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#marc spector x gn!reader
soft-girl-musings · 2 months
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Salt & Pepper
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Moon Knight System x GN!Reader
cross-posted to ao3
tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N
wc: 1,078
fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?
A/N: i might have a problem lol
_____________________
“Put. It. Down.”
Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.
“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.
Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.
“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?" 
"What? Nothing, I'm-"
"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"
“Ha-ha.”
You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”
 “... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”
You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”
You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.
 “Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.” 
He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”
“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.
“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.
_____________________
"Love?"
"Hm?"
"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”
You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.
“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”
Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.
“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.
Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.
“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”
There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”
He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.
“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”
“Oh my days–” 
You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.
_____________________
The time apart has been agony.
You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.
You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).
The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.
“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.
You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.
“What, no hello?”
You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”
“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.
“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.
“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”
He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.
“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.
“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ‘please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”
“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”
“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.
“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.
Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”
_____________________
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A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight
ty for reading <3
event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight
addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)
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ivystoryweaver · 10 months
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This is the Masterlist for my story "With You"
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8
Part 9a Part 9b Part 10 Part 11 Part 12
Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16: Conclusion
My Masterlist
Pairing: Established relationship. Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley x gn!reader. Reader is engaged to Marc/Steven. Jake is new. So elements of slow burn/idiots in love. No use of y/n
Summary: Your fiancé is 2 years sober, so what could have possibly upset him enough to challenge that? (It's Khonshu and Jake). A look at how the system learns about continued servitude to Khonshu and a new alter, with you - their fiancée - by their side
Overall fic content/warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism/addiction, hangover, cursing, hurt/comfort, references to past abuse, longing, feeling inadequate, some banter/bickering, mentions of food, domestic fluff, slice of life, nightmare, crying, romance, violence, injury, blood, implied sex, some sex but the language remains vague and gn - more erotic than explicit, not beta'd
Immersibility: Reader is gn, is somewhat shorter than Marc/Steven/Jake and able to wear their clothes around the house
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Cheat
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Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: T Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist •
Summary: Marc cheats at games constantly.
🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜
A/N: this is just self indulgent. I'm sorry.
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Warnings: reader is from the UK (get ready for some friendly USA vs UK), typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 828
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“But that’s cheating!” 
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is!” You try to keep the smile out of your voice, and put on an air of shocked indignation. Marc was notorious for cheating at board games, and card games, and any games where he thought he could get away with it. 
“How?” He asked calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. But there was a hint of glee in his eyes.
“You,” you gesture at him with your hand, nearly breaking into a laugh, “you can’t move like that.”
Marc doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, you can.”
“You can’t!”
“Who says?” He cocks his head to the side as he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in mock confusion. Though the little twitch of his lip gives him away. If there was one thing he loved more than cheating at games was pretending he actually wasn’t.
“I don’t know Marc, the rules?” 
“I don’t think so.” 
You pull your phone out of your pocket. “I’m looking them up, right now.”
“You’re just going to go and look at ‘pretend rules to suit my argument .com.” He shakes his head, a fake look of disgust plastered all over his features, as if you’re the one that’s going to try to deceive him.
“Firstly,” you try not to laugh, so as not to weaken your position. “That’s amazing, I am looking that up afterwards to see if it exists, and secondary-”
“I mean, it does exist, otherwise how else are you gonna go on it to look up the rules and pretend I can’t move like that?” 
You gawp at him for a second, grinning like crazy at his audacity. “Marc-”
“Hey,” he holds up his hands, “I’m just trying to play fair here, play by the rules-”
“When have you ever played by the rules?” 
“And you’re here, questioning my very legitimate move.” 
“Marc,” you giggle, “draught pieces cannot jump over empty spaces in a straight line.” 
“See, firstly,” he pulls a face, mocking your expression from before, “we’re playing checkers, that might be where you’re confused, because, in checkers-”
“Marc we are playing draughts,” you giggle and hold up the battered cardboard box, which clearly says ‘draughts’.
He shakes his head. “That’s a typo.”
“That’s a typo?” 
He nods, “of course, and-”
“Pretty big typo.” 
“British craftsmanship was never up to standard.”
“I’m gonna-”
“Now, now,” he grins, wagging his finger at you. “Violence never solved anything.”
“Says the American.” 
Marc gasps in fake hurt and puts his hand on his chest, “I’m so shocked that you would lower yourself to insulting my nationality.”
You laugh, “you just-”
“I would have thought such petty insults were beneath you,” he shakes his head in mock outrage. “I mean, I am so insulted right now.”
“You did it first!” You grin.
Marc just shakes his head and stares to the side. “I can’t even look at you right now. 
“Also draughts and checkers are the same game.”
“Now, you're insulting my American heritage, our cultural game of checkers, how could you?” His tone of voice is making it impossible not to laugh. 
“Marc-”
“I just can’t,” he stands, “If you’re not going to respect the game then,” he shrugs, “I don’t think we should play, let’s just end it here and say I won.” 
“No,” you get up, “I’m winning!” 
“Were you? Morally?” He teases.
“Yes!”
He takes a step closer to you. “And in the actual game?”
“Yes! That’s why you started cheating!” 
He leans closer, “I never cheat.” 
You place your hands on his cheeks and pull a face. “Liar.”
“How could you-”
“Don’t make me ask Steven to be the umpire.” You say playfully. 
“Oh yes,” he narrows his eyes at you. “The other Brit, I’m sure he’ll be completely unbiased.”
You laugh, “Fine, how about Jake?” 
Marc shakes his head, an over-the-top motion just for your amusement. “Can’t trust him.”
You gasp, “You can’t trust him?”
“Not in matters like this.”
“But he’s American.”
Marc shakes his head again, “he’s too blinded by your beauty to be impartial.” 
You smile, the sneaky compliment catching you off guard for a moment. “Blinded by my beauty?” 
“Hmm,” he nods, all fake seriousness. “It’s a real problem, luckily, I have developed a resilience to your charms.” 
“Oh really?” 
“Yes,” he nods again, but takes hold of your left hand and places a kiss to your inner wrist. “I am completely immune.” He punctuates the sentence by placing more kisses along your arm and sliding his other hand onto your hip, pulling you closer towards him until your chest is flush with his. 
“Completely immune.” You echo and nod sarcastically.
“Completely.” He nods back and places a soft kiss on your lips that quickly has you melting into him. He stays just as close when you break apart, keeping barely a centimetre of space between you. 
“You’re a terrible cheat, Spector.” 
He grinned. “You love it when I don’t play by the rules.” 
____________________________________
Thank you for reading!
@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho
If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here
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spacecowboyhotch · 19 days
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Sprinkles
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about this: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARC SPECTOR (aka the love of my life). gn!reader. contents: a birthday fic, illusions to abuse/mental health issues, canon typical mentions of DID, internal angst, fluff, kissing. wc: 738. not beta’d.
moonknight masterlist
Marc wakes to the smell of something distinctly sweet, though he isn’t sure what it is. He is hit with that deep sadness that has rooted itself inside of him since he was just a little boy. Another year has passed— he’s made another trip around the sun. Another year to remember and forget, to fight his demons, to look in the mirror and be nothing but a grim reminder of his broken family.
But, then he hears a familiar tune, a whistle floating through the air that makes him feel light. Your whistle. A new reminder that he has a new family. That in some ways he created a new family within himself, one that you readily accept.
He turns to bury himself in your pillow, smothering the goofy grin on his face. He’s still growing used to this feeling, of being happily and safely in love.
There is the patter of your feet, the chatter of dishes, the sound of a tea kettle. When he finally sits up, there’s a card with his name scrawled across it on his bedside table, along with a small heart-shaped box of chocolates.
He laughs as he reads the card, though your sentiment is sweet and means a lot to him, given his tumultuous childhood with little joy.
For the man who has a sweet tooth that rivals a 7-year-old. You deserve every confection on this earth— none are sweeter than you. All my love.
Marc tucks the card into his drawer, along with a few other things you’ve gotten him, a watch from his father, and his old wedding band. Things with meaning. He picks up the box of chocolates and heads out to the kitchen where he knows he’ll be met with the happiest sight on earth— you.
“Mornin’,” He calls out to you, his voice still rough from sleep.
You whirl around, fixing him with a smile so wide and genuine it makes his cheeks warm. “Good morning, lovey. Sit sit, it’s almost done,” You gesture to the kitchen table.
Marc sits as instructed, watching patiently as you start to get everything ready. You set down in front of him: coffee that he knows will be perfectly made, two different stacks of what both seem to be funfetti pancakes, extra sprinkles, whipped cream, and syrup.
“Did you know that most funfetti pancake recipes don’t call for any actual funfetti cake batter? Seems fraudulent don’t you think?” You ask as you fix a plate for yourself and sit beside him.
He hums in agreement. “Hence the two different kinds?”
“Well I wanted to see which you liked better, a traditional recipe or mine,” You reason, stabbing a candle into both of his stacks so that you can light them. Leaning close you, brush your lips against his cheek as the flames flicker.
At this moment, Marc feels like the only people that exist are you and him. He’s overwhelmed with happiness and tenderness before you even speak another word. Marc wants to be alive. He wants to live with you, year after year. He wants to know who could be with you by his side.
As if you’ve read his mind, you whisper to him, “Happy birthday, Marc Spector. I hope for you, more love, more growth, more happiness, and contentment.”
Marc inhales shakily, his eyes growing wet with tears. He nods, reaching out to grasp your hand and squeeze, hoping that the gratitude he’s feeling is clear. You raise his hand, kissing it gently before gesturing towards the candles.
“Make a wish, Marc.”
He could. He lets his eyes flit around the space, his mind flitting through ideas as he takes in his surroundings. A loving light in your eyes. The sweet scent of funfetti pancakes. Coffee the color of dark caramel. The perfect box of chocolates. This place that you both call home. Marc realizes he loves things just the way they are right now. He closes his eyes and wishes that every day will hold even a fraction of the warmth it does right now.
He guides a hand to your chin, pulling you close by it so he can press a grateful kiss to your mouth. “Thank you, sweetheart, all of this is great. More than I could’ve asked for.”
“Get used to it, Spector,” You laugh, mouth brushing his.
“I’m working on it, but for right now, I think it’s time for me to try some pancakes.”
moonknight taglist: @ninebluehearts , @rmoonstoner, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings, @whatthefishh
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starlight-writer · 8 months
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How They Cuddle
A/n: Started this while I was stuck in traffic with a tornado warning going on. Later found out 4 touched down around me so basically God said I couldn't die until I posted this
Warnings: none, fluff, angst, semi serious? Talks of death, read with that in mind on Jake's part
Gn! Reader Masterlist
Steven
Tummy hugger
Doesn't matter the size, how hot it is inside, he will latch onto your waist and rest his head on your tummy
Prefers a bare tummy so he can feel your soft skin, but he's happy as long as he gets to hold you
And if you pet his head or play with his hair too? He's a goner
Those sleeping problems he has from time to time? Gone
Those night terrors that keep him up for hours? A thing of the past
He sleeps best when it's with you and when it's on your perfect, soft, warm tummy? He sleeps like a baby
There are, of course, nights where he's had a really bad day and he needs a bit more from you
Those are the nights where he'll ask you to lay on him
He wants to be surrounded by the thing he loves the most
And if you even try to say 'oh, I'll crush you!' he will forcibly pull you on top of him
"Yea right, you forget I was an avatar of Khonshu, love. I'm buff as fuck." He would mumble while burying his head in your hair or shoulder
It's not necessarily a lie, but it gets you to laugh
Pressure therapy is strong with this one
He has so many weighted blankets, it's ridiculous
And usually he doesn't use them now that he has you, but when there are days when you're not home or don't feel like cuddling, Steven will break out his massive pile of weighted blankets
It's honestly really cute seeing Steven all bundled up and only his head poking out of a mountain of blankets
Marc
Lays directly on top of you
Lowkey scared of crushing you so it takes a while for him to admit how he'd prefer to cuddle, but it happens eventually
Marc wants to protect you, you're the love of his life and he couldn't take it if he lost you
So he lays on you to be your shield
If anyone breaks into the apartment, which they probably wouldn't even make it past the front door before Marc absolutely destroys them, but if they do he's the first one they'll attack
And as long as you're safe, he's happy
It's a deeper reason than the others, but it's true
If he's had a bad day, it'll be different
He'll curl up into you, looking so small and vulnerable
He'll bury his face in your chest and hold onto you like you're his life line
Which you are
If you play with his hair and rub his back, maybe even hum to him, he'll pass out in no time
He feels safe in your arms and while he's not used to feeling so vulnerable, he feels like he can be with you
On the other hand, there are very rare nights where Marc will ask you to suffocate him
Not really, of course
He just needs the pressure of you laying on top of him to chase away his dark thoughts
Works every time
Not during nightmares though
Never try that during or after a nightmare
Marc will panic so hard, he might accidentally hurt you and he would rather die than do that to you
Jake
Jake is a little different than Steven and Marc
He doesn't have a preference of cuddles, as long as he can feel your skin somewhere on him, he's ok
It's not in a weird way though
If he can feel your skin, he can feel how warm you are and if he can feel how warm you are, he knows you're not dead
It's morbid, but he's seen so much and caused so much death so he's trying to reassure himself that you're not dead too
He'll have his hands under your shirt and resting on your hips, or hike your leg over his hip to feel your thighs, or sleep with his cheek pressed against your tummy
Anywhere is fair game to him as long as you're comfortable
But then there are nights where he would rather die than feel your skin
It's usually nights where he's had to kill quite a few people and while he usually handles death quite well, he has you now
He's learned to be something other than a tool for Khonshu and a shield for Marc and Steven
Those nights, he'll lay next to you and watch you breathe
The only part of you he touches is your wrist to feel your heart beat
Similar to Steven, he will ask you to occasionally lay on him, just so he can feel you pressed up against him
Not in a sexual way, though he's not ashamed to admit he would enjoy that, just in a way so he can feel a bit more of you than he normal would
And honestly, when as asks you to lay on him, it leads to some kind of make out session
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jake-g-lockley · 1 year
Note
ooo hi!! can i request something with marc where he tells the reader a secret (any secret) while they're laying in bed together? just something cute and sweet and maybe a lil vulnerable, thank you!!
Forever Feels Like… (Marc Spector x reader)
Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?
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A/N: Heya lovely! Thanks for the ask, this is so pure ughhh. I added a little change but I hope you like this huhu <33 THIS GIF OF MARC LORD I WILL SIN HES SO BEAUTIFUL!! also THIS SONG UGH TAYLORRRRR
Word count: 1.4 k
One of your favourite things in the world was coming back home to a soft warm bed where no secrets are kept. It was a promise you made with the love of your life and he had intended to keep that promise, no matter how much the truth hurt. It was a difficult process, trying to get Marc to open up, but when he started doing it, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he realized that if he ever had secrets he wouldn’t mind sharing them with you.
Today was a particularly cold night. The city below was exceptionally silent and it wasn’t hard to get cosy in bed. You had a book in your hands, mouthing the words as Marc dried his hair off from his late shower, lighting one of your favourite scented candles before climbing into bed. He crawled towards you and settled his head on your tummy, wordlessly placing your hand in his hair and you smiled down at him, letting your fingers lazily twist his damp locks.
The silence between the both of you was something of a luxury, rich and comfortable, a silence that made you feel like everything was going to be alright whenever he was by your side. Sometimes, one of you would punctuate the silence with something that the both of you would giggle about and when your peripheral caught Marc staring up at you, you knew it was his turn today.
“Do you ever just pretend like you are in a music video when you’re listening to music?” Marc whispered.
“Huh?” you were caught off guard with his statement and you sat up a little, confused.
“Uhhh, nevermind…” Marc reeled back and your heart almost stopped.
“No, no, wait, do you?” you stutter out before you could lose your husband to his own dilemmas.
After a long pause, you finally got an answer from Marc.
“Yes…”
Your mouth twisted into a grin as Marc hides his face in his hands. You caught a blush creeping up his face and your heart fluttered at his cuteness.
“Tell me how.” you whispered, letting your hands curl around his wrist, gently tugging his hands to expose his beautiful face.
“No.” he mumbled.
“Baby, come on, you can’t spring a secret on me like that and not dwell into it. You know I will never ever judge.” you felt Marc’s vulnerability pulling at your heartstrings.
Marc takes a deep breath as you lace your fingers with his, kissing his knuckles gently. He gets up from where he is laying down and changes his position, so that now he was facing you.
“Sometimes, I just close my eyes and let the music soothe everything and it means that I eventually forget all my troubles and fall into a dream world.” he whispers, his breath fanning your face with how close he was.
You nod, egging him on.
“It’s just me alone, in a world without people and it feels safe and comfortable.”
Marc used a lot of things to cope over the years. He had believed in himself and therapy had been slowly taking the edge off things. You were glad that your husband was getting all of the help that he needed. Often you would find him doing things that would make you smile.
He’d like to seem tough around you but in reality, he was a real softy who deserved the world. Sometimes you would catch him fast asleep with his headphones on, and when you leaned down to press a kiss onto his cheek, you would catch Taylor Swift’s beautiful voice, making you giggle at his choice of music. It was endearing, the way he would smile softly in his sleep and snuggle his nose into the pillow.
“Then when I met you, you kinda changed everything, because then, all the songs had you in it.”
His statement caught you way off guard now and your heart thudded in your chest furiously.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” He smiled softly and you swore in that moment, you will literally do anything for him.
“Oh Marc…” you whispered, tracing your fingertips on the lines on his face.
“Winters here are cold and miserable but you make me feel warm and loved.” He whispers, his lips meeting yours softly.
Healing was something that was hard for Marc. The idea of mortality was so confusing for a man that had died and come back to life. When the songs started to sound like they had been written about you and him, Marc choose to believe that he needed to cherish his mortality, choosing to hand it to you instead because he knew that you were the only one he could trust it with.
“Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about you and I hate being a romantic but I guess it's ok since it’s you.” He sighs and you giggle.
“Says the man who lets me steal his favourite cookies.” you boop his nose and his face scrunches.
“You and me both know that the missing cookies are the work of elves.” Marc grumbles and you barked out a laugh before kissing his forehead. “Very sexy wifey elves.”
You used to dream of a man like this, one who would give you everything without a single question. You knew his love was genuine and he had so much love to give, so much so that it exhausted him. You searched hard for years but he turned up when you least expected him to and now here he was, this beautiful man, barring his secrets to you.
“I guess it’s my turn now huh, Spector?” you say, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself.
Marc nodded encouragingly into your chest where he had settled his head in. You gently wrapped your arms around him and held him close, twisting his hair between your fingers.
“Okay, mine has been a little thing I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. I’ve stopped wearing setting spray.” You sighed and Marc brought his head out of your chest and glared at you.
“Wait! Before you say anything, hear me out.” You say before Marc could berate you about that not being a real secret.
He nodded, snuggling back into your chest.
Marc had always been a big fan of the blush you wear. Everyday you thank the goddess called Selena Gomez and slowly press the cream foundation over your foundation. Marc always noticed when you wore it and would watch you with his head perched on his palms as you skipped around the kitchen making breakfast.
One day, you had forgotten to spray your setting spray and Marc kissed your cheek before you could say anything. When he pulled away, you noticed that the blush had transferred onto his lips, the light tinge of colour making your heart swell with happiness. He left to work like that before you could say a thing and from that day on, you decided to skip out on your setting spray.
“So yea, you’ve been going to work with my blush on your lips, babe.” you say finally and almost jumped when Marc began to laugh in your arms.
“I know.” Marc stuttered out between laughs.
“Huh?”
“Yea, I know, I’ve been doing it on purpose.” He raised his head to kiss your cheek with a big ‘MUAH!’
“You looked so cute the first time I did that to you, there was a small imprint of my lips on your cheek and I pretended not to notice, but I loved it. It just gave me a reason to come back and kiss you again and again.” he said, kissing you between sentences as you writhed and giggled under him.
“What god brought you to me?” You sighed, pressing your forehead to his.
“Weirdly, an Egyptian one.” Marc murmured.
“Ok, let’s not talk about big bird and summon him here.” you rolled your eyes at the thought of your husband’s ex employer.
“Mmhm, I’d most definitely wish to be alone now with my sweetheart.” Marc mumbled as his lips dropped to yours again and his arms curl around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.
You relaxed into his touch, accepting every single path you had taken to get to this single moment. Your heart swooned as Marc hooked your legs behind him, his nose dragging gently along your neck.
Secrets had never tasted so good.
Reblogs are appreciated~~~
Tagging: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @pimosworld @undermoonknightwalk
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deadqueerboys · 3 months
Text
Marc: There's only one rule. Don't..
M/n: What? Don't kill anybody? I know.
Marc: No, don't you ever interrupt Steven. You'll regret this.
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vampirzina · 2 months
Note
Hi! Can you do the pet headcannon thing with the moonknight system with a hedgehog, rabbit, or fish? Because I have all three! ♥️
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warning(s): gn pronouns, spikes, fluff, sfw, established relationship, mdni
notes: an old request. it will be answered now .. 🤍
masterlist | sharing is caring series
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Someone like Marc Spector wouldn’t have much of a reaction, at first.
— A rabbit and fish, fine. As long as they aren’t too clingy, he can deal with it.
— He may pay more attention to the kinder and more unassuming of your trio, the rabbit, but it’s not much more attention than he gives you. It’s more of fleeting affectionate moments between them.
— But when your hedgehog becomes rather picky and seems totally averse to his touch, he leaves them alone and doesn’t try. However, if they bite, he’d complain to you about it.
x
“I can’t not tell them to bite. It’s probably because you keep ignoring them,” you stated rather annoyedly. “Why don’t you try and be nice?”
x
— Helping him befriend your hedgehog was actually… Endearing, in a way. But he still doesn’t go looking for them on his own (he likes your rabbit more, and although he doesn’t say so, it’s obvious).
— After a long day, if you so happen not to be there or away, he finds comfort in your rabbit the most.
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Steven Grant is more attentive than his peers, and he gets along fast with your pets.
— Obviously, he’s more into your fish. If they’re not an aggressive breed, he thinks they could make a good friend for Gus and offers to move them in with each other. Your fish is never not spoiled, having just as many nice things as Gus.
— Your fish is the first thing he checks on when you both come home, and the last thing he checks on when he leaves.
— He’s okay with your rabbit, and if you looked hard enough, there’s a resemblance in them. Still, he lets them relax on his lap as he’s looking over something some nights.
— As for your hedgehog, he’s nice to them, but their adamance on avoiding him when he’s next to you is a little saddening. He retracts his hand at the slightest flare of spikes.
— Unlike Marc, he doesn’t need you to tell him to make an effort to befriend them. He apologizes to your “Gus,” who is used to his attention, to focus on making the hedgehog comfortable enough.
— Treats them like a baby, honestly. You’d come home one day to a balled up hedgehog napping on him
x
“Home late, aren’t you,” he didn’t need to look up from his flip phone as he mashes at the buttons, arms caging the resting ball of spikes on his lap. “How was work?”
x
— He’d be lying if he said he loved them all equally, but his bond with your rabbit and hedgehog have tripled.
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Jake Lockley wouldn’t pursue it, at first.
— He would eye them as the ones with feet would patter around, and he’s become warier of where he steps, especially because of the hedgehog.
— He’d be standing in the kitchen when they nipped at his ankle, and when he’d curse at the pinch, he wouldn’t become upset with them per se, but he’d frustratedly keep his ankles off the floor.
— He’d maintain a sort of roommate-like relationship with them, for the most part. The way he’d bond with them, over time, would actually be because he’d take the hedgehogs shedded spike and poke you with it.
x
A swift hand comes to slap your partner at the sudden sharp poke. Jake laughs when you give him a scowl.
“Throw that away. Matter of fact,” you grumbled, but you sat up anyway to snatch it from him. “Give it to me.”
x
— He’d come to like your hedgehog the most out of all your pets. Your rabbit was a rabbit, fine, and your fish swam and did things; but none of them had the potential to tease and pester you like your hedgehog.
— He calls them by a different name than what you named them, and you reckon if you didn’t keep an eye on him, he’d have your hedgehog for himself.
— It’s definitely become one of his favorite animals.
@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨
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hoedamn-eron · 1 month
Text
sweet talkin'
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Marc, in the throes of a Valentine's panic, receives your gift.
Warnings: 18+. Merely for the message on the chocolate having ✨ suggestive themes ✨. Worries of not feeling enough (Marc spirals a little bit). No mentions of Jake or Steven, or Khonshu, but it doesn't mean they're not there 👀. Not proofread, as usual, so there will be mistakes. Word count: 1,586 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.
For the love of God, please go and take a look at Salty Mail on Insta.
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You were a very emotional person.
Well, no, that’s not strictly true, but you have no problem in expressing yourself. You tell people how you’re feeling if you feel like the moment needs it.
Which is why you find Marc Spector to be such an enigma.
When you first met Marc, it was a struggle to detect what he was feeling. He was friendly to you, of course, but you weren’t even sure how he actually felt about you until he’d asked you out. Even throughout your dates he was always stoic, but now, after all this time together, you like to think that you read him pretty well. Now you can tell when he was feeling stressed, or going through a tough time, but every time you tried to get him to talk to you about it, he always ended up pushing you away, telling you he’ll deal with it.
He did eventually open up about his past (sans Jake, and Steven, and the Big Bird), and that explained quite a lot. Because of this, you’ve come to accept that he just had some issues he needed to work through, and that was okay.
The thing was, he had no problem listening to your gripes and whines, since you were such an open book. But what Marc seemed to have a problem with was when you tried to tell him about how you felt about him, how amazing he was, and how you practically worshipped the ground he walked on. He always seemed to curl in on himself when you did, and it broke your heart to see how he didn’t see how great he was.
It didn’t make what you said about him any less true. You’d mentioned going to a therapist, and you were fully supportive of him, telling him about how much it would benefit him. He still wasn’t set on the idea though. He didn’t seem all that thrilled about it, but at least he was thinking about it.
Now, it’s Valentine’s Day, and Marc had been thinking about it all week. He wasn’t sure what your stance was on it, you’d never really spoken about it before, but he was sure you’d mention it at some point during the day. It was your first one together after all.
He was thinking of just getting you some flowers, and your favourite treats, but he already does that for you on a regular basis.
Maybe you could go out to dinner? You’d mentioned you wanted to try out that fancy new place a few streets over. Oh but it was too late for that, he’d be lucky if he could book a table on Valentine’s Day.
He was so caught up in his head, he hadn’t even noticed you placing a plate of pancakes, with a side of fruits, in front of him, only coming to when you were giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re a million miles away, are you okay?” you ask, your brow furrowed lightly, stroking his hair.
“Yeah, sorry,” Marc said, giving you a small smile as he looks down at the plate. “Looks great, baby.”
As he tucks in, you make yourself a plate. “I’ll be home for 5pm, we can check out that new TV show you wanted to watch.”
Marc nodded, a mouthful of pancakes and syrup. He chewed quickly before swallowing. “Sounds good.”
“Oh, and I have a parcel coming today. Can you just leave it on the side for when I get back?”
Marc nodded again, giving you a small smile. “No problem.”
You finish your breakfasts, talking about Marc’s plans for the day, which included a few errands he’d been neglecting (his favourite jumper had been at the dry cleaners for weeks; they’d rang him every other day trying to get him to collect it), and clearing up your plates. After you dressed for work and Marc was washing the dishes, you leave a kiss for Marc that made him want to drag you back to bed, intending to keep you there all day, but you managed to pull away from him with a giggle before telling him you would see him later, and you left for work.
Then he was left alone in your flat.
As he continued to do the dishes, the silence brought back the earlier anxiousness about the stupid holiday, causing his brow to furrow and his palms to become clammy. It was just a hallmark holiday, why was he getting soworked up about it? You hadn’t said anything to him about it, you both hadn’t even made plans to go out, so why was he panicking? Obviously, it must just be another day to you.
But what if you were expecting him to surprise you with something?
He shakes his head. No. You had no issues telling him what you wanted. You would have asked if he wanted to make plans.
Shaking his head, suddenly feeling angry with himself, leaving a bitter, acidic taste in his mouth, he abandons the remaining dishes, draining the water. Marc wipes his hands dry on a tea towel before looking around your kitchen, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. He needed to get out. A walk will do him some good…he needed to go to the dry cleaners anyway. He could pick up some stuff from the shop and make you dinner, just the two of you, in your flat. At least do something for Valentine’s Day.
Yeah, he’ll do that.
As he walks around the streets of London, seeing all the sickly red and pink hearts decorating the shop windows, he starts to wonder to himself; how the fuck he managed to have you. You could have had anyone, and you wanted to be with him. He was a mess, a broken man, he didn’t deserve good things, he didn’t deserve you.
It was almost as if he was on autopilot, making his way to the dry cleaners, where they gave him an earful about late collections (he paid the fee without saying a word), and he went to Tesco to pick up some ingredients, and just to top up your cupboards (he noticed you were running out of coffee and your favourite biscuits). He soon made it back to your flat, bags in hand, when he noticed a simple white package on the floor, the shape of a thin rectangle.
Shit. He’d forgotten about that. Thank God the postman could just slip it through your letterbox.
He puts the bags on the kitchen counters, tossing his dry cleaning over your dining table before picking up the package. He was about to toss it onto your side table when he noticed that it wasn’t addressed to you…it was addressed to him.
His brow furrowed. Why would he have something addressed to him go to your place?
He stared at the parcel. It didn’t feel heavy; actually, it barely weighed anything. But it must be something, since you asked him to take it in for you. Maybe it wasn’t for him, your autofill might have put in the wrong name when you ordered it. It was your property; he shouldn’t look at it.
He placed it down on the side table, before he started unpacking the shopping. Not long after, his phone vibrated, signalling a text (it could only be from you). He takes out his phone, before his brow furrowed reading it.
Did you like my gift?
Oh shit, it was for him then.
Marc glanced at the parcel again, then made his way over, picking it up. He shook it lightly, before he slowly opened it. He sauntered into the kitchen, before pausing at the gift, before snorting in amusement.
It was a milk chocolate bar, sprinkled with mini Reese’s Pieces and peanut M&Ms (his favourites), wrapped in clear film. In the centre, it had large, white writing, spread across:
You’re my forever fuck
Marc suddenly felt hot, his heart skipping a beat. You tell him all the time, how much he meant to you, how much you adored him, but he never could really believe it. He always thought you’d said it out of pity for him, but he couldn’t ignore his feelings for you. He knew it got you down, how he couldn’t be as expressive; he actually believed you hung the stars, that you were too good of a person for him.
He replayed the moments of tenderness shared between the two of you, each memory etched with the permanent mark of your love. Yet, despite the reassurances whispered in the stillness of nights shared with passion and pleasures, where your bodies danced together, Marc grappled with the notion that he might never measure up to the idealised image he held of you.
Amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, one truth remained steadfast: your presence illuminated the darkest corners of his soul, offering solace in a world full of evils and maliciousness. As Marc stood at the crossroads of his emotions, he yearned to bridge the chasm between his doubts and the faith you held in him.
And now you’ve expressed it in his favourite chocolates for Valentine’s Day, and it just made him fall in love with you more.
He grinned as he opened it, taking a bite and groaning as the chocolate melted in his mouth. It was damn good.
His phone vibrates again with another text from you. He merely sends a selfie back of him taking another bite, with the caption:
Delicious.
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the-little-ewok · 8 months
Text
Tempest
Marc Spector x G/N Reader (small suggestion of Steven Grant X G/N Reader)
Rating : M (for mild spice)
Wordcount : 1400 (ish)
Warnings : Nightmares, lil bit angsty, fluffy, tiny bit of spice towards the end.
Prompt / Summary Lips barely touching, Kissing to shut them up , Kissing each other breathless / The rain always gives Marc nightmares. But luckily he has you to sit up with him.
A/N : To the anon who sent me the prompt, I hope you like it!
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The rain always makes Marc's nightmares worse, so it comes as no surprise when he starts to stir in his sleep.
At first, he just tosses his head, then it's followed by mumbles and moans, before he thrashes, yelling names he refuses to talk about.
You wish you could stop it, you wish you could find a way to help him through, but you've found the best way to help him is just to be there for him when he wakes. Waking him up always seemed to shock him more, so all you can do is wait it out.
Thankfully, you tend to be awake before he startles you out of sleep, your subconscious now tuned into the slightest patter of rain against the window panes.
So when he bolts upright, eyes wide, sweat shining on his skin, you've already been awake for a while.
"Breathe Marc, it's okay, you're at home, in London." You press a hand against his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart under your fingers, as he takes shuddering breaths.
For a moment he looks at you as though he has no idea who you are, where he is, or what's happened. Before he finally blinks and your Marc stares at you, wide eyed.
"It's okay, it's okay," you repeat softly. "Just take a couple of deep breaths."
He does as you ask, taking a few slow, deep breaths as he gathers his thoughts. You sit quietly with him, giving him as much time as he needs, your hand resting lightly against his chest, silent and patient.
You don't tell him it's just a nightmare, because you honestly arn't sure that's all it is anymore.
"Sorry. Fuck, sorry," he grits out eventually, shaking his head, angry at himself for getting into this state again.
"Do you want to talk -"
"No." He cuts off your question before you have a chance to finish it. You aren't surprised by his reaction. You've long since learnt that Marc would rather forget what haunts him, put it to the back of his mind and pretend it doesn't exist.
You've tried, so many times, to explain to him that he shouldn't feel guilty, that there's nothing to be afraid of, that he's worthy of living a life he enjoys, that whatever happened in his past, didn't dictate his future. You know Steven and Jake have tried as well. But it's no good, Marc is stubborn, and you've learnt to accept that's just who he is. After all, his stubbornness was just one of many reasons you fell in love with him in the first place.
"I'm sorry I woke you up again," Marc sighs, interrupting your thoughts, taking your hand from his chest in order to wrap his fingers around yours.
"You didn't, I was already awake. The rain woke me up," you smile, brushing his sleep tousled hair back. It's not entirely a lie, and you are glad when Marc relaxes into your touch, turning his head to place a soft kiss on your palm as you cup his cheek, not arguing with you about whose fault it is that you are awake.
"Let me go get you a glass of water," you press a soft quick chaste kiss to his lips.
Marc frowns in response, hating being taken care of. "I can do that myself."
"I know, but I like doing things for you sometimes." You give him a small smile, squeeze his hand and get to your feet, and head to the kitchen.
Not to be deterred from giving you reasons not to take care of him, Marc follows you.
"Yeah, and I hate that you have to do things for me."
"I don't have to. I like to. I know you are perfectly capable of getting yourself water, Marc," you laugh, glancing over at him as he glowers sullenly.
Rolling your eyes at his reaction you take two glasses out of the cupboard and fill them with water.
Marc leans on the counter next to you, taking the glass when you offer it, but ignoring the contents.
"What I would like, is for you to have a full night's sleep, instead of having to deal with me every time there's the slightest storm. I mean, we live in England for fucks sake, it rains 12 months of the year-"
"That's not true and you know it," you interrupt but he's not listening, continuing as though he hasn't heard you.
"...and God forbid I bring up moving to Steven again. I mean, I know I was the one that brought us here, and that's on me. And I know-"
"Are we really having this discussion again?" You sigh softly, but he's still going, ignoring you as he continues to ramble, getting increasingly more animated as he does.
When his rant gets more and more self deprecating, you decide to stop him.
"Marc," you state firmly, stepping over to him and taking his face in your hands, "shut up."
You press your lips to his. For a split second, as he catches up with the situation, he continues to talk against your lips, but then finally he quietens, his shoulders dropping as he sinks into your kiss, unable to stop himself.
The kiss is sweet, tender and gentle. It isn't a lead to anything but Marc still makes it last as long as possible, kissing you until you're breathless, until you're dizzy from the lack of air, until all that remains of the world is the two of you.
When you finally pull apart, heavily breathing, cheeks warm and heart thumping, he lets out a long sigh.
"I really don't deserve you," he mumbles quietly, allowing his lips to barely brush against yours, as though he doesn't feel he deserves to kiss you again, but he can't fully stop himself. The worst is the knowledge that he really believes that.
You hold him a little tighter against you.
"Tough. You're stuck with me," you inform him, your tone leaving no space for argument, unwilling to get into a discussion about his worth to you, at this time of night.
Marc lifts his head and gives you a small smile. He looks tired in the dim lighting of the apartment, the bags under his eyes dark as bruises, caused by the continuing lack of sleep.
"Do you want to go back to bed yet?" You ask softly, as he continues to look at you, his eyes flickering over your face. You can almost hear the cogs in his brain turning. You only hope this time they are turning to good thoughts.
"Probably not a good idea right now." He jerks his head to the window, still rattling with the noise of rain lashing against the pane. You hum in agreement, noting his lips tilting up in a familiar smile, his gaze soft, but hungry.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach.
Marc's arms wind around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest.
"Want to stay up with me?"
"I have work tomorrow," you warn, although you already know there's no way Marc is going to let you go back to bed either way.
"Call in sick,"
You laugh and shake your head, already running through the list of excuses you've used, in order to spend your time with them. There were only so many times you could say you had a stomach bug, or your goldfish was ill.
"What with this time?"
"Tell them," he pauses, holding your body close against him, his hot breath fanning across your skin, pressing a solitary kiss to your neck, "your legs are still trembling from tonight."
The butterflies turn into a full flock of birds.
He captures your lips in a hard kiss, his tongue lapping into your mouth, insistent, demanding, possessive. Marc needs to lose himself in you, and you are more than willing to oblige.
Without ever removing his mouth from yours, he backs you up, step by step, until the back of your legs hit something hard.
The edge of the desk digs almost painfully into your thighs, but you can't seem to find the will to care as Marc's tongue continues to snake between your teeth, devouring you.
Marc suddenly pulls away, giving a huff of breathless laughter.
"What is it?" You ask, slightly dazedly.
"Steven says 'not on his desk'." He barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.
Normally you would suggest you move elsewhere, not wanting to upset any of them, but now you're here, there's a delicious excitement to the offence.
"And what do you say?" You subtly try to move some of Stevens's favourite books out of the way, nudging them to the side of the desk
Marc grins, his eyes flicking down to the movement of your hands before back up to meet your gaze, clearly seeing your blatant invitation.
"I say it's our desk, and I can do whatever, and whoever, I want on it."
You'll apologise to Steven later, help him pick up the books that fall to the floor, soothe any annoyance he has left one way or another, but for now, you allow Marc to drown out the noise of the rain, with the sounds he draws from you.
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Thank you for reading! Please support by reblogging and leaving a comment with your thoughts. The only way to keep writers writing is with reblogs!
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Big thanks to @beldroxramscal for being my awesome beta!
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soft-girl-musings · 3 months
Text
Cry (MK Spring Bingo #1)
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Marc Spector x Reader
cross-posted to ao3
tags: panic/anxiety attacks, possibly inaccurate description of an emergency room visit (i don't remember the exact process i borrowed from my own experience bc i was sick… in the ER…), no use of y/n
wc: 1,356
fic summary: Three times Marc told you it was okay to cry, and one time you returned the favor.
A/N: Finally got around to writing something for someone besides jake lockley, bless. once again this is self-indulgent, but if anything hits home for you i'm glad <3 (based on Adam Melchor's "Cry" , which is the most marc-coded piece of music i've ever heard. in this essay i will)
_____________________
The first time came out of nowhere.
Nothing was wrong per se; no major injury or crisis had come up. All you knew was that you were frozen in the corner of your room, hot tears streaming down your face as your mind raced between a million different things.
“Sweetheart, have you seen my–” Marc’s request stopped the moment he saw you frozen in the darkened room, gripping the sleeves of your shirt as you bit your lip so hard you risked giving yourself another reason to cry.
“I just need a minute,” your voice came out trembling and heavy, as if too many syllables would cause the tears to fall with greater force. Not that you knew how to stop them, or how they even started.
Quick strides across the room brought Marc to your side. His warm hands wrapped around yours, cold and losing color from digging into your arms. 
Words were never his strong suit; Marc’s a man of few, usually letting his presence and actions suffice. So when faced with consoling you against some invisible threat, he could almost hear the sound of his own heart breaking in tandem with your staggered breath.
So he stood there. Until your fingers relaxed and entwined with his, he stood there until he could guide you to the floor. Arms wrapped around your shoulders, he cradled you as you continued to cry.
“This is so stupid,” you groaned as you wiped your face with your sleeve. “So fucking… ugh.”
“Hey,” he shushed you. “Not stupid. You’re feeling what you’re feeling.”
“But I don’t know why,” you choked out. It was hard enough being so distraught; not having a valid reason for it made everything hurt more.
“You don't have to justify it. Don't have to do anything but just… be here.” A hand to your temple eased your head against his chest. “I'm here, as long as you need me to be.”
This was all the permission you needed to let another rush of tears spill down your cheeks, soaking his shirt. He didn't mind.
___________________
The second time was in the emergency room.
You'd never struggled to catch your breath like this before; a common cold turned south and triggered long-dormant childhood asthma, making your lungs betray the rest of your body. Marc drove you to the ER when your hollow coughing didn't let up for the third day in a row. Head spinning and chest aflame, you were rushed to the back as soon as Marc told them you couldn't breathe.
“You've got to breathe steady, honey.”
“I'm trying,” you muttered around the medicated tube in your mouth. It had to be almost 3 in the morning; your body ached like crazy and you didn't catch a word of what the nurse told you to do with your medication. All you knew was that you were cold, exhausted, and grateful to have Marc there to time your breathing.
But even with his hand holding yours, you still felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Every inhalation brought medicine to your airways, but the ragged sensation resonated through your chest and made your body ache more.
“I'm so tired,” you finally said around the device. With that, your tears fell faster than you could swipe at them. Your frown pushed the device from your mouth, but you didn't care.
Marc sprang up, catching the equipment when your grip faltered. He said nothing; instead, he climbed onto the bed with you, leaning your back against his chest and taking your hand in his once more, bringing the medication back to your lips. You let him bear your weight, immediate relief washing over you as he took over keeping the device steady with one hand and gently dabbing a tissue at your cheek with the other. 
“Nothing wrong with a few tears, honey. Means you’re alive.”
When you finally went home, the fire in your lungs extinguished, he held you again until you fell asleep.
_____________________
“.....The movie just started.”
(The third time was on the living room couch.)
You had finally talked Marc into watching La La Land with you (with the promise of his getting to choose the next movie night film, of course). You were barely 30 seconds into the opening number when you'd started crying, eyes glued to the screen as dozens of up-and-comers danced and sang about their dreams to make it in the industry.
“They haven't said anything.”
“They're saying everything.”
“He's dancing on a car.”
“Because he's excited!”
“Why did they stop traffic to dance?”
You didn't hear the rest of his quips, too engrossed in the scene. The colors, the music, and the highly impractical interstate  choreography had a way of getting to you ever since you first saw this movie. Meanwhile, Marc sat with his arms crossed and eyebrows knit together as he tried to follow along.
When you noticed his body language, you reached for the remote and paused the movie. “Do you… want to watch something else?”
Marc's face fell when he realized this new batch of tears wasn’t because of the movie, but because of him. The thought of making your cry hit like a punch to the gut.
He took the remote from you, moving closer to your side. “Nice try, but you're not getting out of it that easily. I need your commentary if I'm gonna keep up.” He hit play and choked down every criticism as he saw your face light up, tears of joy brimming during the remaining 2 hours of the film.
The next morning, while making breakfast, you could have sworn you heard Marc humming Another Day of Sun under his breath.
_____________________
As you'd grown closer, you began to know Marc as your rock, your steady landing place when you had thoughts and feelings too big to deal with on your own. He never had to say much to be there for you. He kept you tethered and together, happy to be of service no matter how ugly your hardships felt. 
It was only a matter of time before you saw a crack in his foundation.
You got home late one night, a thunderstorm hot on your heels. You had shrugged off your coat and shoes, calling out to Marc to see if he was home. No response.
You checked each room diligently, until you found him sitting on the corner of the bed.
“Marc?” You asked softly, walking toward him. You knelt in front of him, and the sight of his face twisted into an unfamiliar expression, a steady stream of tears spilling from his reddened eyes, was more than you could bear.
The first time came out of nowhere.
“Can you give me your hands, Marc?” He complied, his breath short and his eyes fixed on the storm pelting the window with sheet after sheet of rain. His vision darted between drops of water and streaks of lightning. The room shook with the echoes of thunder as the worst of the storm hit.
“Hey,” you urged him. “Just be here. With me.” Your thumb traced his wrist as you tried to stay calm.  “Can you breathe with me, Marc?” You sat up on your knees. He nodded, slowly but surely matching the pace of your breath. 
You didn't know what was on his mind, only that it was racing. You couldn't tell what had him so worked up, only that his breath escaped him even as you counted to ten again, and again, unrelenting in your focus on him. You had no idea what made your rock, your anchor, cry like this.
Maybe he'd tell you later; maybe it'd remain a mystery. None of that mattered in the moment. All that mattered was the rhythm of your breath as the rain let up; the way his tears drenched your sleeves when you dabbed at his flushed cheeks; the steady thrum of his heart as his body relaxed beside yours. All that mattered was how, with your chest pressed to his back as you lay on top of the bedspread, he let you hold him for a change.
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event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight
addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added/taken off this wee tag list)
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ivystoryweaver · 10 months
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With You part 3
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Summary: Jake Lockley has finally met you. What does he think of you, and will he, or Marc, give you any answers?
Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader (implied Steven Grant x reader). Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.
Word Count: 3k
Warnings/notables: Angst, comfort, references to drinking and alcoholism but it doesn’t happen here, sex but the language is not explicit and no gender-specific body parts mentioned, nightmare, brief crying, cursing, assumptions, longing, feeling inadequate, Khonshu is mean here yall, somebody hug marc spector. Let me know if I missed a warning. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.
Dividers by saradika
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PREVIOUSLY, on “With You”...
Jake could live without Marc and Steven knowing about him. He’d lived that way all this time, but you were something else. He hadn’t wanted to meet you like this. He had screwed up, and now you were only worried about Marc. He was worried too, honestly.
Now you would never want to know him.
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“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Jake decided, by which he was effectively deciding to do nothing. He may be able to eliminate the vilest creatures under night’s shadow, but trying to explain to you that he was the reason your fiancé obliterated his sobriety...
Jake didn’t fear anything. In fact, as the streets of London descended from depraved men to monstrous supernatural threats, he relished his role as Khonshu’s vengeful fist. Someone had to do it, and Jake was suited to the task.
A creature of the night, he savored the quiet, cool leather interior of his car as much as the dingy London air whipping through his white cape. And the more challenging his vicious foes, the more Jake reveled in it. He protected people. That was his sole purpose.
Including Marc and Steven.
So the fact that he somehow missed Marc tossing back a bottle of whiskey and upsetting you in the process, well - if he couldn’t protect you and his alters, then he had no reason to exist. 
So, time for bed. He would fade into darkness and you would get back who you really wanted.
Reaching to scoop up each item of clothing he had discarded, with none of this explained aloud to you, he turned to flee.
“Wait,” you pleaded, blocking his pathway out of the bedroom, your hands reaching out to push back gently against the pile in his arms. His gaze fell on yours - open, yet unreadable. Not menacing, but not to be bothered. His eyes didn’t flicker away like Marc’s. He stared you down, waiting.
 “Just wait a second, Jake,” you found yourself whispering, a bit transfixed. “Where do you usually sleep?”
Lips parting in anticipation, your heart did some clichéd somersaulting as he tore his eyes from yours and nodded to your bed.
“You sleep with me?” You clarified, dumbfounded.
Dark eyes flickered momentarily down to your mouth. His tongue swiped over the fullness of his bottom lip before dragging it between his teeth.
“I sleep with you.” 
The rich timbre of his voice electrified you.
“Only so you can wake up with them.”
Air rushed out of you in a mildly dramatic exhale. What was this man doing to you? 
“Please,” you whispered, unsure of what you were even asking him. Mostly, you didn’t want to be without them. You had waited all night, terrified. “Don’t go. I was so worried.”
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Jake nodded once. He knew what you needed, and it wasn’t him.
Ten minutes later, after what was, for you, an unbearable silence, Jake climbed into bed with you. Having washed up and making his well-fitting ensemble disappear somehow (where did he keep his clothes?), he decided on Steven’s soft pajamas. The sleeves sagged adorably, covering his hands, but Jake’s fingers didn’t fidget like his alter’s. 
How many times had he done this? Pretended to be them? And were you okay with it? Was it even really your business? It was his body too. 
The lights remained off from before, allowing you the cover of darkness to ease under the blankets, as if acting in a play. 
If Marc were with you, he would pull your back against his chest, folding you close until either your body relaxed, or until his lips breathed salacious words on your ear while his hand slipped between your legs. Either that, or he would bury his face in your tummy, the way he had done that morning. That, too, often ended up with him between your legs. 
For Steven, it was the crook of your neck, latched on to you like a koala. After years of sleeping poorly, or trying his damndest to stay awake and not “sleepwalk”, nothing soothed him more than your soft skin and reassuring arms. He marvelously discovered that, with you, he had no trouble falling asleep at all. For Steven, the mornings were when he needed you most. The two of you would race to the bathroom, playfully fighting over who would freshen up first before tumbling back into bed, where he would be sure to end up between your legs. 
But here, now, Jake was a statue. 
You were Marc and Steven’s whole world. Jake knew he had fucked up enough for one week. There was no way he was moving one millimeter in this bed. Hopefully, the warm surge in this heart would settle to the soothing sound of your breathing. That was his balm - you were his anchor. After the cracking of bones and the wailing of night’s creatures deafening his ears - the gentle rise and fall of your chest in the night was his lullaby.
But he didn’t dare touch you. You weren’t his. 
Sometimes you attached yourself to him the night, or maybe he only dreamed that you did. He was never him when sleep ended.
Feeling the tension rolling off you, the urge to somehow alleviate your worries taunted him. But he was certain he didn’t even possess the ability to soothe, only to punish.
So he said nothing. He did nothing. He waited for sleep.
“Jake...” As you turned to him, your sweet voice crawled up his neck, intoxicating him utterly. “Would it be okay if I held your hand?”
The memory of your smooth skin was seared into his memory from the featherlight kiss he’d given your knuckles. He didn’t even hesitate to grasp for you in the dark, tangling his fingers with yours.
Pressing your face to the soft fabric covering his shoulder, you, undeniably realistic you, accepted this real moment. You wanted answers. You wanted a lot of things. He gave you his hand. You took what was here, now.
“I’m glad to know you, Jake,” you whispered, your heavy eyes sliding closed, despite everything. Squeezing his fingers, and swiping your thumb softly along his, you added, “I hope you’ll come back to me soon.”
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You woke up to a mess of chocolate curls buried in your stomach.
Marc. 
Your sweet, tormented angel. 
There was a slight chance it wasn’t Marc, but the familiar whimpers of a nightmare gave him away even more than tummy cuddles. 
“Shhh,” you soothed, raking your fingernails through his messy waves. “I’ve got you.”
He squeezed you, murmuring, “No,” brokenly before whimpering again. His nightmares weren’t flailing arms and shouts like in films. They were this: soft, pleading mumbles and anguished pleas.
With a sudden change in his breath, he was awake, eyes darting wildly as he climbed his way up your body, hands checking you frantically.
“Right here, baby,” you murmured, eyes soft and full of love. He looked so broken, you wanted to cry, while desire simultaneously ripped up your spine. Whatever this man of yours needed, you were going to give him, likely, to your great pleasure and benefit. Win-win. 
“You’re here,” he repeated, gathering you in his strong arms as the weight of his body crushed you in the most delicious way. “I dreamed you were gone. You left, or...or someone took you away from me.”
“Never,” you uttered with conviction, pressing your lips to the corner of his jaw, opening your mouth to breathe hotly before kissing a trail to his ear. “I’ll never let that happen. I’ll burn down the whole world first.”
A choked sob erupted from his chest as he whispered your name. Fusing his lips with yours, his fingers gripped your jaw desperately as if he feared you would quite literally slip through them.
Responding to the press of his body like a partner in a well-rehearsed dance, your legs fell open, ready to feel the heat of him consuming you. His mouth hadn’t left yours, but his thick fingers dragged (his) t-shirt up your torso and over your head.
Only then, when your lips parted, did his dark, desperate gaze lock onto yours. “Need you,” he groaned, his voice tinged with the slight beg you associated with Steven.
Surging forward, you met his furious kiss with equal hunger, pushing under his soft pajamas, pulling, dragging until your naked limbs were tangled, pressing and pulling in desperate passion. 
“You’re mine,” he growled, deep inside you, claiming you, as if you had any doubt or desire to be apart from him. “He can’t h-have you. I won’t let him.”
You were oddly turned on by the idea that maybe he sounded jealous of Jake, who had merely held your hand in the dark.
He didn’t mean Jake.
In fact, he wasn’t even aware you’d held an audience with his mysterious alter.
No, he meant the twisted, deceitful, formidable Egyptian god of the moon, to whom he remained enslaved. The one who took you away in his dream.
The things Marc was doing to your body - you could barely think straight. Your back arched in pleasure, your fingers clawing at the sculpted muscles of his back, desperate to somehow bring him even closer to you. 
“I’m yours,” you gasped, realizing with the deep moan that followed, that you didn’t really have control over your voice at this point.
“Mine,” he repeated, as you drowned in him, and he in you. 
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After a long, hot shower together, filled with salacious kisses and some very naughty handiwork, the two of you finally made it to the kitchen. Just like in bed, you danced around one another with practiced ease, as if perfectly executing the blocking of a play. Your hand reached for the coffee grounds, while he readied the filter. He found the bread while you produced his favorite jam.
Shoulders rubbed and soft smiles were exchanged, eyes longingly dancing, locking and flittering away to the tasks at hand. 
“Thank you,” he finally said, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, “for this morning.”
You almost teased him for thanking you for what you two did quite regularly in bed, but you knew what he meant. Whatever anchor he’d needed this morning, you were it. 
Still, you were a cheeky one, as Steven frequently reminded you... “I should be thanking you, baby,” you innocently purred. “That thing you did...when you turned me over, holy shit--”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed out, motioning for you to get back to breakfast, as if he would ever actually order you about. “You and your dirty mind, I swear to god.” 
You laughed out delightedly. “That’s rich, Mr. Spector.”
One of his dark eyebrows shot up. “Call me ‘Mr. Spector’ again and I’ll take you right back in there,” he playfully warned. 
Tempting. 
The toast popped up to interrupt the two of you, giving Marc’s thoughts just enough time to drift back to much more serious matters. He wanted to be with you all day today. He knew Steven had class at uni and you had work - he didn’t care. He needed you to know things.
“Hey, um...” he started, before you could make another quip about Mr. Spector or the bedroom, “I...I meant to tell you...” reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he swallowed nervously. “I--there’s another bottle. In the flat.” 
Bracing his hands on the countertop, his head dropped. It was hard to look at you when he thought he might disappoint you. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just...that night, I...”
Reaching over, you laid your hand over his, there on the counter’s edge. “Thank you for letting me know. Do you want to tell me where it is?”
His eyes darted over to yours and he swallowed hard. “The low shelf, down by the edge of that old table I haven’t fixed yet.”
Ah yes, the ‘don’t throw it out, I can fix it’ project that was cluttering your living room. Steven collected books; Marc collected abandoned, broken things...
“Hm,” you hummed thoughtfully, “Steven’s reading chair is right there. He’s going to figure this out, you know.”
“I know,” Marc quickly responded. “I think I wanted him to. Or you. I don’t know...” He didn’t wait for any sympathy. There was too much to tell you before he completely train wrecked his entire life.
“Something happened,” he pressed on, determined. Then he told you. Head bowed, hands gripping the counter, he explained.
You remained completely still at first, but you noticed that the more you acted normal, the easier it was for him to talk. So you finished the coffee, slathered the toast with jam, and walked everything to the tiny table at the kitchen’s edge, where the two of you loved to share your favorite meal almost every single day.
He had fronted a few days ago. It was dark, cold. He was outside, in an unlit, ominously quiet alley. He didn’t know where he was. Steven wasn’t there with him. He reached for his phone and shook with horror at the white bandage-looking material wrapped around his hands. Realizing his face was covered with a mask, he started to panic when the fabric quickly receded, leaving him gasping.
His body was covered in Moon Knight’s mummified wrap. 
“No, no, no, no,” he cried, forgetting, for a moment, that he could simply will the suit away, and clawing at the material instead. 
Then he heard it. Him.
“Marc Spector,” the booming voice of Khonshu splintered through his mind, wracking his body with terror. 
“No, NO,” Marc shouted, climbing to his feet and pressing his palms into his forehead. “You’re gone. I don’t belong to you anymore!” 
He ran, clinging to control of the body, determined not to allow Khonshu anywhere near Steven. Or you. 
The old god’s skeletal form appeared on various rooftops, following and taunting Marc, his voice eerie and all consuming, as if the bird were nearly shouting into his ear. 
“Run away if you can. This body doesn’t belong to you,” the voice taunted. 
“Leave me alone!” Marc shouted, but it came out as more of a whimper, like trying to scream for help in a dream. “We had a deal!” He halted, banging his fists against his head as if it would make the ancient being simply evaporate. 
But the spiteful deity scoffed, turning his bony back as if done with the conversation. Turning his menacing beak back toward the puny one in control of his avatar, he replied, “Lockley is mine, and so are you.”
Then he vanished. 
Just the relief of the god disappearing urged Marc’s legs forward, stumbling through angry tears until he reached your home. You were at work. He paced the flat, tugging his hands through his hair, desperate to keep Steven in the dark. 
“It can’t be,” he gasped, over and over again, trying to convince himself. “We’re free. We made a deal. We’re free.” This overwhelm would normally bring Steven to the front, but Marc held on, pacing himself to exhaustion. He was asleep on the couch by the time you came home. 
You woke up to Steven. And while you worked your next shift, he bought the whiskey. 
He waited another day to drink it.
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“I thought maybe...I wondered if I had completely lost my mind,” he uttered, finishing his story, now seated at the kitchen table.
Easing off your chair, you knelt in front of your fiancé, setting your palms gently on his thighs.
“Don’t say that.”
“No, I mean really,” he went on, his hands covering your own, grasping at your fingers. “I thought...what if all this time, Khonshu was in my head? Like...part of me.”
“Like another alter?” you questioned, peering up at him.
“Maybe. I started wondering about all of this Moon Knight bullshit--if it even really happened. And, now there’s this Lockley...” Trailing off he sighed, defeated. 
Okay, progress was happening. Might as well get it all out in the open. 
“I met him, you know,” you carefully admitted, smoothing your thumb over his as you waited for his reaction. “Lockley.”
“Shit,” he rasped, gripping your hands desperately. “He was here, with you? What did he say?”
“Not much,” you admitted. “His name is Jake. Jake Lockley. He was here last night.”
“Here in the flat?”
“Yes. Late last night. He came in through the bedroom window like Spider-Man or something. We talked for a minute, he told me his name and then we went to bed. I didn’t really find out that much about him.”
Releasing your fingers, Marc sat up straight in his kitchen chair, his eyes darkening possessively. “He went to bed with you?”
Hm. You could have worded that better. “Marc, I--”
“Did he touch you?” His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining as his dark eyes burned turbulently. 
“It wasn’t like that,” you protested, quickly climbing up off the ground to stand in front of him. Caressing his face tenderly, you shook your head. “I wanted to talk to him - to see what the hell is going on. He seemed worried about you drinking.”
“You talked to him about that?” Marc pushed off his chair then, pacing across the kitchen and back. “I haven’t even talked to him yet.” 
Fair enough. 
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it just came out,” you confessed, giving him a little space, while pushing down your urge to grab him. “Jake was about to leave, and I wanted some answers. I wanted you all here with me. He came home so late, Marc, and your phone was dead. I was so fucking scared...”
Your breath hitched as tears clouded your eyes. “You’ve been so upset, and the drinking... Steven doesn’t have any idea what’s going on and then this Jake uses the damn window in the middle of the night and I thought he was going to leave, and go back out in the night, with no phone. I wanted you here, Marc, so...so I asked him to stay. I asked him if he knew what was going on, or why you had been drinking--”
“Okay, baby, okay,” he conceded, reaching for your shoulders to bring you close. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”
The two of you held one another in the middle of your drafty little kitchen, the shared answers between you only raising more questions. 
“I think you should talk to Steven,” you suggested gently, “if you feel ready.”
Resting his forehead against yours, he rubbed your back soothingly. “Yeah. And maybe...maybe Jake too.”
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tags requested @rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra
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Burning Wood
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Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •
Summary: Marc gets a boner.
🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜
A/N: One day I'll have to answer for my sins.
Warnings: blow job in a forest, Marc calling reader 'baby', getting a boner in public and being a little into it, swearing, typos - my head is really not in the game atm, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 1831
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Marc pressed his cold nose into your neck as he hugged you from behind. You shiver, instinctively flinching away from his touch and he giggles. 
He presses his nose against you again. 
“Marc,” you chastise, but there’s humour in your voice.
“What?” He grins, obviously knowing exactly what he’s doing. 
“How is your nose so freezing?”
“How is your neck so warm?” 
You chuckle and sigh, putting your hands over his arms. You both stare at the bonfire for a moment longer. 
“I don’t get how you can be cold standing next to this thing,” you motion your hands to the flames. 
Marc jogs on the spot a little, just to amuse you. “It’s cold, let’s stand closer.” 
You laugh. “We’ll be in the fire.”
“Hmmm,” he nuzzles into your neck again and kisses your skin lightly. “Nice and toasty.” 
So far, Marc had enjoyed visiting your family, even if they did live in the middle of nowhere. He thought he was going to go a little stir crazy at first, playfully making shinning jibes, but then he’d kind of… got used to it. The stillness. The forest walks. The tiny village with the population of 62. 
A few kids ran around with sparklers under the watchful gaze of their parents, several people held out marshmallows need the flames. There was warm mead and hot chocolate if anyone wanted it. 
Marc sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder for a second before he muttered, “my hands are cold too.” 
“Marc,” you laugh, “you’re wearing gloves.” 
“I know.”
“Well, you’re not putting them on me.”
“But you’re so warm.” He teases, tensing his arms as if he’s going to move and try to sneak under your shirt. 
“Fuck off.” You grin and grab hold of his hands to stop them going anywhere.
“That’s not nice,” he pouts playfully. “I’m going to freeze to death and you're not going to help me?” 
“You are not, besides, I thought Chicago got pretty cold? Shouldn’t you be used to this?” You tease. 
He grumbles something into your shoulder.
“What?” 
“I said, Chicago isn’t damp cold. Here’s damp cold. Gets into everything.” 
You snort. “Aww, poor baby.” 
“Yeah,” he nods and kisses your cheek. “Poor me, where’s the sympathy for me?” 
You can hear the grin in his voice, he always loved playing up because it made you laugh. Though he seemed a little extra needy right now. Not normally the one for physical affection in public. Maybe the darkness of the night helped.
The bonfire snaps a little, still going strong and you pat Marc’s hair with your gloved hand as you lean back against him. 
He sighs, pressing his face into your shoulder as you brush against the semi-hard outline of cock. 
You pause. Ah. So that was why he was being so handsy. 
“Ohhhhh,” you whisper, dragging out the word to be a menace and lean back again a little to press against his bulge. “I see, hugging me so that you can use me as a shield for prying eyes are you?”
“No.” He says into your shoulder, his voice obscured by your coat. 
“Really?” 
“Yeah.” 
“Okay, well I’ll just-” You go to move but his arms tighten around you.
“Stay here.” 
You giggle. 
He lifts his head up and kisses your cheek again. “I did not hug you to use you as a shield,” he tries to sound stern but the smile in his voice wins out. “I came to hug you and…”
“And?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 
“And then this happened.” 
“From a hug?” You say disbelievingly. 
“Hmm,” he grumbles.”You smell nice.” 
You laugh, “I smell like burning wood.” 
“Yeah, well, that and your natural smell,” he nuzzles into your neck again and breathes deeply. “Smells really good. Smells like… comfort, or something.” 
Despite the sweet tone to his words, you can’t resist a tease. “And that made you horny?”
He tuts and rolls his eyes, giving you a little squeeze. “Yes, okay, it made me really horny. Happy?” 
You pause and then nod, “yes.” You say with a touch too much enthusiasm and Marc laughs. 
“Okay, well good to have your approval.” 
You smile and lean back against him, pressing your back to his chest. There’s a pause before you push back a little more, rubbing against his erection again. 
He stifles a moan into your coat. “Stop it.” He hisses, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. 
“Stop what?” You say innocently. 
“You know what.” 
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Marc.” You punctuate the end of the sentence by gently leaning back and rolling your hips against him. 
He groans softly and presses into you. You hear the click in his throat as he swallows. “Do you want me to come in my jeans? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you keep doing that.” He hisses.
“What?” You say, all mock surprise. “So quickly.” 
He lets out a little grunt of annoyance and presses his face back into your coat.
The realisation that maybe Marc Spector was a little into the risk of being caught started to piece together in your mind. 
You pause for a second before deciding. “Okay.” You pull out of his embrace and turn to face him. 
“Okay?” He startles, his eyebrows pinched together in disappointment, thinking the game is over. 
“Hmm,” you smile sweetly and take his hand before you start walking and urging him to follow. It takes him a second to get the hint. 
No one else seems to notice, or mind, as you both head away from the celebrations. Following the little well trodden path that leads back to the village. 
Marc follows close, a step behind until you are far enough away from the bonfire to be seen by anyone there, but close enough that the light from it just about illuminates your path. 
You guide him off the trail into the thick outcrop of trees.
“Baby, what are we-”
You silence him with a harsh kiss, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips in surprise. He moans instantly, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you close even as you push him up against a thick oak tree. 
He kisses back needily, his breathing already ragged and cheeks warm. His nose, however, is still cold. 
You kiss his cheek lightly before you trail your lips down his jaw and nip lightly at his pulse point. 
He groans, bucking against you and squirming a little, biting his lip to keep himself vaguely quiet. 
“Didn’t realise you had a thing for the outside.” You tease and Marc huffs. 
“I don’t.” 
“Sure, sure,” you suck on his neck and he gasps, his body bending toward you, trying to wrap itself around you. You slowly run your hands down to his cock, the poor thing trapped in the tight confines of his jeans. 
He groans again, the sound grumbling through his chest and into you. “Baby,” he bites his lip, and even though you can’t make out his exact expression in the poor light, you can picture it perfectly in your mind. How his brow furrowed needily, how wide his pupils were.
You unbuckle his belt, the sound of the leather opening makes his eyes roll back and he has to bite his tongue to stop the loud moan that threatens to escape. 
He stays still as he can as you undo his jeans, his hands on your arms, needing to touch you and keep you close despite wanting to give you room to manoeuvre. 
And when you sink to your knees he shudders, throwing his head back against the tree bark and sighing softly. 
You take your gloves off and shove them into your coat pocket.
“Baby, I-” He swallows down his words, screwing his eyes tight as your warm hands pull him free and you suck on his head. 
Precum spreads across your tongue, salty and rich as you moan softly, the reverberations running down the length of him and making his muscles twitch. 
You pull back, just enough to pump the length of his a few times while your other hand massages his balls, one finger lightly pressing on his perineum. 
He shudders, sighing out into the darkness as you lap at his weeping slit with the flat of your tongue, running it along and swirling around his tip before swallowing him down. 
He cries out, grabbing hold of your shoulders as you take him as deeply as you can. He fights the urge to buck up and thrust himself completely in your throat, his bottom lip between his teeth as you move up and down, drawing his pleasure out like poison from a bite. He tries to fight against it, tries to prolong the sensation as long as he can, to relax into it. But he’s too worked up, too desperate. And his orgasm rapidly approaches. 
The earth and dead leaves are soft under your knees, the dampness of the dirt soaking a little into your trousers, but you don’t mind. Focusing solely on Marc’s little whimpers and pleads, sounds you’re sure he doesn’t even realise he’s making. 
How his legs shake, how his cock twitches in your throat, how his fingers dig into you. 
He rolls his hips slightly, panting and you know he’s close, practically there. Warmth builds in your chest, pride at how trusting he is with you, how he knows you’ll take care of him. 
You sink lower, relaxing your throat as much as you can and slipping him a centimetre further inside. 
Marc gasps, the sound loud but not enough to raise suspicion, he bucks once, swearing and trying to mutter a warning but you press closer to him and swallow as he spirts into your throat. 
He shakes as stars explode behind his eyes, as pleasure washes over him and momentarily rids him of his strength. He moans your name softly, gasping and keeping a firm hold on your shoulder to keep himself upright. 
You keep moving, letting him ride his orgasm out before you lick him clean and tuck him back into his jeans. 
You laugh a little as you try to get the zip up. 
“What?” He smiles, his voice floaty and wonderfully blissed out. 
“I can’t get your jeans closed with your dick still hard.” You giggle. 
“Oh,” he chuckles and helps you to your feet. “Don’t worry about it.” He kisses your cheek, your neck, nipping lightly at your skin before he kisses your lips and holding you close. 
“Don’t worry about it?”
“Yeah, well, we’re going back to the house anyway.”
“Oh, are we?” You smile.
He nods. 
“I thought we were going back to the bonfire?” You tease. 
He growls playfully, kissing the spot just under your ear. “Oh no, we’re going back and I’m going to fuck you into the mattress and make you scream while the village is empty and everyone else is here.” 
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Thank you for reading!
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spacecowboyhotch · 10 months
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In the Eyes
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summary: marc is dating the most competitive mario-kart player he’s ever met. and he loves them.
prompt: reader and marc are playing mario kart and getting very competitive (but still fun, no actual fighting). they both end up ordering pizza and snuggling up on the couch watching ancient aliens cause why not. idk
pairing: marc spector x gn!reader, implied reader x steven grant/jake lockley
contents: fluff, internal angst, cheating during mario-kart (a cardinal sin), food mention, cheesy love confessions
gif credit: @nowritingonthewall
word count: 2.5k
an: this is a little late but, happy year anniversary to moonknight! thank you to @juneknight for putting together this moonknight anniversary fic exchange. all the smooshes and all my love bb. and to my lovely friends in Marc’s girls i love uuuuu 🥰 (p.s. internal angst is a must with marc spector so sorry in advance)
moonknight masterlist | requests are open
Nights like tonight are the sort you look forward to all week. And they’ve started to become a staple in your relationship with Marc. It’s partially because you like to have specific things that you do with each of them— the other half is that Steven and Jake suck at MarioKart. Marc is the only one who’s any real competition and with your competitive nature, it’s a requirement for game nights such as these.
Marc shows up to your apartment on time, as always, and just the sight of you has all of the tension that habitually sits in his shoulders dissipating. You look mischievous, mouth turned up in a smirk that he can’t help but want to kiss. Although your eyes say it all– bright and sparkling– it's abundantly clear that you’re ecstatic about him being here. It's something he still adapting to but would it be so terrible for him to believe that you genuinely do enjoy his presence? Horrible no, but terrifying. Nevertheless, he’s trying and will continue to show up if only to see that twinkle in your eye, no matter how hard it is to believe that he is the reason.
His self-deprecating train of thought is interrupted when you reach for him, pulling him in for a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Marc melts against your mouth, a hand raising to cup your cheek. There’s nothing that clears his mind like the feel of your lips against his– he would happily give up oxygen to kiss you for the rest of his days. But eventually, you pull away, grinning at him.
“Ready to get your ass kicked, Spector?” You huff breathlessly into his mouth.
He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it teasingly before saying, “Ready to do the ass-kicking, actually.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.”
Marc is all about routine, it's just who he is. It's the only thing he’s taken from his time serving that he is grateful for as it helps balance his mind– all of their minds. So when the two of you get the game loaded and make it to the characters screen he chooses Donkey Kong as he always does. Sometimes to mess with and throw him off a bit you’ll choose Donkey Kong. He has his list of backups– Link, Mario, and begrudgingly, Toad– but those never feel exactly right. Tonight you decide to give him a break, you’ll prove to him that you can beat him in his element or not.
The two of you are neck and neck on the last race, with Marc starting to lurch forward ahead of you. There’s a healthy distance between you, ample room for dramatic turns and frustrated bouncing without either of you accidentally elbowing the other. But, when he starts to leave you in the dust on the last lap around you know exactly how to distract him. Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you scoot an inch closer to him. He’s well aware of your movement, heightened observation comes with Khonshu but he makes nothing of it, focusing on making it to the finish line. The sly grin on your lips spreads and you shift even closer, this time your shoulder rubs against his. Marc stiffens, his grip on the controller fumbling a bit. It's the perfect opportunity for you to make your move, and you brush up against him again to ensure that he’ll glance over at you.
“What’re you doin’?” He asks suspiciously, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that for just a moment his eyes flicker over to you.
You grin, eyes firmly glued to the screen as you watch his character slow down. You pass him easily, your voice innocent as you say, “Nothing.”
When his eyes return to the screen they widen in disbelief as you cross the finish line a few seconds before him. “You cheated!” He accuses, looking over at you with narrowed eyes.
Your mouth drops open in feigned offense, “Did not!”
“Bullshit, baby, I know what you’re doing when you move closer to me.”
“You’re warm, I was cold.”
“Liar.”
“Alright, since you’re so sure, let’s go again. Best 2 out of 3. I’ll even sit on the ground this time, can’t cheat that way,” You insist, before shifting off the couch to sit crossed-legged between his knees.
As nonchalant as ever, Marc bends to wrap his arm around your waist and lifts you with no effort to place a pillow underneath your butt. The simple act of care contrasts with the competitive look on his face as he hands you your controller once more, “No funny business this time baby.”
He lets you get comfortable, waiting to strike. He’s trailing a few places behind you up until the last lap. You’re sure that you’ll win and halfway around the last pass you relax back against the couch. Unseen to you, Marc grins just before he starts to shift his knees back and forth.
“Hey now,” You quip, but you don’t look away from the screen or make any movement, assuming that he needs to readjust in his seat. But it continues and you glance up at him with a knowing look.
“Oh now, who’s cheating?” You ask, trying to lean away from his knees that he’s bumping into your shoulders.
“What was that? I can’t hear you over my impending victory,” He teases, nodding his head toward the screen.
When your eyes follow his over to the tv, you watch as he shoots you with a red shell before zooming away over the finish line. The shell disrupts you completely, and you’re passed by half of the computers. You end up in 7th place and huff in frustration, “Marc!
“Hmm?” He hums through a laugh, bending to press a kiss to your cheek.
You try your best to glare at him, but with his smile this wide and genuine, you can’t even hold the expression for more than a few seconds. “You only beat me because you cheated and I’m hungry.”
Marc frowns at you, setting his controller down on the coffee table before fishing his phone out of his pocket, “What? Why didn’t you say that before? What do you want— pizza?”
“Pizza’s good. I want—“
“I know, baby.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “What if I was gonna say something different?”
He looks up at you with an expression that says ‘really?’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was upset, genuinely feeling impatient with you. But, in the time that you’ve gotten to know him— all three of them— it’s become much easier to read them. It’s always in the eyes. And when it all boils down, no matter what he’s feeling or saying, all you ever see in Marc’s eyes is understanding and adoration for you.
“Ok, fair, I wasn’t but if I wanted to?”
He shrugs, a knowing smile on his face, “Then I would know.”
Your cheeks warm and you rest your head on his knee, looking up at him with this soft look on your face that makes him feel melted. To know and be known. It’s all either of you have ever wanted.
Marc clears his throat to distract from the flush in his cheeks he knows is there, “While we wait…y’know, Steven told me about this show— we don’t have to watch it if it doesn’t sound interesting to you.”
“I’m listening.”
Marc goes into an entire spiel, using his hand as he and Steven always do, though Marc’s movements are sharper and smaller. You’ve known that Marc is nerdy by how easy he navigates technology, casually throwing out terms here and there that you never understand. But to see him like this, with bright eyes as he explains the contents of the show, it displays you that similarity between him and Steven that’s always buzzing beneath the surface.
“Are you talking about Ancient Aliens?”
He snaps, eyes going wide, “Yes! You know it?”
You resist the urge to cup his face and dust his cheeks with a flurry of kisses, a difficult feat when he’s looking so adorably excited, “Hell yeah I know it, I watch it with my dad sometimes. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”
“Who doesn’t wanna know about aliens? Atlantis?”
“You always poke fun at Steven for stuff like this,” You say matter of factly.
“That was before I gave it a chance.”
While you get the controllers put up and decide on an episode, Marc heads into your kitchen to get drinks, the tube of parmesan out of your fridge and the red pepper out your fridge knowing that these are all necessary for pizza night. When he returns, you’re curled into a blanket and he sets everything down on the coffee table before pressing in beside you, his arms caging you into his chest.
Both of you are distracted. Not by the usual attraction— that’s manageable. Snuggled together on the couch like this, you both feel it. There’s this pool of some overwhelmingly delightful feeling neither of you has felt before. You can identify it immediately as love. Pure and gooey, like the warm insides of a chocolate chip cookie. Marc on the other hand refuses to look it in the eye, pushing it deeper and deeper until it’s light and fuzzy, ignorable. The last thing he will do is love someone who won’t love him. It isn’t the same— this time he is simply unworthy, not easy prey to a wounded predator— but he’s been there and done that. That wound sits on his chest, refusing to heal no matter what he does.
You lean back, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him, “Marc?”
He paused the show and met your gaze before you finished saying his name, “Yeah, honey?”
The remote almost slips out of his hand at the look in your eyes. Could it be more? Marc’s only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other— luckily after everything he and Layla are on amicable terms. But could he really have something like that again? Is that twinkle in your eye what he craves so much that his bones ache?
Under his intense gaze your resolve flatters, your heart, feeling as if it will beat right out of your chest.
“I—,” You breath catches in your throat that’s suddenly gone dry. What if he doesn’t love you back? Losing him means losing Steven and Jake. It means losing the only love you’ve ever known. You swallow those words and opt for others, “Tonight has been one of my favorite nights yet. Thank you.”
He can hear it in your tone. He knows that isn’t what you were going to say and by the look in his eyes, you know that he knows. He stares at you for several moments longer, giving you a chance, hoping that you’ll take the plunge because he can’t. Not yet.
Eventually, the pizza arrives and that cuts some of the tension that’s in the room. Something is clearly off but neither of you can find the courage to say anything as you finish eating and the credits roll on the episode you’d put on.
You let him leave. You kiss him goodbye and watch as he crosses the hall to the stairwell, only closing the door once he’s down the first flight. You feel like an idiot— why couldn’t you have just said it? He was waiting, eyes practically pleading, and yet the words wouldn’t form.
It only takes two minutes for you to decide that this isn’t how the night should end. Fears be damned, he deserves to know— they all do eventually. So you grab your keys, knowing that if you’d left your door unlocked for even the short time it would take to get him back, Jake would scold you about it.
Despite the quickness of your decision to chase after him, Marc is well down the street once you make it out the front door of your complex.
“Marc, wait!”
He stops immediately, recognizing your voice even from so far away. His eyes scan the street when he turns around and as soon as they find you, he’s walking towards you, brows furrowed in concern.
“What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” He pats his pockets, noting that his wallet and keys are there.
Maybe you’d decided to tell him what you were planning to say earlier and his heart begins to hammer again. His mind goes to the worst-case scenario, that maybe you weren’t going to confess deeper feelings for him. That you’re ready to be done with him, that he’s not worth it. That every disparaging thing his mother had ever said about him is true and you’ve just come to realize it.
“No, it’s just that I—“
“Yeah?” He prompts when you go quiet for a minute. His voice is fused with preemptive disappointment and he begins to prepare to leave the headspace, to retreat so far within that not even his alters can find him— Steven or Jake can deal with the aftermath of you. He’ll sulk and disappear like he had promised Steven a couple of years ago.
“I love you. I don’t know what I didn’t just say that before, I’d planned to but then you looked at me and it’s like I was scared all over again,” You whisper, eyes slipping down to look at the ground.
He tilts his head at you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. His voice is tender, and confused as he asks, “What do you have to be afraid of?”
“You know what,” You mumble, refusing to look up at him.
“That I wouldn’t want you? That I’d be stupid enough not to love you too?” He says the words as if they’re blasphemy like they’re the most ridiculous thing imaginable and you can’t help but look up at him.
“Why are you saying it like that?”
His other hand raises so he has both your cheeks in his hands, “Because it's complete bullshit, of course, I love you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, now come here,” He pulls you closer by his hand on your cheek, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. He kisses you fiercely, licking into your mouth with a fervor like never before. You match him, just as hungry and needy to show him how deeply you feel for him not just with words, but with actions.
He pulls away, breathless, “Steven’s saying we shouldn’t make out on the street.”
“Yeah, and what’s Jake saying?” You ask, though you can imagine his opinions on public indecency.
“You don’t wanna know.”
You giggle, before saying once more— firmly this time, unafraid to take the plunge because you know he’ll catch you, “I love you.”
“I love you,” He repeats, his mouth brushing yours as he says it.
You arch a brow at him, smiling against his lips. “Enough to settle who’s won and stay the night?”
“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” He murmurs cheekily through a grin, pulling you back towards your apartment.
It’s safe to say that you both got it.
moonknight taglist: @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @julydaydream, @welcometostayingawake, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @minigirl87, @campingwiththecharmings
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starlight-writer · 10 months
Text
Randomly Cuddling Them
A/n: Hahaha hiiii (⁠;⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠)it's meeeee I'm baaaaack In all seriousness, I've been dealing with a shit ton of stuff and summer depression is kicking my ass. I'm sorry I haven't posted in ages even when I promised I would, I just haven't been able to motivate myself to write. I won't promise you guys a schedule or another fic anytime soon, but I will say that I have no intentions of deleting this blog or stopping writing all together. Just be patient with me and to those who have requested things, I'm sorry I haven't answered them. They'll all come in due time :) In the meantime, have some fluff to make you forget about your depression.
Warnings: none, fluff, slight angst(?)
Gn Reader Masterlist
Steven
Welcomes the cuddle with open arms
He'll ask if you’re ok a few times, just wanting to make sure his darling is feeling well
He'll pet your hair and start talking about his day or a new book he's read to fill the silence
"You wouldn't believe the ending though! The main character has to sacrifice his "
Just sort of talks about anything to fill the comfortable silence, hoping it'll distract you from anything that's stressing you out
Definitely playfully brags to Jake and Marc in the headspace during and after the cuddles
"They wanted to cuddle with me :D"
Once you're ready to pull away, he'll give you a kiss on the forehead and continue reading or whatever it was before, but keeps an eye on you
He isn't sure what brought on the cuddles, and while he loves them, he wants to make sure you're ok
If you start looking upset or frustrated with a task, he'll gently pull you away from whatever you're doing and sit you on the couch
"Lovey, you can finish it later, just sit with me for a bit yeah?"
He'll pull you into his chest and read aloud from his book or ramble about something to distract you
He'll play with your fingers, interlacing them and kissing your finger tips before holding your hand to his face
"Love you, darling"
He'll say in the sweetest voice, you'll forget all about the stresses of the day or the stresses of tomorrow
Mission accomplished
Marc
He's a little caught off guard, but pulls you into his arms eagerly
He'll never turn down cuddles (cough touch starved cough)
He'll run his fingers through your hair or rub his hand up and down your back
He'll ask if you're ok, but won't push past that
He'll stay silent unless you ask him to talk
"Uh... I saw a lizard earlier today. It reminded me of you cause it was cute :)"
He's trying his best
If you stay in his arms for a long period of time, he'll start to think something might be wrong so he'll start making really really bad jokes
"I went to the deli earlier and the sausage they gave me was the wurst :D"
He won't stop until you laugh and he's not above tickling you until you pee your pants
It's like he unlocks a little box inside his head of terrible jokes and playfulness just for the purpose of seeing you smile
After the cuddles session, he'll watch over you carefully
If you start looking stressed or tired or anything but relaxed, he'll pop off with another joke
"Ya know, babe, I used to hate facial hair. But then it grew on me."
Is that a frown on your perfect lips? Not on his watch
"I don't think I told you this before, but I used to be able to play piano by ear. Now I have to play it with my hands."
Eventually, if you start looking too stressed, he'll just pull you into another cuddle session
"Can't have my baby getting stressed."
He'll explain, kissing you on the forehead and shushing you if you try to leave
He'll carry you to bed or the couch, locking you underneath him with his head on your chest
"So comfy, might just fall asleep here."
He snores loudly, trying to coax a giggle or two out of you
And when you fall asleep from the warmth he gives off, he'll watch you with love in his eyes
"Goodnight, babe. I love you."
Jake
There're two ways this could go depending on how he feels
He could be very smug about it, hold you tightly to his chest, mutter things like 'poor bebito/a, so needy for their Papi~' and make sexual or teasing jokes to lighten the mood
Or he could hold you securely in his arms, run his fingers across your back, occasionally kiss your head, and ask in a hushed voice 'what's wrong, mi amor?'
He thrives on physical affection, so either way he's incredibly happy to give it to you
Whether it be a quick kiss, setting his hand on the small of your back as he walks by, resting his hand on your thigh as he drives, or just touching your knee with his in a crowded space, he loves all of it
And depending on why you suddenly held onto him, he'll be very attentive
If he's making jokes when you just want to be held, he'll pick up in it right away and mutter a small apology with a kiss
He'll hum a song he heard on the radio, he'll keep his breathing long and slow to help calm you down if needed, he'll even read you one of Steven's 'boring' books
He's like Marc in a way, they'll both do absolutely everything in their power to make you smile or laugh if the situation calls for it
If you've gotten your fill of cuddles and start to pull away, he'll pout and pull you back down, muttering something about feeling cold without you on top of him
Which is a lie, they run extremely hot which has cancelled many cuddle sessions in the summer because 'It's too hot, Jake! And don't give me those puppy eyes!'
He refuses to let you go until you explicitly tell him you want him to
He'll act all sad, but he lets you go after a passionate kiss
Openly watches you closely afterwards, determined to see any slip of annoyance or frustration so he can whisk you away to your shared room and cuddle the stress away
And the second your brow twitches in frustration, he's coming up behind you and hugging you
"Bebito/a, dance with me."
He'll say, already swaying to the music playing in his head
He'll spin you around and subtly drag you away from the chore or work you were doing with a charming smile and his swaying hips
When you've rested your head on his chest and sigh softly, following the shuffling of his feet and sway of his hips, he knows he's succeeded in calming you down
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jake-g-lockley · 1 year
Note
If you want to, no pressure, #19 with dear Marc fronting, but can contain all moon boys of course. Really anything you wanna do is fine with me. Just excited to see what you come up with lovely.
Problems (Marc Spector x reader)
Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be Tagged?
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A/N: Melodyyyyyy hehe I love me some heated Marc Spector content too. Thanks for the ask lovelyy! 
Warnings: MDNI, Making out, dry humping (if ya squint mate), hair pulling, swearing, tiny mention of Wendy (im so fucking sorry y’all)
Word Count: 1.5k
☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Marc Spector wasn’t in the best of moods.
He took a deep breath and held his textbooks close, counting random numbers to clear his head as the elevator brought him to his floor. He was exhausted, tired from the failing classes and yelling at the lecturers. He just wanted to dump all of his books onto his bed, grab his gym bag and release some steam in the gym. That was all he had to do to make him relax.
Simple right?
Wrong.
Marc’s other problem lived in his dorm with him and that problem was you. It had been weeks and the both of you had been trying hard to move out of the dorm, but everytime you did, there was a scheduling error that could not be solved which only made the both of you more frustrated. 
You had created a set of rules for the both of you to follow and you followed them religiously. You were the quiet studious girl while Marc was the unbothered jock who did not give a shit about any rule. That’s why the both of you didn’t get along. In fact, you hated each other with a burning passion, passion so fiery that you both could probably blow up the entire row of dorm rooms if you wanted to. 
Marc rolled his eyes and set his hand on the doorknob, knowing what awaited him on the other side. He flung the door open and you turned to glare at him from your desk. 
“Not a word, I don’t want to hear it.” Marc says before you even open your mouth.
“You fucked a chick here when I was at the library! Are you out of your goddamn mind, Spector?” you stood up and slammed your textbook close. 
“I said, I don’t want to hear it.” he pushed again, not wanting to look at you as he shoved things into his gym bag at a rapid pace. 
“You think it's fun to chase someone out of my dorm at 3 am in the fucking morning? You really think the world revolves around you huh?” your rage was boiling over you and you wanted nothing more than to beat Marc Spector to pulp with your bare hands.
You were tired with the way he waltzed around as if he owned the place, as if he could just do as he pleased wherever and whenever. He was moving around the room, mumbling the word “deodorant” and tossing things around. 
“Yea I fucked that chick, so what? What are you gonna do about it? All you do is sleep over your books and worry about studying, what am I supposed to do about it?” He grumbles back, pulling his pillow to check his bed for the missing item. 
You stared at him, appalled at his stupidity. 
“I don’t even do anything to you Spector, why are you doing this to make my life so fucking miserable?” you yell, unable to control yourself any longer. 
To your shock, Marc slides his hand across his desk, causing his pencil holder to go flying across the room, making you gasp. He screams in frustration, and slumps onto his bed with his face in his hands, unable to stop the angry tears from leaving his eyes. He barely let himself take a breath before he looked at you, his head yearning to say sorry but his mouth twisting into a wild scowl worthy of his own mother’s anger. Your heart drops to your stomach as you take note of the tears staining his face, unable to move a muscle as he slowly lifts himself from off his bed. 
“You wanna talk about the things you do to me? Huh?” he says coldly prowling closer to you, like a panther about to strike. 
You find the brain power to make your legs move but you stumble into your chair, catching yourself at the last second. You were confused. What the hell could you have possibly done to Marc that you were unaware about?
“You, you’re the one who makes me miserable, not the other way around, so please don’t tell me that I am anywhere close to making your life agonisingly painful.” he growled through gritted teeth. 
He was getting closer now, you could see the angry vein popping from his neck.
“You wanna talk about how you pull my head right out of a lesson and into all the things I would do to you?” your eyes widened slightly and your ears perked up at the way his voice dropped slightly.
“You wanna talk about how I catch myself watching you when you slowly rub your makeup off your face and do that little smile when you’re done wishing that I could be the cause of that smile?” 
Butterflies took over and began their assault on every inch of your body, sending an array of goosebumps up your spine. 
“You wanna talk about how I sometimes make the mistake of looking at you when you’re fast asleep, wishing that that pillow you hug between your legs was me instead?” 
He was so close to the point that you could see minuscule tear drops clinging to his beautiful lashes.
“You wanna talk about how much I would do just to feel your lips against mine?” 
The last line came out as a whisper, almost as if Marc didn’t want to admit it, almost as if it was a secret too blasphemous that he would rather pay whatever price he had to pay in hell rather than say it directly to your face. But it was too late, he had already done it.
You were surprised that your anger flared harder through your body, almost like a rush of adrenalin as you stared into Marc Spector’s wrathful brown eyes. Your hand shot forward and you grabbed him by the collar of his soft hoodie and you pulled him with all your strength, surprising him and making him stumble into you.
“If you’re so fucking desperate then just kiss me, you fool!” you spat, watching at the exact second when the air in the room changed to something that was out of your control. 
Marc closes the gap between the both of you in an instant, sweeping you off your feet as his lips came crashing against yours. His hands gripped at your hips hard before coiling around your waist and pulling you ever so close, crushing every bone that existed in your body. You moan into the kiss, your arm looped itself around his neck and your free hand combs up his curls for purchase, pulling hard as Marc deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with enough fervour to turn you into mush, almost as if he was begging you to let him be mad at you.
Once Marc Spector got a taste of you, he couldn’t stop. His hands moved quickly and almost fluidly, snaking under your sweatshirt to feel your skin. Only when you pressed harder against him did he slide his hand to squeeze one of your breasts, nipping at your bottom lip at the same time and making you whine his name and breathe hard against his face. 
“Fuck I want to hear that again.” he said pushing you towards and down onto your bed. 
His lips met yours more carefully this time and you could feel him keening into your touch as you slid your own hands up his hoodie and pressed your palms against his broad chest. You broke off the kiss and pushed him down instead, the vexation you felt against him slowly morphing into a confidence that you’d never thought you had as you straddled his waist. You brought your hand back up to the back of his head and pulled on his curls once more, making him arch back with a moan, exposing his neck for you to devour. 
You started your assault on his neck, kissing, biting and sucking in a pattern that had him writhing against you, grinding his hips up to meet yours. His hands couldn’t seem to let go of you, as if he was absolutely hopeless without the feeling of you. All of his frustrations melted away and were replaced with a soft feeling of needing to float away from all his problems with you. 
Once you were satisfied with the litter of marks you had left on him, you gave him one last, softer peck on his lips and slotted your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, catching your breath as you relaxed onto his body, covering him like a weighted blanket. You only came to your senses once you felt Marc’s hand in your hair, softly brushing through each strand with his fingers. Your hand found his and you laced your fingers with his, cherishing the warmth that he provided. 
“Your deodorant is on your bedside table, by the way.” you murmur into the shell of his ear making him scoff softly.
Marc definitely didn’t need the gym today, all he needed was you. 
Reblogs are appreciated~~~
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