, hadn’t looked at you. You think I’d be parent of the year or something? 

No, I’m-

So you don’t want it. 

No! Marc, stop putting words in my mouth!

Things had only escalated from there, egging you on until you’d burst, poking at you, demanding you say something hurtful, to push him away before he could damage you further. You or the - 

“Pregnant?” Jake asks, interrupting you and his racing thoughts, thinking that this is the kind of thing that Grant is much more skilled at handling. 

“Right,” you say, relaxing a little. And he supposes his reaction hasn’t been to antagonize you or run away and so it’s an improved one. “I just…needed to tell him. I needed to tell one of you. I felt so alone and-” 

Jake takes your hand, his skin wet against yours. “Are you okay?” 

“No.” 

“‘Course you aren’t,” he soothes. “‘Course not. How am I lookin’?” He swipes a hand over his face, and you nod to indicate you’re done shaving him. “Lemme get us dressed. Marc wasn’t eating. We can go for pizza.” 

Your face crumples and you nod, standing and shifting away from him. Something like grief flashes over your face but he can’t decipher why. “Okay,” you rasp, trying to clear your voice but it just cracks more. “Okay.” 

“Hey,” he tugs you back by your hand. “Te amo. Siento lo que pasó.” 

You nod again, but don’t comment, tugging yourself gently away. 

~

Steven glances up from a red and white checkered tablecloth. There’s a half eaten deep dish pizza on the table. The plate directly in front of him is streaked with red sauce and his belly is full.

He’s alone at the table and there’s classic rock playing over the radio and when he looks out the window it’s snowing. 

He’s confused. The last he remembers are police and pain and -

“Steven?” You’re suddenly there, sounding relieved, your voice like a spear of light into the darkness of his world. 

“Love,” he meets your eyes as you sit down across from him. “What happened?” 

“Jake…is he alright? I was only in the bathroom for a minute.” 

Steven nods and takes your hand across the table. “He’s fine.” Steven looks you over, the tautness in your features, the sallow tinge of your skin. Marc’s put you through hell the last few days and he feels irritation spike inside him.

How could Marc do this to you? Again? 

They - Marc hasn’t done this in ages. 

“I already told Jake,” you say quickly. “What set Marc off. I’m guessing you don’t know either. He - I told him I’m pregnant and he didn’t take it well. I shouldn’t have sprung it on him-,” 

“Pregnant?” Steven asks, suddenly realizing why Jake had walked out of the body so abruptly. You’ve just come back from the loo, and it’s clear you were just sick. It’s morning sickness and Jake doesn’t know how to handle that. But - “Pregnant? With - with ours?” When you nod, an unexpected elation curls up his spine. Pregnant. With their, with his, baby. “Oh, dear, that’s -,” 

No wonder Marc had a bit of a breakdown then. 

He stands, rips the napkin that’s tucked into the collar of his shirt out and sweeps Jake’s flat cap off his head, before he rounds the table to you. He tugs you into a hug when he sits next to you, curling his arms around you.

The breath you take is shaky against his chest, a hiccup in your voice. “Oh, Steven,” you whisper, hands curling into his shirt, one of Jake’s button-ups. You must have brought some clothes for all of them, had the presence of mind to remember Jake’s stupid cap he can’t live without.  “I missed you,” your voice is numb and raw and filled with longing. “I love you so fucking much. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he chirps. “Very much. I’m sorry Marc-,” 

Steven stops. 

He’s sorry Marc - what? Ran off, relapsed into old coping mechanisms, worried you, left you utterly alone? All of the above?

“I’m just sorry,” he murmurs into the corner of your jaw. “So sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” you say, fingers digging into his hair, the palm of your hand cupping the back of his neck. “Nothing.”

He pulls back, tugs your hand into his, the warmth of it comforting. “Were you sick? Just then?” He asks, just to confirm. You nod. “Pregnant. Really?”

“You’re taking it better than Marc or Jake.” 

“Was Jake-,” 

“He was putting on a brave face. But I think it thoroughly freaked him out.” You nuzzle his hand when he cups your jaw, tilts your head back so he can see your face. You don’t meet his eyes, gaze downcast. 

Steven nods and releases your chin, let’s you curl into him. “Right. I think they just need a bit of time.” 

“Not sure that’s the case. Marc literally ran to another country to get away from me,” you say miserably. “Jake doesn’t know what to do or say. I think he just wants it to go away. And the really terrible thing is, that was what I wanted to talk to each of you about. What we’d do. I don’t know what to do or how to feel.” 

“You mean-,” Steven snaps his mouth shut. The last thing you needed was him dumping his own feelings onto yours, especially after Marc and Jake have made you feel unwanted and weird respectively. “Never mind that. I’m bloody thrilled. And if - if you don’t want to have a baby, then I’m here for you. I’m here for you no matter what.” 

You pull back and meet his eyes, brows pulling together as you search his gaze. 

For a moment, he thinks he’s made a terrible miscalculation as your lip wobbles dangerously but then your arms are circling his neck and you’re breathing out hard. “You’re amazing. Have I ever said before? You’re amazing.” 

“If anyone is, it's you, love,” he says, holding you close, feeling the beat of your heart against his. “Chasing Marc halfway across the world. I-I’m really not sure what we’ve done to deserve that.” 

You pull back and stare at him, your gaze guarded. “‘Course I came. You told the police to call me. I’d already figured out he was in Chicago when they called. I was on a layover in New York. But I had no idea where to go once I got here. The police were so fucking horrible. They-,” you stop and clutch him harder, like you mean to shield him from whatever happened. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter what they were saying. Marc is lucky Murdock likes Jake so much and that he had another lawyer friend in Chicago he could call.”

“You knew exactly what to do. We’re so lucky to have you.” He hesitates. “I’m sorry Marc left you like that. I’m sorry he gave you such a fright.” 

You shift, so your head is against his shoulder, and for the first time you relax a little. “No. It’s, I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. He’s been doing so well for so long, and I just said it. I know how he is about -,” you force yourself to stop talking again. “Really, it was unfair of me. And then he had to hear the horrible things the police said, after everything he’d already been through.” 

“You defended us though, yeah? It’s alright.” Steven wasn’t there, but the moments come in glimpses, Marc’s shame and embarrassment, the way you’d spoken up for them, corrected the receptionist, done everything to help them. 

“It’s not,” you say. “It’s not okay, what happened.” You shake your head, vehement in your disgust. “They shouldn’t treat people like that. I know things could have been much worse but it doesn’t make it okay.”

“‘Course not. One problem at a time though, love. Nothing came of it. Okay?” 

It takes you a moment to respond, but eventually you nod back, swallowing hard. “Okay. Okay, Steven. Are you hungry? Jake said Marc wasn’t-wasn’t eating.” Your voice warbles. “Wasn’t eating, just drinking himself sick.” 

“No, I feel alright now. Maybe a bit hungover but fine. Just tired, really.” 

You nod and pull away, yanking your bag into your lap and searching for some money to leave on the table. “Do I make him that afraid?” You whisper, not looking up. “Have I misread everything so badly? That he’d hurt himself like that?” 

Steven shakes his head, “Not everything is about you, love. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, or himself, really.”

You nod, but you don’t look like you believe him. 

“He’s going to leave me, and take you and Jake with him.” 

“No,” Steven says, picking up Jake’s cap to stuff in his pocket as you both stand. “Never,” he cups your face between his palms. “We’ll never let that happen, dear heart. We can’t be kept away from you.” 

~

It’s dark outside when Marc wakes, wrapped in the sheets of an unfamiliar bed. 

He feels better. 

Clean and fed and rested, at least a little. 

He’s only wearing a pair of briefs, the comforter a heavy weight on his chest. 

You’re sitting up next to him in bed, your eyes glassy where they’re glued to the flickering TV. 

He says your name and you look at him, immediately sliding down next to him, fingers digging into his shoulder as you bury your nose in his neck. 

“Marc, I’m so sorry-,” 

He’s shaking his head but he can’t get the words out. Not your fault, not your fault, not your fault. 

It’s him. It’s always him. 

It was bad already, but the police station only made it worse, reminding you surely of why he’s not good for you, why you deserve better. 

“Don’t,” he says, voice harsher than he intends it to be. You go quiet, lips pressed together in a tight line. “It’s not your fault. It’s me. It’s always fucking me.” 

You stroke his cheek. “You’re wrong, you know.” 

He huffs out a laugh, cycling through everything he’s ever been wrong about. “Yeah.” 

“Marc,” you tilt his face into yours, so close that the air he breathes is your breath. You smell like his soap, like minty toothpaste. He inhales, holds the breath of you inside, sure this is the moment you tell him to fuck off. “You’re wrong about being bad for me. I’m not better off without you, that’s exactly why I followed you here. The shit they said -,” 

He dares to tuck you closer. 

His head is clear now, and he can feel Jake and Steven close at hand, watching and waiting, making sure he doesn’t fuck this up again. 

But the body has slept and his belly is full and he’s not drunk or hungover or standing at the foot of his little brother’s grave. 

He’s okay. He’s good. 

“This isn’t about that.” 

“Like hell it’s not.” Your voice is gentle. “You believe that shit.”

“No,” he sits up and pulls away from you, paces the length of the hotel room even though he’s freezing. “No.”

But it didn’t make it any better. Reminds him of what his kid would go through with him as a father.

Unstable. Crazy. Whatever you want to call it. 

“Marc,” you say his name again. 

Safe. He’s safe with you, always. Even when you disagreed, even when you were mad at each other. “Honey, look at me.” 

He does. 

You look vulnerable, swathed in the comforting mountain of sheets that aren’t yours. “Let me say what I need to.” You wait for him to nod before you continue. “I should have approached you about it in a different way. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you ended up in that police station because of it.” He opens his mouth but you give him a look that dries the words on his tongue. “I’m pregnant. We did that together. We make the decision about what comes next together. All of us.”

He gives a short nod, panic welling in him again at the thought. 

Everything about it, about having a kid and being a father, reminds him of the sharp smell of booze, the clack of belt loops, the fear of death, rising tidewaters. 

But you’d be there. 

You’d never be that kind of mother, that kind of partner. 

“Even if I don’t - even if I’m not her,” he finds himself saying, the words unbidden and sagging with grief. “You’re right. The police station has everything to do with it. Even if I’m not her, I’m still this. I’m still what she made me. I’m still what people think of me.” 

Shame, he hates to admit that he still feels it, even with you. Sometimes he hates that you know, that he has to be reminded you know what happened to him, that you know Jake and Steven and might like them better than him. 

You hold a hand out to him, and Marc steps readily towards you. You pull him under the blankets, fingers digging into his skin, fussing and fidgeting with the necklace looped around his throat. “Marc,” you whisper, hands curling into his hair.

He loves the way you say his name, how often you say it. 

But his skin prickles with unease. “No kid needs to deal with all my shit. I’m never gonna be good for them, because of what happened to me.” 

You fold him close to you, cocoon him in your scent and the shape of your arms. “Or,” you nudge your nose against his. “You’ll be good because of it. I’m not afraid of you being a parent. I’m afraid of losing you.” 

Marc scoffs, “You don’t have a single fucking concern-,” 

“None. Not one. But we’re - we don’t have enough space. And I don’t know how a kid will fit into our life and our plans. We wanted to travel. I’m getting a promotion soon.” You touch his cheek. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. If it’s the right time.” 

Normal concerns, he realizes. Totally banal concerns, that is what has been plaguing you. 

“You get so afraid that you aren’t enough, that someone is going to leave you behind, that you self-destruct before anyone has the chance to explain what’s going on.” You lean your forehead into his. “You ran before I could explain.” 

“You’re mad.” 

“Yes,” you agree. It’s straightforward, it’s easy to understand and digest. “I’m mad. But not forever. And I’m not going anywhere.” You lace your fingers with his, kiss the backs of his knuckles. “You’ve gotten and are getting help. You try to be better every single day. We, me and you and Jake and Steven, we have a system that works for all of us. We have a way of making things work. Shit happens. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s just something that happened.” 

It’s hard to internalize, hard to reconcile. He’s broken and he hears the words that echo through years. It’s all your fault. 

“It’s always me-,” 

“No. It’s not. And either way, we’re here to help. Don’t shut us out.” 

He swallows, can’t think about himself anymore, or his mother, or his past, or the police station. You though, he can always think about you. 

A memory swirls up, staring at a picture Steven had taken of you at the park last spring. Back when benders were so common for Marc, but you were determined to see him to the end of the tunnel, the light at the end. He’d been drunk already, eyes wet, when the old lady next to him on the plane leaned over and said, “Beautiful.” 

Nothing more. Only that. 

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant,” he lets his voice lilt into a question. 

“Yes. I’m not sure how, we’re so good about condoms and birth control.” 

“Shit happens though, right?” He echos your words. “It’s just something that happened. We’ll deal.” 

“Together?” You venture. 

He nods, firm now. You believe in him, whether he’s crazy or not, fucked up or not, worthy or not, you believe in him. “Together.” 

Marc pauses, curls his arm around your shoulders. “And I’m sorry. Even if you don’t want me to be. I’m sorry about the last few days. I think - I can’t help but think about her. I don’t wanna be like her.”

“Marc,” your voice is firm. “You won’t be. But if you can’t trust yourself, trust me. I would not let what happened to you, happen to my baby.” 

And that -

Shocks Marc. 

He shouldn't have had to rely on his own mind to create protectors. 

He should have already been protected. His father, his father should never have let it happen. 

Marc looks at you, the fierce look in your eyes. No, you’d never let that happen. You’d never become his father. 

And somewhere inside him, he knows he’ll never be his mother. Not with Steven and Jake and you to guide him home. “Nothing is wrong with you,” you reiterate. “Nothing. This isn’t a question of whether you’d be a good parent, if you’d fuck up. This is about us, and what we need. All the rest will come as it may.”

Your hands are on his again, gentle over the bruises and cuts he doesn't remember getting.

"Okay."

Between the four of you, things would be okay.

"I'm not going anywhere, either," he says. "Not again. You won't lose me."

You shoulders drop, relief pours over him. .

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader

[ivonhart]

the moon | steven grant x fem werewolf!reader

+ marc spector & jake lockley

— chapter five

| next

| previous

cross posted on ao3

gif credit: @paper-n-ashes

summary: You've always hated the moon. Hated the way it made your body bend and break into a new form every month. Hated the way it tied you to one of the many gods of it. But you couldn't hate what the moon connected you to...who it connected you to.

!! chapter warnings !!: Marc gets a lil slap across his face / dissociation / unintentional s*lf-harm

“Marc…please don’t push me away.” Your plea rang through Marc’s head every moment since he left you in that courtyard. He hated what he said to you. He hated your lack of presence. He hated Steven scolding him. But most of all…he hated himself. By the time he got to Cairo he was quick to begin nursing any bottle of alcohol he could get his hands on, anxiously awaiting the moment you showed up.

He had no doubts that you knew where he was heading and made the preparations. You always did manage to find your way back to him as he did you. Perhaps it was because of Khonshu, because of the work you both did, but maybe…just maybe it was something more. Something deeper.

The moment you reached Cairo you made your way to the hotel Marc was staying at. The bags underneath your eyes grew more and more with each passing day. You hadn’t had a solid sleep since Steven got attacked by Harrow and your body was suffering for it. You didn’t bother to knock on the door and Marc must’ve expected that because he didn’t budge the moment you stepped in.

A wave of smells assaulted your nose, causing it to curl up in disgust. Alcohol. “Marc?” Your voice shot through the silent room as loud as a bomb, but even so, Marc made no movement to your voice aside from a slight twitch of the head. “She looks bloody exhausted.” Steven whispered in Marc’s ear. Because of the Cairo heat you had to wear more revealing clothes, allowing Steven to finally look at the scar.

The scar he now knew some about. Marc didn’t have to check to know it was true. Along with remembering your words that night he also remembered how tired you looked. As Marc drowned in his thoughts you made your way in front of him, lightly kicking his outstretched foot.

“Marc, come on. Get your shit together so we can get ready to find Harrow in the morning.” Your blood lit on fire as you watched the man take another swing from the bottle he was holding. Not even giving a damn about the liquid that dripped onto his already damp, bare chest.

“I don’t need this shit right now. I’m so fucking tired and I can’t handle you wallowing in your pity party.” You kicked his foot again but with a little more power, the words you spoke coming out from between your clenched teeth. Your anger started to make your body feel hotter than it already was because of the heat.

To no one’s surprise, the man didn’t move. Opting to ignore both your words and Stevens’. A guttural growl passed your lips as you finally snapped. “FOR FUCK SAKE!” With a quick turn on your heel you disappeared into the bathroom and a few seconds later you came stomping back out. “Stop acting like a fucking child!”

You said as you yanked the man to his feet, paying no mind to the bottle that slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground. With the unnatural strength you possessed, you pushed the man through the bathroom and into the shower that was provided before throwing clean clothes on the ground for him to use. “Now, get yourself cleaned up or so help me…” And with that you slammed the bathroom door and started cleaning the mess he made.

You were so consumed in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the fact the shower had stopped running until you heard his voice. “I’m sorry.” Those words stopped you in your tracks. “What?” You softly asked with your back towards him. “I’m sorry…for what I said.” The glass you had in your hand suddenly pierced through your palm as you clenched your fists together.

The once large pieces breaking into small ones that dug into your skin. Slowly, you turned around with a look of disbelief across your face. “You’re…sorry?” You paid no mind to the warmth that flooded your hand for your mind was too clouded with rage. “FUCK YOU!” You shouted, causing the man to flinch and drop his head. The glass you held fell to the ground as you opened your palms with a growl.

“You don’t get to be sorry!” Marc refused to look at your eyes, causing you to send your hand across his face. “LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!” The furry you felt made it feel as though your body was on fire. The audacity of that man. When his eyes met yours you could see the shine of tears beginning to form, but you couldn’t care less. Not right now.

“You don’t get to say such things to me and be ‘sorry.’” At this point you were almost panting with how worked up you were. The urge to hurt him like he hurt you was overwhelming, causing the wolf to stir within your mind. Wanting…needing to attack anything due to the heightened aggression you felt.

“I have barely eaten or slept these last few days. I have been attacked by Jackals, concussed, SHOT, and have fucking Khonshu breathing down my neck the whole time. And all the while I was still on Steven’s heels making sure he, and you, didn’t get hurt. ” Steven had never seen you in such a state before. The pure rage that glimmered in your eyes made a shiver run down his spine as he watched through Marc.

Your frantic movements and bared fangs made you almost animalistic…like a wolf ready to fight. “And for you to have the audacity to say I didn’t do anything and I’d be better off dead.” Your mind was moving so fast you didn’t even register what you said until you said it. “It hurt. It hurt so fucking much because of how I care about you.”

A bitter laugh came from your lips as you dropped your head. “In a way not appropriate for just ‘friends.’ If that’s what we even are.” Marc’s eyes widened at the confession. His cheeks grew warm and his heart squeezed in a way he never felt. But, before he could say anything you spoke again. “I don’t want to hear your damn apology.” Your voice was quiet now…almost a whisper.

The exhaustion you felt caused your eyesight to go hazy as any strength you had left disappeared from your outburst. You were running on fumes at this point. “I bet you only said it to appease Steven. He is the best of us.” Marc saw how your body started swaying back and forth and when you tried to reach out you slapped his hand away.

Your hand was fully covered in blood now from the lack of pressure to stop the flow. Not even looking at him as you did. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Despite the soft tone you had, it still shot Marc through the heart. You always reach for him first to hold and now…nothing. Wordlessly, you walked past the man and into the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood droplets along the way.

-

The moment you closed the bathroom door, you collapsed against the nearest wall. Any energy you could’ve had disappeared as you cupped your wounded hand against your chest. Because of the small bits of glass that dug into your skin, your healing abilities were unable to take effect.

So…now you sat in the bathroom with glazed over eyes and a clouded mind, haphazardly digging around in your hand in search of the glass after you dropped your hand to the cold ground. You’re not sure how long you were in there before you heard a soft knock on the door.

A gentle knock that pulled you, slightly, from your dissociated state. “Love?” Love…Steven. It was Steven. You felt your body lightly jolt at the sound of his voice but you made no attempt to move. It was if your body had molded with the ground you found yourself on. The cold tile freezing you in place as the weight you carried crushed you down.

That’s when you heard him again…calling your name. It was faint, fading in and out from the ringing in your ears. Then the pain in your chest began as your eyes stayed forward. It was as if someone reached their hand down your throat and took hold of your heart. Squeezing just enough to make it feel like you couldn’t breathe. You could hear his pleads but they sounded distant.

“Let me in, please. I don’t know how much longer I can keep the body.” Your throat began to close as you heard cries in the distance. Was Steven crying? Why was he crying? Then the wetness came. It rolled down your cheeks and began gathering on your shirt, yet you stayed glued to the spot. You were crying.

Steven could hear it. The sobs that tore through your throat as if it cut you from the inside. That’s when he saw the blood. Without another thought, the man pushed the door open and a gasp left his mouth at the sight of you. There you were…propped up against the wall next to the door, barely breathing as tears flooded down your cheeks whilst cries left your lungs.

And your hands. One peeling the skin apart on the hand you smashed the glass with, resulting in blood to spill across the ground that carried the shards of glass once stuck within. Steven could taste bile in his throat at the exposed layers of skin you clawed apart, but he pushed any nausea aside and jumped into action.

Quickly, the man grabbed the first aid kit and tore your hand away from the wound. That’s when your eyes slowly moved over to meet his…but they weren’t the same ones he remembered. They were vacant, distant, devoid of any light he once saw and so puffy he thought your eyes would become swollen shut. He called your name again, but you simply stared at him. Looked through him as if he wasn’t even there.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Steven’s whispers broke through the fog that clouded your senses and made you realize he was actually here. Actually tending to the wound you inflicted upon yourself. You choked out the man’s name between your sobs as you fell into his arms.

The moment you consumed yourself within his warmth and sent your sobs turned into wails. He knew that the weight of everything that had happened collided within you the moment he wrapped his arms around you. So now matter how hard you held him or how wet you made his shirt, the man refused to push you away.

He wasn’t going to do what Marc had done. Your shivering body was pulled into Steven’s lap as he encased you in him. You got as close as you could to the man and with each passing minute your wails grew quieter and quieter until, eventually, you sat quietly on his lap as he finished bandaging your wound.

Your eyes began to droop as the exhaustion finally caught up to you and as you let yourself fall into a peaceful state between sleep and awareness, something shifted in the man behind you. His smell changed. Changed to a scent unfamiliar to you. But, any thoughts seemed to slip from your mind as the man picked you up and carried you to the bed.

With your senses clouded with sleep you reached towards the closest thing that carried the scent of the men you adored so much. As you pulled the shirt you latched on to, the man watched from the foot of the bed. His hard eyes turned soft at the sight of you finally being able to relax. “Descansa ahora.” Rest now.

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a/n: JAKE MENTIONED *crowd goes wild* In my first version of this story I had the reader forgive Marc crazy quickly but I thought it'd be better for the reader to snap. Anyway, our girl is going absolutely THROUGH IT (it's gonna get worse :3)

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