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l3m0ncyan · 2 years

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New at Life | Chapter 1

Steven Grant/Marc Spector x latina!teen!reader

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Summary:

Moving to a new country for university, a Hispanic 18-year-old girl by the name of Y/N L/N sets off to start her adult life in London.

Adapting is difficult, but when you befriend a man in his 30s who works at a museum gift shop, has DID, and is on a mission to save the world from a crocodile goddess, things become easier than you expected.

Note: This takes place month before the show. Meaning Steven still doesn’t know about Marc.

———————————————————

Y/N stared at her open suitcase, even though everything was neatly folded and packed, it seemed like she was battling her luggage. She continued to use all her might to keep the suitcase shut as she tried to zip it closed but the clothes withing threatened to erupt.

Even though it was barely 11 of the morning, it was still too early for her to be using all the energy on packing her things. With an annoyed mutter beneath her breath, she leaned her body weight onto the top of the case, “Why won’t you fucking close?”

With enough pressure, she finally used her free hand to zip the suit case shut. She stood up and took a deep breath and fixed her hair, “See, was that so hard?”

After her grunting, she took a second to listen to the movement of the house. There was none. The only thing she could hear was the quiet chatter of her parents waiting in the living room.

Walking out of her room one last time, she looked back to make sure she had everything before walking into the living room. Immediately she was met with the aroma of the pozole her family ate last night. Now thinking of it, there won’t be much of that to where she’s going. Her mother's delicious home-cooked meals, the comforting routine of her own house, and the familiarity of everything around her - all of it would be left behind as she headed off.

Once in the living room, she saw her father sitting on the couch with his arms crossed as her mother stood beside him. Once they noticed her, they all turned to face her.

Her father, as always, showed no expression but her mother showed a bit of worry.

“Ya empacastes todo?” her mother asked, glancing down at the grey suitcase that her daughter held.

*you packed everything?

“Si,” Y/N nodded.

Her mother only nodded. Y/N understood why she was acting like this, afterall, she was the youngest of her two siblings. When she said that she wanted Y/N to go to college, she didn’t mean one that thousands of miles away.

She tried giving Y/N the silent treatment for the last few days, believing it would make her feel guilty and stay. It didn’t obviously.

Y/N could have gone to a university or even a community college near by, but it was already heard of in her family. Why not go bigger?

Growing up in a Hispanic household, it was ingrained in you that an education was needed just to survive. Which is why most of her cousins from both sides of her family were seen going to college.

However, her parents were the only ones from both sides who’s children didn’t pursue for that height, yet. With her older older siblings not going down the path of success as their cousins, Y/N’s parents had very high expectations for her, as she was their last child.

With her mother praising her intelligence, her aunts and uncles expected her to use it wisely. She was now in the center stage of the entire family, watching her closely.

Which is why a university in London sounded like a great idea to give your parents something to show off to their siblings and nephews.

Still, it seemed like the bare minimum in todays world, you know with the upbringing of young heroes and all.

Rumors of Spider-Man being the same age as her plus an apprentice for Stephen Strange, and a sidekick for Hawkeye made her family’s belief in her much more challenging to climb.

But how would she be able to live to that expectation, especially coming from a small city in the corner of Califoria, where people being successful was unheard of, less becoming a superhero.

“Ya estas lista?’ her father spoke, breaking her out of her narration.

*are you ready?

She blinked, “Huh?”

“Uy pues, si ya estas lista? Estas sorda o que?” his tone was harsh, but it always was.

*if you are ready? Are you deaf or what?

Annoyance, was probably the only emotion he ever showed. Y/N doesn’t remember a time where he never scowled or insulted her. Maybe he was born with no feelings besides anger.

“Oh, si. Ya estoy lista,” she says quickly.

*Oh yeah. I'm ready

He grunts and begins walking to the truck. Quickly, she grabs her belongings and loads them into the backseat. As they drive away, she gives one final look at her childhood home before it disappears from view.

——

As Y/N arrived at the airport, she was greeted by her two older siblings along with her nephews. The oldest, approaches her with a smile, mixed with joy and sadness. She wishes her luck and tells her how much she will miss her. Of course, Y/N can’t just leave without teasing her about how the “real” reason she is leaving is to escape her kids. This earns her a small push before her brother approaches her.

He tells her to not come back with a british accent while nudging her playfully.

“Man stop. I’m not, don’t want you getting a brain tumor” she replied, shoving him back lightly.

After saying her goodbyes to her family, Y/N made her way to her plane. She felt a mix of emotions - excitement, nervousness, and a tinge of sadness. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes once she sat on her seat. She feels the plane start to move, slowly at first and then picking up speed as it made its way down the runway.

——

“Ladies and gentlemen, Cosmos Air welcomes you to London. The local time is 8 of the morning. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisle clear until we are parked at the gate." a feminine British voice came through the airplane speakers.

If the turbulence hadn't jolted Y/N awake, the announcement certainly did. She stood up and stretched her arms, feeling the stiffness in her muscles from the long flight. She gathered her belongings and made her way down the aisle, following the stream of passengers towards the main area of the airport.

As she stepped out of the airport, she stood still, taking in the surroundings of the country. Y/N already had a good idea of how London would look but it was still different seeing it face to face. The architecture, the people, the sounds, and the smells were all so different from what she was used to back home.

"Alright, let’s see where my apartment is at," she said quietly. She pulled out her phone to look for the address and without any delay, she called a cab and headed off to her place.

——

Pushing through the throngs of vendors and people milling about the street, Y/N eventually arrived at a large brick building that looked like it had seen better days. It was a tall, multi-story structure holding several floors. In the front side of the building had two-pane windows, each with the curtain of whatever resident lived there.

Looking at the whole picture, it didn’t look the best but then again she was only a recent highschool graduate. So affording a modern suite in a better part of London wasn’t very possible for her.

She walked up the front steps of the building, standing before a long intercom that was plastered beside the doors. Y/N looked for the button to call the owner. She hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before she buzzed herself in and waited for a response.

The sound of crackling filled her ears, and a voice asked for her name and apartment number. Y/N responded, her heart was racing, she was rather excited but highly nervous still. With a click of the door, she tugged on the handle and was let in.

An old man who sat behind a wooden wall where one could still talk to him through a small opening peered at Y/N over his glasses, his eyes sharp and inquisitive. "Was it you who called from the states?" he inquired.

Y/N nodded, "Uhm, yeah, can I start heading in? Or how does that go?” she was already nervous so she couldn’t help how her voice trembled.

He gave a small laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, the room is ready. You can move in already," he said, gesturing towards the door. "I take it you never moved out on your own?" he asked, his tone gentle and understanding.

"Nope, I traveled by myself too," she added, hoping to redeem herself in his eyes.

The man smiled kindly at her, his demeanor reassuring. "I see, well if you need anything just let me know," he said, before handing her a key and giving her detailed directions to her new apartment.

As Y/N waited for the elevator to get to the fifth floor, she couldn't help but notice the dingy and worn-out state of the surroundings. The elevator was surrounded by mirrors, which had seen better days, with tags and scratches marring the reflective surface.

"Not so different from California then," she muttered to herself, trying to make light of the situation.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator arrived with a beeping sound, and the doors slid open with a creak. Y/N stepped out of the elevator and into a narrow hallway with green carpet and beige walls. The hallway was dimly lit, with flickering fluorescent lights casting a pallid glow on everything around her. As she looked down the hallway, she noticed that each apartment door was painted a dark teal color, with a golden number stenciled onto it.

She made her way down the hallway, examining each door until she finally arrived at her own. Excitement coursed through her veins as she fumbled with the key, trying to get it into the doorknob. Once she stuck it in and turned, it didn’t budge. The door remained stubbornly shut.

She tried many times again and again, maybe it was how she was holding it? No. Her grip? No. The thought of having to go back to the old man on the first floor filled her with dread. She was the one out of the her three siblings who didn’t like dealing with conflict or confrontations. Hell, one time she couldn’t even tell a waitress that she got the wrong order because she didn’t want to anger her.

Aside from her social anxiety, she didn’t want to humilate herself just because she can’t open a damn door.

Her last thought was to just slump down to the floor and hope that the door magically opened on its own. Just as she was about give up, she heard the door behind her open, causing her to jump slightly in surprise.

“Ah, are you having trouble with the door?” A man's voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to face him, grateful for the distraction.

Y/N's eyes fell on the man standing in front of her, who appeared to be in his late 30s. He had tanned skin that looked like it had seen the sun more than a few times, and his dark wavy hair was slightly disheveled.

He was dressed in a grey jacket that looked expensive, and a satchel was slung over his shoulder. She couldn't help but feel a little envious of how put-together he looked compared to her own disheveled appearance.

Her cheeks flushed with a tinge of embarrassment, “I wasn’t being too loud was I?”

“...What if I said you were, just slightly?” He winced, almost pinching his thumb and pointer finger together to emphasize the amount.

He appeared timid, his shoulders slouched, but you could tell he was tense. He did, however, have a soft, kind expression on his face and a friendly smile.

“May I?” He motioned to the key, trying to bury the topic of who was loud.

Y/N was immediately removed from her thoughts, "Oh! Yeah! Uhm yes please..".

She stepped aside, allowing the man to approach the door. He took the key from her and inserted it into the doorknob, giving it a few twists and turns. She watched as he worked his magic, observing the way his hands behaved.. Suddenly, there was a satisfying click, and the door swung open with a few jiggles.

"Thank you so much, I would have had to sleep on the hallway floor haha…" She chuckled and nervously rubbed the back of her neck.

"Oh, no need to worry, love! When I first moved into this flat, both my dear mum and I had our fair share of troubles. I still haven’t a scooby why they haven’t tried fixing it," he furrowed his brows as he stared at the doorknob.

She paused and cocked her head to the side, wondering if she heard correctly. Was the word ‘scooby’ a slang word in Britain? Realizing now, she might be hearing more with her time being in London.

When he saw her confused expression, he immediately explained himself. “Oh! Your accent tells me you're not from around here, specifically England, right?"

“Yeah, aside from the accent, it was obvious huh?” she scratched the back of her head, feeling somewhat vulnerable at being outed.

He nodded but still kept a smile, “It was, I won’t lie. Well if it was the word ‘scooby’ that made you miffed, then it is just a word many here use for ‘clue’, not sure why though,"

She nodded for a long period until she spoke up again, “What does ‘miffed’ mean?”

Steven blinked before giving a small chuckle, “It means confused,”

Y/N made an ‘oh’ sound and nodded to the new found knowledge of british slang. He then asked if there was any american slang words he should know about. She took a minute to think of any, trying to filter through her vocabulary.

“Well, I know ‘heavy’ is a word to say if something is emotionally serious” She continued to think but she couldn’t think of anything else, “Yeah no, I can’t think of anything else,”

This time it was his turn being confused, he stood still trying to analyze the last phrase, “So yes you can think of something, or…”

She furrowed her brows at him but then it clicked, “Oh right! Well the phrase ‘yeah no’ just means ‘no’ and vice versa.”

“Oh, so that’s what it means. I don’t understand why you just wouldn’t say a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’,” he placed held his chin.

She shrugged, “I mean same with you Brit’s, why not just say ‘clue’ instead of saying the name of a dog who solves mysteries,”

“You have a point, guess we both learned something new,” he said before his eyes widened, “Oh right! Uhm my name is Steven. Steven Grant,”

He stuck his hand out at her, which she returned the gesture. His hand felt calloused, which was odd since he didn’t seem like the type to do hard labor, “I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N” she smiled.

“Well, I shall be seeing you more around here Y/N. I am glad to be the first to welcome– oh my god!” He notices the time on his watch and suddenly jolts up. Y/N jumps at the reaction, thinking maybe she had offended him in a way.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I have to get going to work, it was nice meeting you!" He yells before rushing towards the the elevator, pressing the button, and entering. As the doors close, Y/N gives him a wave which he does in return.

She smiles, grabbing all of her belongings that she left on the floor and brings them inside the apartment. She still thought of the encounter with Mr.Grant, how he was probably one of the kindest people she has met in her lifetime. Part of her hoped that she would see him again, hoping he would be the rock she needed as she adjusts to London.

The moment she walks in, she is immediately in the living room. The wooden floors creak beneath her as she puts her things down and shuts the door. Taking in the size, it wasn’t the biggest but it also wasn’t the smallest. Straight ahead is a large window that overlooks the city, allowing sunlight to flood the entire apartment.

Turning to her left was a kitchen. The design was odd, the kitchen was almost a room of its own, except the front wall was non existent except for a wide bottom-half of a beam. Infront of it was a wooden table and two wooden chairs. Aside from looking weird, she didn’t complain since it had everything from a fridge to a stove and sink.

Across from the kitchen area was a white wooden door. Turning the doorknob, she was met with a very simple bathroom with big white tiles on the floor. A white ceramic sink is located on the left wall, and the pipes are visible at the bottom. A dusty square mirror can be found near the top. The toilet is across from the sink, and the shower is next to it at the far end of the room. It has a tub that is attached to the floor and a silver showerhead on the left which seems it has rusted. The shower curtain is white but has a yellow stain.

She steps out, making a mental note to buy a new one. She walks towards the corner of the apartment, trying to find a bedroom door but there is none. "Nowhere to sleep?" She asks herself, until she remembers she is renting a studio room.

Meaning she would have to plan the placement of her bed in the living room at a later time. At the very least, they provided her with a couch, so she won't have to sleep on the floor for night or until she gets a mattress.

Once she explored all the hidden kinks of the flat, she began unpacking and putting things together. She covered the couch with a bed sheet, since she didn’t know who or what might have sat on it. Adding her pillow and blanket, she moved on to putting up the calendar.

She takes a step back and marks when her classes begin, “I have a month then?”.

A month to gather money for her apartment and wellbeing. She’ll probably leave job hunting for tomorrow. Y/N returns to the couch and lies down, her mind setting up schedules and such to have a successful four year life in London.

However it was cut off when she heard and felt her stomach growl, giving her an unpleasant feeling. "Right, I haven’t eaten since the plane,", she takes out her phone from the pocket of her jacket.

With only a small amount of money, she looked through Google for cheap place to grab something to eat. Since she didn’t want to go to a fancy restaurant where she had to dress better than what she was wearing, she chose to go to a McDonald’s nearby. Thank god for western influence in Europe.

She stood up from the couch and grabbed her tote bag from the floor. Once she put on her shoes, she beelined to the elevator.

The elevator was going to be something to get used to when trying to leave. Usually she would only step out of the front gate of her house and go into whoever’s car that was going to give her a ride.

As she waited for the elevator to make it to the first floor, the noticed the lights flickering. It was only for a moment before they stopped and continued to buzz.

With the way the doors fail to unlock and the price for a studio apartment, its no wonder they couldn’t afford to fix the electricity.

The elevator chimed and she expected to be at the end of ride until she noticed the small analog screen showing she was only down a level. The doors opened and an elder woman walked in.

Y/N gulped, it was one small fear she had when riding elevators. Sharing them with a complete stranger and having to be in complete silence. With the way the elevator slowly descended to each floor, she can already sense herself trying to force the woman into a conversation.

“So, how is England?” she slowly turned her head to the woman, holding a smile.

“Uh, I believe it is fine, as long as the queen is,” the woman said quickly, looking away from Y/N.

Y/N nodded but continued her nervous rambling, “Right, I forgot about the queen. Question from a foreigner though, what happens if she dies which I hope she doesn’t anytime soon. Do we not work for a week? Or is that something only for british students? Actually now that I think about it, do you guys have the faces of all the kings and queens in each classroom? Do you guys celebrate a king or queen day? Or are they separate?”

The old woman only widened her eyes but stayed quiet. In Y/N’s peripheral vision, she could see the woman clutch her purse closely. Understanding her discomfort, Y/N immediately stopped talking, straightening her position and looking anywhere but the woman from the awkwardness she had just created.

As if the the old woman’s prayers have been answered, the elevator chimed and opened to a different floor. Quickly, she rushed out without looking back.

Once Y/N was left alone and the doors closed, she cursed herself, “You are so fucking stupid. You could have just stayed quiet”

Since the fast food chain was only a 30 minute walk, she decided to use that time to look around. As she did, she quickly noticed the differences from her hometown and London.

Aside from the fact that it was colder, even though it was July, the buildings appeared older. It was the type of area that she always dreamed of living in since she was in middle school. Maybe that was the reason why she chose to attend a university there. It was still nice though, it was a nice change of pace instead of hearing sirens and such every once in a while. For now.

The walk was rather relaxing, especially after putting in her earbuds.

Once she arrived, she ordered her food and quickly ate beside a window. The sun was still up and it didn’t seem like it would be setting soon. Checking her phone for the time she saw that she had enough time to continue to explore the city. Mainly to see where the nearest groceries were and what other stores the area offered.

——

The elevator doors opened with its signature chime revealing Y/N holding a bag full of groceries. After spending all day, her feet were swore from her adventure and all she wanted to do was lay down.

Once she reached her door, she grabbed her key and positioned it to the keyhole. However, she paused, trying to remember how Mr.Grant pulled it off again. She inserted it and jiggled it, hoping for that same clicking sound.

“That’s not it,” she muttered under her breath.

Once more, but this time she turned the key from left to right, then left again. Maybe it was a pattern she had to follow.

She groaned, “Not it.”

Without realizing, a few of the tenants on the floor passed by her, some smirking at her failure. “Of course, I mean how can anyone not know how to open a door? They must be utterly ridiculous,” she mocked a british accent.

After a few more tries, she gave up and leaned her head against the door, letting her arms fall limp. It as a pathetic sight. She rethought of what her parents told her, and they were right. She won’t be able to anything on her own.

She heard the elevator chime and its doors open once again. Expecting another tenant to come and ridicule her, she sighed.

She decided to continue mocking the british accent because why not? If they can make fun of her, then so can she. “Continue to walk away and laugh as I try to unlock my damn door instead of helping me because that makes you so much better than me, you god damn buffoon,” she mocked once again.

“Is that really what we sound like to you?” Steven’s voice spoke up.

Y/N raised her head immediately, earning her a short jetlag. She looked over to Steven who wore a smile that practically said, ‘Here comes your knight in shining armor’.

“What if I said yes?” she flipped herself, leaning her back towards the door.

He only gave a small laugh, “Then I would say you need more practice with your accent if you really are trying to fit in. Need help with the door?”. He gestured to the door.

“Yup,” she nodded and handed him the key. She moved away from the door but stayed close to see how he did it.

With a simple click, the door opened and he held his arms out, gesturing to his accomplishment, “Ta-da!”.

Y/N could only stand there, surprised, “Okay you have to be fucking with me, is there a pattern or something that everyone was told except me?”

"Not exactly," he said quietly, "all you have to do is nudge the key a few times to the left after you turn it and– pop!”

"So there is a pattern," she nods. "Anything else I should know about?"

He looks up, trying to remember any valuable information, "Not really, just remember to lock your door, since there have been break-ins, but that is only in the second floor,"

She nods and walks inside with her bag of groceries, but then stops, "Thanks by the way, for helping me with the door, and sorry about the horrible accent," she rubs the back of her neck.

"Oh no worries, love; if you need anything else, I'm just a knock away." He smiles and waves as he walks to his own apartment, which is right across from hers.

Y/N closes the door to her apartment and locks it, listening to what Mr.Grant said. She makes her way to one of her suitcases and pulls out her sleepwear for the night. Once she changes clothing, she walks to the window, the creaking of the wood floor following behind her. She looks at the overview of the city, lights begin to illuminate as the sky darkens.

She brings out her phone, putting the camera at an angle to get the best view of the buildings. Once snaps a shot, she uploads it to her social media with the location tagged to it.

———————————————

This is my first in a VERY long while since I wrote a fanfic. (Since middle school and yes those were cringy af). So I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes I make. Please let me know if there’s anything I should fix 🙏

Also if things don’t make sense, it’s cuz I wrote this late at night and I didn’t know what the fuck I was writing.

#moon knight #steven grant x teen!reader #marc spector x teen!reader #hispanic reader #marc spector x reader #platonic #steven grant x reader #latina reader #moon knight x teen!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x you #x reader #fem reader #marvel #marc spector #steven grant

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romanarose · 1 year

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Fucker Notices Everything: Holiday edition

Marc Spector X Fem!Reader

That’s right kids, observant Marc is back, simple bc I found myself doing this weird thing and I wish I had people in my life who cared enough to notice when I was spiraling. I’ll be okay. This too, shall pass.

Warnings: Eating disorder recovery, bulimia recovery, bulimia mentions, food restriction, negative self talk, feeling like you have to deserve food, weird digestive stuff, alcohol mentions,binge and purge cycles, references to forced throwing up,talk about getting drunk during holidays but it’s fun, brief mentions of sibling tensions but it’s all good, using alcohol to cope with family, a couple gross out jokes.

***************

January 1st.

You were hung over. Great. New Years Eve with your family had been a lot of fun, surprisingly, and a lot of drinking, Marc graciously driving you home and taking care of you all night and all morning. You had eaten sporadically throughout the day, little bits to not overwhelm your tummy, but after an afternoon nap with Marc, who was still asleep in bed, you wanted a snack.

Staring at the fridge, you propped your hand on a hip as you viewed your options. Lot of deserts, high salt and fat foods, and some left over roasted vegetables, which normally you loved, but god, just you want to eat pie. The holidays had gone significantly better than they usually did. Marc Spector, surprisingly, was a good barrier between you and family, directing conversation away from topics that would rile everyone up, helping you not engage when your siblings tried to pick a fight, and pulling you back when you tried to pick one in turn.

Without the high nerves that family events usually caused, you have eaten and drank happily, enjoying your mom and grandmas food and the drinks your uncle made, all of which had lead to you feeling fucking gross. The nasty side effects of your drinking a few nights ago hadn’t helped, triggering your mind back to the place it hadn’t gone in a while, a desire to eject everything inside you. You hadn’t throw up from alcohol today, as Marc had paced you last night, but you couldn’t help wonder if you ate the pie, you could throw it up and blame it on the hangover. It was hard to get anything past the fucker, but you could try…

You feel the fat on your hips. Fuck. You had definitely gained wait this week. You thought about the jeans you tried to put on for new years that wouldn’t button, and how Marc had stared at your ass in the leggings you wore, but it didn’t help calm your mind.

You give your sides a squeeze. No pie, no ham, no potatoes. No eating at all if you could help it. Another squeeze, this time on your stomach. You close the fridge. You don't need that.

“What was that?” Marc’s groggy morning voice called from the bed.

God fucking dammit.

"What was what, baby?" You feign innocence as your turn from the fidge.

Marc sat up, brow furrowed as he wipes the sleep out of his eyes. "You squeezed your stomach, then closed the fridge."

You try to hide the sigh, knowing that would only spur him on. "It's nothing honey, just a weird habit I have"

"No." He shook his head, standing up and coming towards you, looking concerned. "I know all your weird habits. Popping zits in the mirror and leaving the puss for me to clean up is a wierd habbit" He smiled, softly. "Sniffing your right armpit and making a disgusted face as though you didn't know it would smell like that is a weird habit"

"Ew, baby" You giggle.

He took your shoulders, looking at you intently. "That, that was deliberate. What were you doing" He looked like he knew the answer.

You groan, conceding. "Don't make me say it"

He looked sad. "You were convincing yourself not to eat, weren't you?"

Pausing, you close your eyes and nod, a few tears starting to sting at your eyes. "I'm sorry" Your voice cracks at the confession.

"Oh, baby" Marc takes you in his strong arms. "Why are you apologizing."

There was no stopping the crying now. "You didn't sign up for this, I was doing better."

"Didn't sign up for what?" His tone was soft, but confused.

"A girlfriend with an eating disorder" You broke down in sobs.

Marc let you cry for a moment, rubbing your back. When you calmed down a bit, he spoke. "Baby, you told me about you're eating disorder on our third date when you still refused to eat in front of me, and I made my decision then and there that I would stick with you no matter what. I signed up for all of it on day three, okay? I love you, and I'm very sorry you're hurting right now. Can you tell me if you know what triggered it? Did your dad say something?"

Your dad was known for making comments about your weight ever since you were going through puberty and no longer looked like a stick. Although you knew it wasn't realistic to blame an entire life-threatening eating disorder on your daddy issues, you hadn't even considered your body like that until his first comment was made.

"No... it's started when I was getting dressed and wanted to wear my favorite jeans... they didn't fit..."

Marc pulled back to looked at you. "The ones with all the holes and bell bottoms? They fit you just fine two weeks ago when we went to the movie?" You had taken Steven to see the new Avatar movie. He was the only person you knew who was actually excited about it, so you had surprised him with tickets. Marc looked you up and down with a cocked eyebrow. "They fit you real well"

You smile finally, giving his arm a little push. "Yeah, until I gained weight over the holidays” Between multiple days of Hanukkah with Marc's dad, and Christmas and new year's with your family, there had been a lot of calories.

"Baby..." He chastised softly. "You did not go up an entire pant size in two weeks"

"But they didn't fit!"

His strong hands moved to cup your face. "Honey, you are bloated. I am too" He patted his lil tum tum you loved so much. How could you love it on him but not yourself?

Your frown still. "I seem to be a whole lot moreso"

He laughed your name out ever so slightly. "You are lactose intolerant, and you've been drinking a fuck ton of spiked eggnog. It's a wonder you haven't shit your pants yet."

"Marc!" You slap his arm and laugh, feeling better.

Gifting you with a gentle but passionate kiss, he gestured to the fridge. "Now, I won't make you eat anything you don't want to, but we have lots of good food, or I can cook you up something, if that's better?"

You consider for a moment, your hand inadvertantly going to squeeze your side again, but Marc grabbed it, stopping you. You decide. "Maybe we can have some of the left over veggies first, then pie?"

"Ah!" He grinned. "Genius." Marc pulled you in for another huge, kissing your head. A pause of hesitation "And... sweetheart?" Marc sounded nervous; a bit more uncertain than the self-assured mask he tended to wear.

"Yes, my love?" You encouraged him, never wanting him to feel like he had to hide anything this you.

He sounded borderline scared as he finished his request, concerning you. “Can we… maybe keep the bathroom door… can we not shut it all the way… for a few days?”

You realized that he was, in fact, scared. Scared for you. Of you relapsing. If was your turn to reassure him. "Yes, baby, of course. Thank you for always protecting me."

*********************

Thanks for reading <3 I've been a bit out of my schedule. When I was in school and worked, I know what I'd eat and where. Right now, however, I'm all over the place with scheduling and it's throwing off my eating. I'll forget to eat all day and then binge, or eat several large meals... Idk, it's throwing me off. I'm serious when I said my eating disorder was life threatening, and an essential part of recovery for me was a regular eating schedule.

I have also been struggling with sleep. IDK what it is, but I am usually an incredibly sound sleeper. Like I am fall asleep anywhere and stay asleep (I've fallen asleep some strange places). My mom says she noticed I'll just fall asleep in one position and just. Stay exactly like that. Lately I wake up shivering bc my blankets are gone. I must be tossing and turning at night. I havn't had the nightmares in a while and I really really hope they dont come back bc they just retraumatize me all over again. I think the bad sleep is fucking things up for me...

anyway, I hope everyone had a good holiday season. It's easy for me to say don't worry about your weight, but it's hard in reality to practice. Just remember that the weight you feel is probably just bloating or a temporary bit of gain. Once you are back in your schedule, you'll probably go back to your normal. I love you.

tagging some homies I love.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @kittyofalltrades @welcometostayingawake @in-between-the-cafes @juneknight @jake-g-lockley

#marc spector #marc spector reader #marc spector fluff #Marc Spector Angst #Marc spector hurt comfort #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight fluff #marc spector needs a hug #marc spector x reader #marc spector you #marc spector moon knight #oscar isaac #tw eating disorder #eating disoder trigger warning #bulimia trigger warning #bulimia

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davosmymaster · 2 years

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Fallen from Heaven, Grown on Earth -Part 3-

Part 1, Part 2.

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, very obvious hints to Marc’s alcoholism, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, Marc’s parents, panic attacks (mentioned), weapons (mentioned), near-death experiences, dialogue heavy, smut, very graphic descriptions of sex, nsfw, blood, injuries.

PAIRINGS - Steven Grant x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 22k

A/N - I decided to divide it again (please don’t kill me) part 4 will be out this week. Probably in the next 3 days or so, maybe even sooner. Epilogue too.

FALLEN FROM HEAVEN, GROWN ON EARTH - PART THREE

June 2006

Marc's very much awake when he receives the call.

He is sitting in his desk chair. He is all nerves and stiff muscles as he fills out the application papers for military service. It's late. Almost four in the morning. He woke up from an anxiety-driven nightmare two hours ago, chances are it has something to do with the maths final he failed and the fact that he's so stressed out that he can barely hear anything beyond his own thoughts these days. He needs a good night's sleep, maybe drink something apart from energy drinks and coffee; but his worries continue to keep him awake at night and drinking the equivalent of a half-kilo bag of sugar is the only thing that keeps him lucid. So his body will have to suck it up.

Not like he cares if he has a heart attack, anyways.

He decided to do something to distract himself. Be productive, in a way, anything to avoid lying in bed wide-eyed until seven in the morning. That's why he took the papers and started filling them up. He had no trouble with the first few pages, with his basic information and the section about his overall physical health. It almost surprises him how easy it is. He was born in Illinois, in 1987. He has double citizenship. No surgeries. No allergies. His eyesight is perfect.

And then they ask him if he has any mental illnesses.

It's like his mind reboots when he reads that, because he wasn't actually expecting it, although he should have. Marc could write a whole essay about how his DID was more of a blessing than a curse, even though he had just recently started to think that way. Steven allowed him a moment of peace when he was unable to function. Sometimes he felt as if his conscience was simply turned off, which was exactly what he needed in those cases. Other times, he was not as far in the headspace and he could actually see and hear through Steven, and even feel his emotions sometimes. Having Steven Grant in his head was a relief. Even for his parents. His mother treated Steven with more attention and affection than she had ever given Marc, even if it was not much. His father was more attentive to him, gentler. More than once Marc had found money in his pockets that his father had given Steven, right after he told Marc he would not give him a single cent.

He felt like a parasite in that house. He was unwanted. He almost would have preferred to live knowing that he was an accident, a broken condom, rather than knowing that he was a wanted child until he wasn't. When Randall was born, Marc had that typical jealousy older siblings have (not like he remembered that, but his mother had reminded him over and over again), and he thought that Randall was their favourite child.

Well, if Randall wasn't their favourite back then, once he died, he sure as hell was.

So he checked the 'no' box next to the question, despite having read the warning at the beginning about lying in the form being a reason to be expelled. He needed out, and the military was one of his last options after the rest didn't work. He knew he would have to pass a psychological test; but he wasn't too concerned about that. If he was able to lie to all the therapists he had ever had, then he sure as hell could lie to some psychiatrist too bored to do their job properly.

He looked at the page, getting lost in the black ink and the white background. He didn't even wonder if he would regret his decision; he knew from the beginning that he would. Not because of the lies, that didn't matter to him, but because of the future he was giving up on.

The university application was abandoned on the board, right next to the papers he was filling up instead. Marc had driven all the way to London Metropolitan University to get them for both of you. He didn't know what degree to choose, but as ironic as it might sound, the idea of teaching young children didn't entirely leave him cold. He thought he might even like it. His other options were philosophy, sociology and archaeology. The last one was more of a Steven thing than his, but given the choice, he preferred studying something Steven liked rather than a degree neither of them were interested in. Besides, if Steven liked the ancient world so much, maybe he would too.

He looked at both piles of papers, painfully aware of the two futures he could unfold. But as much as he wanted the second one, he couldn't afford it. Maybe when he came back from the service. Maybe in another life, if he was killed in action. Who knows.

His ringing phone brought him out of his stupor. It was violent, the way he jumped on the chair and his nerves spiked through the roof. The house had been completely silent until it rang, and he hurried to answer the call before his parents woke up, part of him wondering if something was horribly wrong. It wasn't as if people got plenty of good news at four in the morning. Plus, the only person who had his phone number apart from his parents was you.

A ragged breath was all he could hear on the other end of the line, music playing in the distance and people arguing in the background. He heard a faint sob for a split second, but it was so low that he wondered if he had imagined it.

"Marc?" you asked. "I'm... so sorry," he heard how you slurred the words. "I didn't know who else to call. I didn't know what to do. I'm so-" your voice broke. "...s-sorry I woke you up."

He heard you crying, his heart breaking in his chest and getting nailed like splinters in his lungs. He was standing up a second later.

"Hey, hey," he said, trying to sound calm, although he was the furthest from calm. "Hey, listen to me, okay? Take a breath, calm down, okay? Do it," he waited, listening to the way you breathed in a shaky mouthful of air. "Now tell me what’s wrong."

"I know it's selfish of me to ask..." you started, and he rolled his eyes. "... but I need a lift. I don't have any money on me, and my friends all left."

He cursed under his breath, but before you finished the sentence he was already grabbing his favourite jacket and shoes. He usually slept with an old t-shirt and he didn't mind being seen in his pajama pants either. He took the military application and hid it under the mattress.

"Where are you?"

As he heard you speak, he grabbed the keys to his father's car in the hall. It was in moments like these that he missed Chicago, because he'd have gotten his license way earlier than he did in the UK, which was barely a few months ago, and he'd probably have his own car by now too.

He didn't put his shoes on until he closed the front door behind him. He didn’t want to wake his parents up.

"Don't hang up," he said, holding the flip phone between his cheek and shoulder as he opened the car door. "I'm coming to get you."

There's a fight outside the club when he arrives. He can feel his heartbeat hammering behind his ears, in his wrists when his hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white, in his forehead when the vein there swells. He doesn't even park the car, but simply switches off the engine in front of the main door of the pub. He's sure he has more adrenaline in his veins than blood, and gets out of the car ready to punch his way in and out if he has to.

Then he sees you. In his peripheral vision, you are just a shadow coming out of an alley. In other circumstances, he would gawk at you in that tight black dress, but not now, not when you're shivering and a light drizzle is beginning to fall.

He closes the space between you in a couple of strides, his legs responding before him. His fingers dig into your shoulders as he searches for your gaze, your eyes locked on the dirty pavement beneath your heels. Your arms hugging yourself.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, anxiety pouring from his mouth. And you shake your head, finally looking at him with teary eyes and an unfocused gaze.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He wants to shake your shoulders, to let you know that you're not a burden, that he doesn't mind being there, that it's the least he can do as your friend for swallowing up every single one of his problems. He has always wanted to tell you how much you mean to him, but he can never find the right words.

He insists.

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you're hurt. Did someone touch you?"

"No."

He sighs, relief washing over him.

"How drunk are you?" he says, but he watches as the corners of your lips turn downwards and a black tear stained with mascara falls from one of your eyes. Your gaze is so unfocused, restless, that he wonders if you're even looking at him or behind him. "Hell, you’re wasted."

He’s affirming, not asking. You nod.

He sees a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Marc turns around, practically pushing you behind him. His nerves are on edge because he’s not a fan of the atmosphere the place holds, even if he can no longer hear the screams or the fighting. But when he turns around, there is no threat behind him, just a bouncer with an ID hanging from his neck.

"I need you to move the car, kid," he says. Then, he squints, looking directly at you. His gaze shifts from your face to where Marc's hand is squeezing your wrists behind him. Marc assures him that you are both leaving, but the man is not paying attention. "Do you know this guy?"

Despite the fact that he is the one on the line here, Marc cannot help but feel glad that there's people out there who still care for others.

"He's my boyfriend. He came to pick me up," you say, Marc eyes widen for a split second before he remembers he has to follow your lead, or the man will probably not let you go. Neither of you can risk to have him ask for your ID. After all, you're still seventeen, and as much as your parents have always treated him well, he's not sure what they'd do if they see you in the state you're in.

Luckily, the man lets you go.

"Get in the car, come on," Marc whispers, holding the door open for you as you get in.

He even goes the extra mile, in case the man isn't quite convinced and decides to look back. Marc's upper body looms over you as he gets inside as well, reaching for your seatbelt and securing it around your hips. He's secretly wishing his fingertips brush the fabric of your dress. What he does, instead, is touch your cold thigh with his hand, just over your knee. He hopes you see it as a comforting gesture, but the truth is he just wants to feel you close.

Marc barely registers when your fingers brush the hair out of his face. It's 2006 and he keeps it long, a few inches above his shoulders, but he knows he will have to cut it all off once he gets accepted into the military. You kiss his cheek.

"Thank you."

He feels his heart flutter.

"A-anytime," he mumbles.

Then, he leaves a kiss on your forehead. He's pushing it, a little too much, but when he looks back and the man is looking at the scene, he feels glad he let himself act on his impulses, for once.

Marc's driving. He's been doing it for a couple of minutes now. Although you're not sure how long you've been in that car. It's like there's a dirty window in front of your eyes. You can see, but you're not sure you're really watching or focusing on anything. You close your eyes when the car bounces into a sinkhole, your head lulling to the side when it weighs too much for your neck to hold. You almost moan when your temple hits the cold window.

"Shit," you hear Marc say. His fingers are brushing your leg immediately after. "You didn't faint, did you?"

"No, Marc," you reply, mouth dry and eyes still closed. Your sweaty forehead resting on the window. "I'm just resting my eyes..." you purse your lips, you keep slurring the words. "Where are we going?"

"I was driving to your house," he says. "Not anymore, though. I can't take you home like this."

You're happy with his response because you didn't feel like being alone in your room either. If his parents weren't as strict as they were, you'd even work up the courage to ask him to crash at his house. You told your parents you'd spend the night at your friend Sarah's, but she left the club ages ago, and if they see you at home in the morning they will ask you. You don't know what you're going to say, but you do know they are not going to trust Sarah anymore.

You'd say they will love Marc instead for what he is doing, but that they already do.

"Then, what?"

"This is the plan. We're gonna stop at some store, buy you food," he says. You grimace. "Don't look at me like that, you're gonna eat something because you'll be dying in the morning if you don't. You're gonna drink a bunch of water too. Then I take you home. How does that sound?"

"I guess that's okay."

You don't sound convinced, but he doesn't care.

"Great," he says, still gripping the steering wheel as if he wanted to choke someone. Then, he whispers. "I wasn't asking for permission anyway."

Marc keeps his promise. He parks the car but doesn't wait for you to follow him, so you guess it's okay if you stay there. You don't feel like moving from your seat either, and your feet hurt like hell because of the high heels you were wearing. Marc buys you your favourite snacks and a huge bottle of water. He buys a beer for himself and shares a bag of sour patch, his favourite candy.

While you're eating, he asks how you even got in the club. It's not the first time you drink, he took care of that at eighteen, when he gave you a taste of his beer in the shed in your parent's backyard; but it is your first time in a club. Which makes sense, having in mind you're only seventeen.

You tell him about Sarah. He knows her because he joins your group of friends sometimes. Marc said from the beginning that he didn't like her, but you didn't listen. Her boyfriend is a couple of years older than her, and the two of them wanted to go clubbing with other friends. You were the only one who wasn't legal yet, and being surrounded by people who were older gave you an advantage when it came to not being caught red-handed when you entered the club. It worked, but honestly, you now wish it hadn't.

"Did you already fill out the application papers?"

For a second, he thinks you refer to the military application; but then his muscles relax as he remembers that there's no way you knew about that.

He takes another sip of his beer.

"I'm on it," he responds. "but I got stuck on the choose your degree section."

You respond with words of encouragement that he doesn't hear. He usually doesn't have trouble lying to most people: his parents, teachers, anyone... But it does hurt him to lie to you when he hides the fact that he’s not going to attend university. The words get stuck in his throat before he says them, and he's thankful that you never notice.

Marc forces you to drink half of the water. He also witnesses how your eyes start to focus, how the fog slowly disappears from them and your tears dry. He knows you were only crying because of how drunk you were, he's seen you cry for the silliest things while drunk -and sober-, but he had never seen you this drunk.

Having in mind you almost exclusively drink when he’s present, so he’s been a witness of every time you’ve gotten hammered, to say that he has never seen you this drunk is to say something. For a moment, when he had just picked you up, he thought you'd throw up all over his dad's car.

Marc's distracted while you finish eating. And yet, somehow, he keeps giving you some sour patch when he gets one himself. You take a sip of water, making sure there's nothing in your mouth or teeth. It takes both you and him as a surprise, when the alcohol makes all the ignored feelings impossible to avoid and you call his name. He answers, barely whispering but completely focused on you from one second to the next, and before you can process it, your lips are pressed against his.

Marc has his eyes closed, but doesn't reciprocate.

There's a moment, a single second of pure bliss when it’s over. Marc ravishes in the feeling before absolute dread sets in. The feeling, the good one, is nowhere to be found. It abandoned his body as soon as it arrived. Marc sighs through his quick heartbeat and the trembling of his hands, suddenly aware of what he's always known: he's not made to be loved, he doesn't even think he has that ability.

If there's anything he fears more than losing control, that's loneliness. Marc already suspected that you liked him, but never had the guts to say anything about it. There's a reason why dread is stronger than pleasure, why the bliss vanished so quickly. He knows love and hate are very closely related, he often experiences the former before it eventually fades into the latter. It's happened with almost every person he has ever formed a meaningful relationship with. And that's something he can't risk with you. He just can't.

It's not that he doesn't love you, he does. That he has always known. Just maybe not in the way you need him to. Maybe it is in that way and he's only lying to himself because he can't cope with the idea of his selfish ass yearning for such a kind and loving soul. He could not forgive himself if he corrupted that with his messy ways.

But he can't let himself drown in those fantasies, either. Having his brother's blood on his own hands, there's no way in hell there's a happy ending waiting for him, and the last thing he wants is making you suffer.

"Well..." your voice is the only thing to bring him back from his own personal hell. "There goes my first kiss."

There's a kind of sadness in your voice, the kind that leaves you wounded for life. It's no secret for him that you've always been a hopeless romantic. You love rom-coms, st. valentine's, flowers and chocolate. You were watching Love, Actually when you told him how you wished your first kiss to be. It had nothing to do with his dad's old car, the smell of alcohol in your breath, or Marc's resting bitch face as his brain processes what just happened.

Oh, guilt. His old friend.

"Not like that could be considered a kiss, anyway."

He watched as your eyes filled with unspilled tears. He told himself he was an asshole, but he hadn't even meant it to sound so harsh. It was a fact that he didn't consider a peck on the lips to be a serious thing.

Marc leans forwards, his knee digging on the fabric as he maneuvers his own body so he is kneeling over the seat, his eyes never leaving yours. And then, the sensation of falling into a void, not a single hand for him to hold, nothing he could reach as he fell. Fear, again, stronger than ever. He lunges forward without thinking, knowing that if he hesitates he would never do what he is about to do. And he kisses you.

It’s just a gentle brush at the beginning, little more than a peck. Then his hand landed on your neck, urging you closer. He parted his lips slightly and you followed. It was a dance that he expertly led. His tongue licked yours, gently, slowly, savouring the bittersweet taste of candy. He almost moaned, almost.

It felt like the kiss lasted years, in the best of senses. He'd later wonder how he would ever get over it. Forget it, move on. Truth be told, he wouldn't.

Before separating, his teeth caught your lower lip, pulling gently and sucking on it. A current of pride settled in his chest as he heard you moan. Your nails digging into his arms.

Just like that, it was over.

It took all of his willpower not to kiss you again as he watched you, lips parted and eyes closed as you breathed in shaky breaths. When you finally looked at him, your eyelids slowly opening as if they weighted a ton, your pupils had almost entirely swallowed your irises. If you were someone else, someone he didn't care for as much, he'd have laughed and said some cocky remark. But this was you, and his own heart was beating so fast that when he finally spoke, he had to put a lot of effort into not looking out of breath.

"Now, that's a kiss."

Marc sits properly in the driver's seat again. He starts the engine, his fingers still trembling on the gear lever as he reversed out of the car park. He needs to do something, keep his mind occupied, eyes on the road. Anything so he doesn't look at you and falls into the trap of your lips.

"Seatbelt," he orders.

"Okay."

The seatbelt is merely a distraction. All so he could make sure you were not looking when he pulled at the fabric of his pajama pants. He checks the bulge there isn't visible. It's embarrassing, really. He's half hard in his boxers with just a kiss.

He can't wait for his hormonal teenager years to be over.

"We never talk about this again, okay?"

He's been such a prick, but can't afford to give you any hopes.

"Okay."

He hates himself.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, that's okay," you respond, there's a smile on your face when you look at him. No trace of resentment or hate. "Thank you for being my first, Marc."

He hates himself even more, if that is even possible.

Marc Spector doesn't like breaking his own rules, but when he sets foot in your house after promising himself that he wouldn’t, that's the second time he does in less than an hour, counting the kiss. If he could be completely honest —and that's absolutely a him problem— he would say it out loud. He would praise you for being capable of achieving such a thing.

You ask him to keep you company. His chest still feels sore for your okays and your thank yous, so he says yes despite the threat of your sleeping parents on the first floor.

Before he knows it, he's in your room. He's been there a thousand times before and yet he still surprises himself by looking at everything as if it was his first. He looks at your posters, your notes splashed all over your desk, your pictures nailed to the wall. He takes a moment to admire the photos. Marc sees Sarah's face in some of them and all he wants is to rip them off and tear them to pieces. There's also a picture of him from last year. Marc's holding a guitar despite not knowing how to play a single chord. In his defence, he was just playing around with it.

Marc appears in most pictures. While some of your friends appear and disappear throughout the years, he sees himself in almost every single photo. Some of them are just pictures of him alone. He cannot help but wonder how he didn't see it sooner. It's so painfully clear how much you love him. He doesn't feel deserving of it. In fact, he has never felt deserving of any of your attentions. To this day he still wonders why you chose him as your friend.

"I'm gonna get changed," you announce, and before you can say anything he's already facing the wall.

Once you're done, he encourages you to wash your make-up off while he gets everything ready. Marc is so used to being in your house that he doesn't ask anything as he dives into your wardrobe and gets a thick blanket. The fabric will be an improvised mattress for him, given the fact that he's not supposed to be there and cannot get the couch instead. There's also a cushion. He does not get another blanket because if he does, he'll fall asleep, no doubt. His father leaves for work at seven o'clock. The car needs to be there by then and, if he can get home sooner than that and avoid questions and arguments, that'd be lovely too.

"Marc?" you ask as you come back from the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

He's sitting on your bed, but you're looking at the blanket on the floor.

"I don't plan on staying," he says. "I'm just gonna rest my eyes a little bit until you fall asleep."

He made sure to get the blanket as close to your bed as possible. He wants to make sure you're fast asleep before he leaves.

"You're not sleeping on the floor."

He blinks. He's trying really hard not to think about the alternative. He cannot believe you'd ask him to sleep with you, that's not even a possibility in his mind. He wonders if you're still drunk enough to make such a proposition.

He'd love to argue, but this is your house and if you don't want him messing around with your things, he won't. He's not used to sleeping on other people's houses. Hell, he's not used to be in other people's houses. And he's always been extremely respectful when it comes to your living space, your parents and their rules (or lack of them, if Marc compares your rules with his rules). That's why he says nothing as he puts the cushion back in the wardrobe.

"No resting my eyes then," he says, his lips pursed trying to hide his discontentment. At least, it's Sunday. He will get some sleep when he gets home. He kneels, about to start folding the blanket again.

"Marc, you can get on the bed with me."

He chuckles.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Why?" you ask him. Your face is full of amusement as he watches you wide-eyed. "Can't two people get into the same bed without having sex? You're my best friend, I thought we were past that."

There's a stupid grin on his face when you finish the sentence. Your best friend. It sounds good, even better when referring to him. He always knew you were his best friend, but he was never sure about that feeling being reciprocated. He would lie if he said he didn't feel self-conscious when you talked and hung out with other people, but he never acts on his feelings because he knows it's a fucked up thing to say, think and do. Marc always knew you were his friend, but the way in which you said best friend leaves him feeling butterflies all over his body.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

He refers to the proposition of sharing the bed. He doesn't have the strength to keep pushing you away tonight.

"Why? Are you planning on touching me, Spector?"

He's trying really hard not to fall for those bedroom eyes of yours.

"Nineteen," he says, pointing out at himself. Then, he points at you. "Seventeen. Don't wanna go to jail yet."

There's only one thing on his mind as he says that. The age of consent in the UK is sixteen yers old. But he will not do it. Not only because he doesn't want to, he just can't. He was trembling just from you pecking his lips. He'd probably faint if you kissed him again now. Not like he'd ever admit that.

"Just give it a few more months," you respond.

"Think I'm gonna stay on the floor," he finally says, kneeling on the blanket and turning his back to you when he lies down. "Good night."

"Marc..." you chuckle. "I was kidding. Get on the bed, come on."

He knows you were. At least, that's what he chooses to think. He wasn't kidding, though.

"No."

"Okay, then."

There's a brief moment of peace in which he thinks you will listen to him and just go to bed, but he should know you better than that by now. Next thing he knows, you're cuddling up with him, hugging him from behind as he becomes the little spoon. All his muscles become impossibly stiff as he feels your warm touch on his naked arms.

He feels powerless. His heart is aggressively hammering in his chest, and his worst fear right now apart from losing control is that you might hear how his body reacts to yours.

"Get on the damn bed,” he groans, shifting his arms gently, away from your touch.

"No."

He snorts.

"Okay, okay, fuck," he finally gives in. "I don't see the fucking point of sleeping on the floor if no one's taking the bed."

He tries to ignore your giggles as both of you get on the bed and under the covers. You're now facing the ceiling, while he keeps looking at your face. His hand grips your shoulder as he encourages you to face him. Your body moves slowly, turning until you finally catch his attentive gaze on your features.

"Never sleep on your back when you've been drinking," he says, although he's probably exaggerating a little bit, but one is never sure. He doesn't want anything bad happening to you. "you could choke if you throw up during the night."

You whisper back. "Okay."

Marc crosses his arms, trying not to fall asleep as he watches you, but also because he feels that’s the only way he can keep his hands to himself. Your body's warm against his, despite the minimal contact both of you share. Your pillow smells of you. He could get drunk on it. Marc's only wish is that you fall asleep soon, before either his willpower or his desire to sleep falters and he ends up doing something that he might regret.

"Sleep now," he whispers, then yawns. You do too. "Come on..."

It's not difficult to fall asleep while looking into Marc's chocolate eyes, the warmth of him right next to you. You smile, unaware of how terrible the next months will be, once the two of you get to Brighton and he confesses his plans for the future, once he leaves and never comes back.

When you wake up, he has already left.

That night you dream of bittersweet kisses and cars taking you home.

Marc had no idea why all of those memories were torturing him now.

Steven almost fucked everything up, almost got the two of them killed tonight, but Marc was smarter than blaming it all on Steven. In fact, he wasn't blaming Steven at all. He should've followed your advice and talked to him before something like a jackal attacking them happened. But he never listens, does he? No, he has to hit rock bottom at least twice, before he even considers it.

It was a close call. But if he's absolutely honest, Marc never thought his fronting problem would go as far as not being able to front even in life or death situations. Marc didn't think about God much these days —except the one god of the moon that permanently called him ungrateful in his mind, that is— but he did thank his God, the one he's always believed in, that Steven had been lucid enough through the panic attack to let him front.

Of course, he had to get alcohol after that.

He went directly for the beer. He's been drinking too much whiskey lately, and even if he didn't care what happened to him, he hated having to witness Steven taking care of a body Marc was slowly but surely getting rid of. That's how he ended up looking at the beer cans on the fridge, in a store just in front of the museum. But once he had in his hands the cheapest brand of beer he could find, he remembered that it was the same beer he had you try when he turned eighteen. You hated that specific brand of beer, hated it with a passion.

Marc remembered then you were in Steven's flat, waiting for your beloved ex-boyfriend to come back home. One thing led to another and now it seemed that Marc was reliving each and every single one of his core memories with you.

All because of a fucking can of beer.

"Are you gonna get the beer or not, mate?" a man appeared next to him, complaining because he was taking too long choosing if he wanted it or not. Marc sent him a deadly look, one that forced the man to take a step back and get lost in the crisps aisle.

If he was going home to you, then he might as well get something stronger than beer. He was going to need it, after all the memories he had remembered and his own heart breaking for the millionth time when he compared the happy memories —even the not-so-happy ones, the ones in which he was a complete asshole— to the situation you both found yourselves in.

The one friend, the one person he had always loved, the only one who was always there and the only one who he couldn't risk losing... you. Well, he had already lost her. It took you a while, but you eventually ended up hating him like everyone else did, just like his parents, just like all the friends he had ever had, just like Layla, just like Steven.

Yeah, he definitely needed more than a few cans of beer.

He left the can where he found it and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from a nearby aisle, telling himself that once Harrow got taken care of, he would stop drinking so much. It wasn't until he reached the counter and saw a bag of sour patch, that he decided he was getting one of those too. Marc started drinking before he even set foot outside the store.

You were half asleep when you heard the metallic click of the door lock. It wasn't until Marc got in that you got startled, jumping slightly on your end of the couch —the furthest from where he was standing— and rubbing your eyes to get rid of the remnants of sleep. You weren't one to get sleepy easily in difficult situations, but you hadn't had a proper night's sleep since the night before you broke up with Steven.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said, almost a whisper.

"Marc?"

He was wearing Steven's clothes, but that was the only thing that could lead to confusion. The rest, it was all so indistinctively Marc. His demeanour, the squared shoulders held high, the dark curls brushed back because of his hair-pulling mania, the wrinkle between his eyebrows that Steven never had, that constantly annoyed expression on his face, even the way he walked. The accent, despite being the most obvious difference between the two men, was also the most irrelevant.

"Yeah," he said. He walked in, carrying a plastic bag and little more than a three-quarter full bottle of whiskey. "Not who you were expecting, I know. I'm not gonna bother you much. I'll just eat something and put Steven to sleep."

The way in which he talked, pure misery pouring from his lips, made you nauseous. You had heard that tone a few times before, but never strictly linked to you as a person. All you wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and ask him how was it possible that, after so many years of friendship, a friendship that had survived the distance and the traumas and the heartbreak, how could it possibly end like this. How could he talk to you as if you were a stranger, how the two of you could be at square one once again, not knowing how to talk to each other or what to say. At the end of the day, it had been walking on eggshells that was killing the both of you.

You didn't know what to say, so you followed him to the kitchen.

"I ordered Indian take-out," you told him as he opened the fridge looking for something to eat. "I was expecting Steven so it's vegan food, but you can have it if you want."

He took the container out, inspecting it, and held it in front of you as he locked his eyes on yours.

"Is it poisoned?"

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly.

"No, I forgot to poison it, but you should totally remind me next time."

He smiled too, a little smile that barely reached his eyes. He got the food into a plate and tried it before deciding that it was, in fact, too cold to be edible. Then, he pointed at the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table.

"Do I pour you some?"

"Sure," you answered, taking a seat. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and served you some whiskey just before he grabbed his plate, and you took a sip and said. "Maybe I should do that, having in mind your history of burning the popcorn."

"It was actually you who almost burned the house down every damn time."

And as he said that, he was putting his plate of food, fork included, in the microwave.

"Marc!" you shouted, rushing to his side and almost smacking his hand when he tried to turn it on. You opened the microwave, got the fork out. "You can't put metal in the microwave, you idiot," you said, chuckling just a second later. "So I was the one to almost burn my house down, right?"

Marc crossed his arms over his broad chest, leaned back against the counter.

"You got me distracted."

"Yeah, it's always my fault somehow, isn't it?"

The flat fell into a strangely comfortable silence. Marc didn't respond as he kept giving large gulps of the bottle of whiskey, until you finally reached for a glass and served him some. Not because you were disgusted at the sight of him drinking straight from the bottle, but rather because, seeing the state he was in, you wanted to at least keep track of how much he was drinking, which already seemed to be a lot.

"I already bought another coffee table for Steven," he responded so casually while he ate, now sitting on the kitchen table, right in front of you. "He was the one to clean the couch, though."

"I'm so sorry about that," you responded, a blush quickly settling on your face. "I'm sorry about all of it, actually."

Marc swallowed and cleaned his mouth with a napkin before responding.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"That's not true, Marc," you said.

It had always angered you the way he always let you get away with anything and everything, the way he never stood up for himself when it came to you and things that were really important. Some stranger on the street telling him to fuck off? Hell, he was already snapping back before the other man even finished. But when it came to friends that betrayed him or you accidentally saying something that really hurt him. Well, he always went silent. Marc Spector was a walking contradiction. He was too much of a fuckboy with any girl that showed interest in him, but with the one he truly loved… Oh, that's a different story.

You wanted to say that you were sorry for all you said. You wanted him to clarify what had happened the day Layla's dad died, because you hadn't given him the chance to explain himself. He got shot, you had just experienced how frightening it was to have a gun pointing at you, and you could not even begin to imagine how hard it had all been for him. Maybe some part of you wanted to defend him, give him the chance to say why he did it, or even tell you he didn't do it. You just wanted to have an excuse, to find out Marc was still the same good man you had once admired.

He talked first.

"I-..." he started. His hand flew to his face, he brushed the skin over his mouth with his palm, an almost nervous tick that he used to give himself the courage to say something. "I am sorry," he said. "I don't even have the words to express how much I regret putting you in the middle of everything. I know why you're here. I know about Harrow. And I'm sorry for what happened. With me, with Steven," he said. He took another mouthful of alcohol as if he needed it to breathe. He was actually choking with his own words. "I'm really sorry for what happened the other night. I'm not sorry about what I said, though. I'm not sorry for falling for you," he breathed in, brought the glass to his lips again. "I will never be sorry for that. I don't care how selfish it might sound."

One of your fingers touched the rim of the glass, not allowing him to bring it to his lips. When he stopped, you took it in your hand and left it aside.

"Was that so hard to do?" you asked him. "We could have saved ourselves so much trouble if you had said that earlier. Because you already knew how I felt, didn't you?"

"Of course."

"Since when?"

"I always knew," he responded. His eyes didn't look at you when he next spoke. "Do you really think I would have worked up the courage to kiss you that night if I thought there was the slightest possibility that you might reject me?

You shook your head and brought your own hand to your eyes.

"You fucker," you whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "You made me suffer so much, all these years..."

"Believe me, you weren't alone in that," he said. "I didn't even know what I was feeling, not until I understood the meaning of wanting to be with someone. Ironically, it was Layla's aunt who made me wake up. It's ridiculous, I know, but the lady just said the right words at the wrong time and then I knew, but it was too late. And by then you had suffered enough and I had just gotten married, so I decided that letting you go was the best for both of us."

"You could've talked to me, at least."

He shook his head.

"I've never been one to talk things through," he said. "I've always been better at hiding or running away."

"And you did both."

He looked at you in the eyes, for the first time in a few minutes. Marc pursed his lips, just then realizing that it was true. He had hidden his feelings for the longest time, even from himself. When his relationship with his parents became impossible, and what he felt for you was so confusing that he could barely talk to you before he left, he fled under the pretext of his military service. He hid his feelings, then he ran away.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I did."

After a few minutes, once he was finished eating and pushed the plate out of the way, he spoke again.

"I can see why you prefer Steven. I don’t blame you for that."

You couldn't help but laugh, it erupted from the back of your throat, started small and only grew as Marc's confused stare kept getting more intense.

"What?"

"Steven said the same thing earlier about you," you drew circles with your index finger, over the rim of your own glass. "You two are so different, and so exactly the same sometimes." When he didn't say anything, you explained the situation. "He found your phone and asked me what I knew. I couldn't just keep quiet, he thought you were blackmailing me."

Marc just nodded.

"Marc...," you played with your own fingers over the table. "when you told me you worked for your old commander officer, I thought you had stopped after what happened with Layla's dad..."

"I didn't kill him," he said, his eyes suddenly wide, looking at you with such an intensity and fear that it was impossible not to believe him. "I know that's what you think, but I swear to God I didn't."

You held his nervous gaze, finding no trace of lying on his words. And he visibly relaxed under your watchful eye when you caught his fingers in yours, gently caressing them.

"So you didn't kill anyone," you said, but it was more of a question than a claim. The way he sat in silence before you, made your heart sink to the ground. "Did you?"

He wetted his lips, seemingly thinking twice about what he was about to answer.

"Not because I wanted to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Marc made a gesture, his touch slipping away from yours. He tried to reach his almost empty glass of Jack Daniels, but you got it out of the way.

"Marc," your voice sounded desperate. You couldn't believe you had just talked and fixed so much just for him to keep lying to you, hiding things from you. "If you were having money troubles, if you needed help, you could have told me before going to your old commanding officer. He shot you, and now you're back at stealing things for him... and, and- now Steven and I, and Harrow..."

Your voice broke, your mind was rushing so much you had no idea what you were saying, or if it even made sense.

"Hey, hey," he said, grabbing your hands in his, drawing comforting circles over your palms with his thumbs. "Calm down, okay? What are you talking about?"

You took a shaky breath, your unspilled tears making it difficult for you to keep looking at him. The image around you distorted.

"Are you not working for him?"

"For Bushman?" he asked, he grimaced as if the idea repeled him. "Of course not."

You furrowned, a perfect question mark drawn on your features.

"They told me you stole something from them," you whispered, as if they were there to hear you. “I thought you had stolen it for Bushman. Why else would you steal?”

Marc almost instantly regretted denying your words. It was probably easier to explain that he still worked for Bushman, that he stole relics and ancient artefacts for a living, rather than going into details about how he was resurrected by an ancient Egyptian god of the moon who tasked him with killing and stealing from all sorts of people.

"That's what you kept talking about," you said. "Wasn't it? When you said you'd explain it all to me when it was all sorted, when everything was over."

He silently cursed himself, now that you had seen the recognition in his eyes, you wouldn't stop until you got the truth. He sighed, letting your hands go and pulling his hair back, his fingers getting knotted in his own messy curls.

"I told you," he tried to reason with you, tried to get out of trouble without explaining a single thing. But you were so dangerously close to the truth, and he could not risk that either. "I told you, I promised I'd told you everything once it was over. It's obviously not still over, is it?" he said, a pleading look into his eyes. "So please, it's not time yet."

"It's not time?!" you almost shouted. Your hands slammed on the table. "They almost got the three of us killed, Marc! I think it's very much time."

The tip of his tongue wetted his lip just to bite his lower lip later, a desperate look in his eyes. This time, he did reach for the whiskey and swallowed the entire contents of the glass as if it were water.

"This is what you kept talking about, isn’t it?" you tried again, hoping that he would finally snap out of it. While you talked, he rose up from his chair and walked a few steps, brushing his hair back, until he finally turned around and shouted.

"Yes! Yes, it is!" he said. "And frankly, (y/n), the less you know the better."

"You're just so impossible, Marc," you responded, shaking your head. "Can't you see? We already played that game! And look where it got us!”

He took ragged breaths, his chest repeatedly rising and falling as if he had run a marathon.

"I don't care about your fucking opinion!" he raised a hand in front of him, considering the matter closed. "If you dont trust me that its better this way, I don't care. I'm not telling you shit this time.”

His words shook you to your core. Would it be possible that Marc had closed off again because of what happened the first time, when he told you everything that happened in the tomb? Was he still mad at you for telling him he should feel guilty?

"I- I know I hurt you Marc, but I said sorry- I thought..."

"It's not about that," he said. "You could not say a thing that kept me away from you, or made me hate you, or whatever. It's not about that," he sighed, now leaning against the kitchen counter. "Listen, this is heavy shit. This is a world I don't wanna drag you into. I tried very hard to keep both you and Steven safe and very far away from it, I did.

"This is the kind of thing people will torture you for if they think you have information about it. I cannot let that happen. They won't touch you, I swear, but you have to do as I say and not ask questions. Then you’ll never see me again, I promise, and you’ll have Steven and both of you will live the rest of your lives happily ever after and pretend I never existed. That’s what you want, that’s what he wants. Your wish is my command. Now, do we have a deal?"

You could not believe the tone in which he spoke to you, nor the words that came from his mouth.

"That's..." you whispered, taking a step back. "That's what you think I want, to get rid of you?"

Marc bit his cheek.

"Is not?"

"Of course not," you responded. "I want you with me."

He shifted his gaze, now looking at the tiles under his shoes.

"More than you want Steven?" he asked, you didn't respond. He pursed his mouth into a thin line just as his lower lip started trembling, shivers taking over his body. "That's what I thought."

Marc closed his eyes shut, biting his lip trying not to spill the tears piling up behind his eyelids. It was fair, really. He wasn't crying because he wanted to, but because even though he understood, it still hurt. He could only compare it to when he hit some furniture by accident. He was okay, he didn't have anything broken, he wasn't bleeding; but the damn thing still hurt like a bitch. It was exactly the same thing. He was okay with your decision, he understood it, maybe even more than you yourself did, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

You walked up to him, quickly getting your arms around his form. Soon his tears were flowing, his tired and weak body falling forwards as you caught him in your arms.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, burying his face into your neck. "...for everything. I'm sorry. If I could take all the pain I've caused you, I'd gladly do it."

You grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to get him away from you, just a few inches so you could look at him. You cupped his cheek, wiped away his tears with your thumbs.

"Marc," you said. "I love both of you, the exact same amount. The only thing keeping the three of us apart is the lies, the confusion, all the pain we've inflicted upon the others. I'm no saint. I lied to Steven, lied to you when I thought you'd turn me down, lied to myself when I convinced myself that I didn't want you anymore. But I do, I always do.

"I'm not just asking you to be honest," you said. "I want to help you, because I know you're too stubborn to ask for help. Even if all I can do is being there for you, I want to do that. Can't you see that I'm trying to forgive you?" you asked. "I'm willing to forget everything, to start over as if you've just arrived in England again, but I can't do that if you're not honest with me."

His glazy eyes widened, a new and restored hope filling them. One final tear fell from one of his eyes.

"Do you understand that?" you asked.

He nodded profusely, biting his lip, his teary, blood-shot eyes never leaving yours.

"Would you do that?" he asked, whispering, his voice the most frightened you'd ever heard him speak. He almost looked like a lost child, like the Marc you'd first met. "Would you have me?"

Now biting your own lower lip, you considered his words. You didn't want to break his heart, not after seeing the spark of hope in them. It had been a long time since you last saw him so alive and full of hope, so hopeful. But the truth was, there was a long list of conditions that'd have to be met in order for the two of you to be together.

"Will you be honest with me?"

He nodded once again, his hands digging into your waist, bringing you close.

"Give me a few days, okay?" he asked, then looked at the disappointment in your face. "Okay, okay, give me a day. Just a day. And I'll tell you everything, I promise."

"Okay," you responded. His forehead rested against yours, the smell of alcohol in his breath didn't allow you to drown in him, in his smell and his warmth, but the closeness still filled you with comfort. "I don't wanna give you false hope, Marc," you said, separating from him. He frowned. "You have to know that I don’t think I could get into a relationship with any of you now. Not if the other doesn’t agree with it. Surely you understand that, don't you?"

He nodded.

"I don't wanna hurt Steven. I can't keep any more lies. I need the two of you..." your voice broke, and you swallowed. "...to be okay."

Marc hugged you, his strong arms securing you tightly against his chest. A few tears fell from your eyes, staining his shirt.

"I don't want to hurt him either," he said, his hand stroked your back, up and down. "There has to be a way to fix this mess. We'll find a way. That, I promise."

It took the both of you a while to recover from the rollercoaster of emotions you had just experienced. At this point, neither of the two knew who was holding who. Both souls felt as shattered as the other, both bodies were just as tired. It had already been late when Marc appeared on the front door, but it had now become an ungodly hour in the morning.

Marc was the first to talk, almost dragging your body to the bedroom.

"Let's get some sleep, c'mon," he whispered over your ear. "Promise I'll get on the bed with you," he said. You smiled, and he mirrored you. "Yeah, I remember. No sleeping on the floor."

It was as if he could read your thoughts. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

A moment of lucidity came over you both just as your bodies hit the mattress, suddenly aware of the fact that you were going to share a bed again, for the second time in your whole lives. Neither of you did as much as getting rid of one piece of clothing. For you, it was your jeans, too uncomfortable to sleep in them. For him, it was his jacket and shirt. You wrapped yourself under the sheets and duvet, and despite doing it yourself, Marc's fingers brushed your shoulder as he secured the sheets over you, just to get his body under them a second later.

Marc found himself lying next to you for the first time since he was nineteen. Everything had changed, neither of you were children anymore, and despite that, he still felt like a helpless teenager when his eyes met yours. His desires weren't childish, either, not anymore. Now what he wanted to do to you went beyond what the flesh could offer.

Everything had changed, yet it all remained the same somehow. You had the same glint on your eyes he had always admired, the same expression even if your face had changed over the years. If he squinted he could still see the little girl he met in secondary school, the first person who befriended him when he had just moved from the states, the only person who dared to stay despite his many flaws.

He wanted to touch you, in a much more frenetic way than he did before. You were not seventeen anymore, neither was he. You're just two grown-ups who don't know how to unleash their feelings because they have bottled them up for so long that they're not sure if it will all explode in their faces once they remove the cap.

He wanted to touch you. You wanted him to touch you. In fact, you were secretly wishing for it, not daring to make a move in case you scared him away. If Marc wanted, he could slide his fingers inside your panties and not only would you allow it, but you'd be waiting for him, so deliciously drenched. He could make you come in his fingers without breaking a sweat or getting rid of one single piece of clothing. He could taste you then, undress you and bury his tongue in your wet folds as you repeatedly clenched and relaxed around him, still massaging your clit so you kept squirming under him.

Then he would whisper how long he's been waiting for that, how many times he had to take care of himself when he couldn't stop imagining your flavour, or the way you'd scream his name, eyes squeezed shut, fists gripping into his sheets as you came. He'd be embarrassed to admit how many times you were the main character of his wet dreams, so he'd keep that to himself. He'd tell you someday, eventually. You'd kiss him. He would kiss you back, put one of your legs above his shoulder, your lower back resting on his thighs as he entered you.

He wanted to. You wanted him to. Your eyes were begging him to ruin you, show you how much he cared. There was nothing to stop him now.

And yet he was still too scared to touch you.

So he closed his eyes under your watchful gaze, rejecting you, and after a while, he drifted off.

Some things never change.

You might have fallen in love first, but Marc fell harder and all at once. On his wedding day, out of all days, and with the person he was not getting married to.

He didn't believe in that feeling back then. He thought that, in the end, all love came to be was another imbalance in the chemicals of the brain, different to the one that had fractured his own mind to create Steven, and very different to the one that pushed him to almost put a bullet in his skull the night he became Moon Knight, but an imbalance nonetheless.

Contrary to all the other beliefs he had, he could proudly say that he himself had put that thought in his brain; no one else. This time there wasn't an abusive mother to blame, or an absent father, or a traumatic experience serving in the military. The thought was all his, his own work. And he was madly proud of it.

Because when he was younger, he craved it. He craved all kinds of love: friends, family... He craved it so much and it was so obvious, that he was terribly embarrassed by all the things he'd done trying to earn it. Because when you're a kid and your needs aren't met, you become an adult way too soon, desperately trying to give what you need to yourself.

Marc had read once, somewhere, that when you're not fed love on a silver spoon; you learn to lick it off knives. He hated the fact that the sentence shook him to his core the way it did, that it felt so intimate and raw, yet so accurate. To this day, he has yet to find a better way to describe his childhood.

After many years of seeking the feeling, begging for it, he got tired in the end, as we all do at some point. When this happens, some people turn to religion and different systems of beliefs, saying things like god will provide, and everything happens for a reason. But he didn't believe there was any other reason beyond the suffering itself, and God sure as hell hadn't provided. So he had nothing, not even a comforting thought. Nothing.

After the third stage of grief: bargaining —trying to make people like him, trying to love her mother so she would love him back—, came depression, but he had been juggling between those three stages —anger, bargaining and depression— for so long that the sadness and emptiness were already there, and so he jumped straight to the fifth, acceptance.

There was not much to accept other than the fact that he was unloveable. He got to the conclusion that he didn't deserve happiness, that he was too different and too broken to fit in. He believed himself to be a piece of glass; someone broke him, and now he couldn't stop hurting people with his sharp edges. But he also believed himself to be a bomb: he had swallowed so much anger trying to be the good kid, that he couldn't stop the imminent explosion falling over the heads of everyone around him.

Then he met you, but he was way too far gone by then.

For some time he thought he loved Layla. She was smart, beautiful, and brave. Layla had wanted Marc from the very first moment she saw him. And it didn't take him long to find out Layla was one of those people that got everything they wanted. Neither did it take him long to find out that what she wanted, was in fact, him. She liked to tease him, even in public. The first time they had sex, Marc wanted her to know they weren’t exclusive, told her he didn't want her to think he was using her either, and she chuckled and said:

"Too bad, because I am using you."

He didn't feel used. In fact, those words only turned him on more.

They had been dating for a year when Layla mentioned something about wanting to get married young. Marc didn't want to, he had never understood those kinds of rituals, he didn't get the point of them. He wanted to wait some more. In fact, he never thought about getting married before. It also didn't feel right to get married to someone he always felt only half-full with, but she insisted and he wanted to make her happy. He let her father die, after all. She deserved all the happiness he could provide.

Now they were getting married, and even then, there was something still missing. He had always wondered why he couldn't fully love Layla. She was wonderful, precious, perfect, they had many things in common. She could have anyone she wanted and she still chose him for some reason.

And he still did not love her.

He felt affection, sure, something along the lines of what he had once felt for his brother Randall before his mother tortured him into resentment, but there was no romance in his relationship with Layla. There was good sex, sure, but no unbridled love, no butterflies in his stomach, no burning in his flesh, no sense of belonging.

And yet there he was, giving his vows surrounded by a crowd of people he didn't know the names of, and the only family, the only home he had ever had. You.

The reception took place at a venue on the outskirts of Cairo, near the banks of the Nile River. It was far enough away from the metropolis for no one to bother them while the music became almost deafening. Once anyone stepped through one of the glass doors into the terrace, decorated with artificial grass to give the feeling of being in an oasis in the middle of the desert, the pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx stood proudly in the distance.

Marc felt sick to his stomach being there. He wanted to get married in England, maybe in Brighton, by the beach; but those desires were never voiced. The tomb of Pharaoh Seti wasn't far, either, and that was yet another reason behind his constant discomfort.

For Marc, it was the place where he had been enslaved by Khonshu. But for Layla, it was just the place where her father died. She said she felt closer to him there, near the pyramids and under the watchful eye of the noseless Great Sphinx of Giza.

Marc could almost feel the judgemental look on the back of his head.

"Oh, Marcus you look lovely today."

Layla's aunt took him by surprise, her hands on the collar of his white shirt brought him back to Earth in an instant. He had to actually put some effort into understanding her accent, but he was thankful because she wasn't speaking Arabic. Although he might have prefered it.

"Don't scare him away, auntie," Layla responded in her language. Marc let out a relieved sigh, one he didn't know he was holding "And for the last time, his name is Marc, not Marcus."

"Surely the name has to come from somewhere, right?" she insisted in Arabic, her voice the most high-pitched he had ever heard. Then she switched to English again. Marc wondered if she didn't know that he spoke Arabic just fine. "Tell me, aren't you excited to share the rest of your life with our Layla? Should we expect children soon?"

The rest of his life? Children? He hadn't thought about that. He just stood there, his eyes wide for a second before he relaxed his featured and looked for an appropriate answer in his brain. He had swallowed the concept of marriage as just signing a paper for so long that he had forgotten what it usually meant: a life together, shared hopes, dreams and goals; in most cases, children.

In the first place, he didn't expect the rest of his life to be much longer; not if he kept serving Khonshu, at least. And children? It's not that he hated children. He actually liked them, but on other people's laps, with other people's DNA and being the responsibility of someone else. If he wasn't going to be a good father, then he didn't want to be a father at all. As long as he served Khonshu, children were not on the table.

He couldn't say those answers out loud, though; especially not to Layla's aunt. He panicked, hands wet with sweat.

"Uhm..."

"We'll see about that," Layla answered, giving him a look of concern. "We just got married, there's time."

Marc felt that presence, those eyes on the back of his head as he nodded, and he turned on his heels hoping to find Khonshu, but it wasn't him. It was the Sphinx again, looking at him.

Then his eyes caught something, a pale pink dress opening the sliding glass door to the terrace and walking outside.

You.

He hadn't stopped looking at you since he picked you up at the airport, and once you had shown up at the ceremony with that dress, he sure as hell couldn't.

One of the reasons why he wanted to get married in England, was that he wasn't so sure about you being able to attend if it happened in Cairo. The thought made him miss a few nights of sleep until your boss finally responded. He couldn't get married to Layla if you weren't there. He needed you, in every big step of his life, the same way you'd always been there before.

He wanted you for the rest of his life; however long that was.

The thought was simple, yet so revealing. It came to him in the most natural way. Accepting it was easy too. It felt like breathing or blinking, something you're not always aware of, but sometimes something happens and there it is, hidden, the only difference was he couldn't consciously stop it.

Perhaps it was more like his beating heart. There, occurring unbeknown to his eyes and mind, yet beating all the same. With you he felt full, he felt free from judgement, he felt a better person. With you, he forgot about the rest of the world.

If that was what love meant —the longing, the feeling of finally being at home, the desire of being alone but together, the comfort, the safety— he knew then, he finally knew, he loved you.

"Marc?" Layla said, pulling him from his elbow. "Shall we go with them?" she gestured to where the rest of the crowd was, but he didn't listen.

He loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you. His mind couldn't let go of that thought, clinging to it as if it was the only thing keeping him sane. He felt himself falling. From where? He didn't know. But the abyss behind his feet looked terrifying. He looked at his hands and he felt small, a little child, a scared child with his hands clean again; no trace of blood. Forgiven.

"Marc..." Layla said, again. Her eyes showed a type of concern that's there only when you truly care for someone. "Marc, you're panting."

He remembered it then. Something so obvious yet so easy to forget; the reason why he, you, and all those people were there, the wedding.

His wedding.

Marc felt how his heart skipped a beat, but tried to keep himself calm, fearing that Steven would make a sudden appearence. For a second, he wished he flatlined. He wished this whole situation was some kind of cruel joke, finding out he loved someone else the day of his wedding; but it wasn't, and his heart kept beating nonetheless. The Earth kept spinning.

He breathed in and out for a second; trying not to freak Layla out.

After a short while, Marc smiled —it was crooked, forced— and took Layla's fingers out of his shoulders. He didn't remember her grabbing him, but her nails were buried in his shirt. It was too late to pretend nothing happened, so he told a half-truth.

"I'm not feeling so good," he said, his voice was barely a broken whisper. "I think it's just the heat. I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, no," he responded, perhaps too quick. "No, I'm fine. I just saw (y/n) outside too. I'll talk to her for a minute. Don't worry."

The sky was full of stars that night. The full moon was surrounded by endless sparkling spots. It was beautiful, not even comparable to the polluted air of London that barely gave a chance at stargazing. You thought it was a pity no one was enjoying the view outside, but you guessed that if you were having a good time, you wouldn't be giving any attention to it either.

There was no way of denying it; being there was one of the most painful things you had endured, and you were also horribly uncomfortable. But all those people were there because they loved Layla, and you had to be there because you loved Marc, even if you didn't know anyone, even if no one spoke a word to you, even if the only people looking at you were nosy relatives.

"Hey."

You almost jumped at the sight of Marc next to you. Instead of apologizing, he leaned on the wall while you scolded him for scaring you. He seemed not to be interested in that, so he crossed his arms over his broad chest and said nothing. He stood there, looking at you, and when your eyes looked for the night sky again, so did his.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long," he said.

You turned your head towards him. Marc squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, as if it was a pain reflex. He took a breath, held it.

"What's wrong?"

"Uhm?"

"I know that face, what's wrong?"

He froze. You witnessed how his mind became a blank canvas, devoid of any kind of thinking. His dark eyes became even darker if that was possible. Marc, from his perspective, felt his body failing him. Not a single logical thought crossed his mind, except for the fact that you were waiting for an answer.

He had tried to bury his feelings, which usually worked with most people. You had seen through it, though. Marc didn't want to scare you, didn't mean to worry you; but you had unmasked that veil of arrogance he wore everywhere and he felt naked, exposed.

"Marc..." you muttered, the words almost didn't reach his ears. "Why are you crying?"

He felt a single tear falling from his eye. His pupils looked at you as if he was a startled animal. His relaxed posture —part of that mask of arrogance— vanished from his body language. Thankfully, no more tears followed. Thank god.

He shook his head, then wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue. He said the only thing that came to his mind, the only reasonable thing, at least.

"Everyone cries at weddings," he said; but you didn't look convinced. He'd have to try harder. "I'm fine. Really, I am. I'm just happy and very tired."

You nodded, but he saw in your eyes that he could not fool you.

"What happened to your date?" he asked. That was actually one of the questions he had wanted to make you. Not that he wanted you to come here with someone else, but all invitations were double. "You didn't use your plus-one. I thought you'd bring your boyfriend, what was his name?"

You shook your head. Now that was unbelievable, the fact that you were in your best friend's wedding and he didn't even know the name of your last ex.

"I don't know, you tell me."

It worked, he successfully changed the subject.

"Was it... Kyle?"

"Not even close. James, actually" you said.

"What happened to James, then?"

Up to that point, Marc had never given much thought to the people you were dating or sleeping with. He'd always get a bit uncomfortable at first, yes, especially on those rare occasions when said men wanted to meet Marc for some reason. He sometimes got jealous, but never acted on his feelings because he knew it was not his place. Plus, he had always thought that all that jealousy had more to do with the fact that he felt protective of you, that he was scared of losing his only friend, rather than the fact that he loved you. It never occurred to him before, such a wild idea. He'd known you his whole adult life and half of the rest, for so long, and he had never suspected anything.

You pursed your lips, a look of disappointment on your face; but no trace of sadness.

"Oh you know, I blew him once or twice," you said, almost laughing at the thought. "...and for some reason he thought he owned me after that, so I told him to fuck off."

Marc couldn't help but laugh. It was a relieved laugh, almost sounded like that too. And when it died out, he said:

"That's my girl."

It made you blush. Marc saw the pink on your cheeks and felt the urge to kiss them. He had never been very affectionate. In fact, Layla used to mock him saying he was one of the most frigid people she had ever met, except in bed, of course. He didn't consider himself to be a cold person, you'd never complained about that.

"I'm so happy for you," you said. "You have a lovely wife. I might soon be an auntie, right? I don't know. You've found your other half. I'm happy for you."

But Marc saw through your mask too, the same way you watched through his. Your words didn't match the tone of your voice, that trembling whisper falling from your red-tinted lips. Your smile was a sad one, deprived of all joy, of every good sentiment, lacking all that makes a smile something pleasant. It made him uncomfortable, the sight of you being miserable, hiding from him.

"Why do you sound so sad, then?" he asked.

Except he thought he already knew the answer.

"I don't know," you shook your head, an absent stare on your face. "I guess I'm scared of losing you now that you don't need me."

His heart sank, he could feel it dead and bloody at his feet. He felt many times that sour feeling, the same one that you had now. You didn't deserve that kind of pain, and he wondered, with awful terror, if he did something cause it.

"Don't say that," he responded. "I will always need you."

"You won't say that when you're changing nappies."

He gave a long, discontented sigh, rolling his eyes. He bit on his lower lip.

"Why is everyone so obsessed with us having kids?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else's ears. Then his eyes locked on you, his fingers gently brushed yours before taking them into his grip. "Listen, I will always need you. I'm not just saying that. I mean it, I really do."

Once again, that blush on your face. He wondered at the sight, just as you looked away.

Marc was having none of that. He wouldn't deprive himself of the pleasure of looking at you. Never again. If he couldn't do anything else, at least he would look, just look. That was something a married man could do without consequences, something that you'd allow, at least. The pad of his fingers barely touched your chin as he forced you to look at him again.

"I hope you're enjoying and marking my words, 'cause I won't be saying them ever again."

That made a laugh tore from your throat.

"Things don't have to change," he said, releasing you from his touch as he turned back to observe the moon. "I'm not dying. I'm not going to vanish into thin air," he said. "you're my best friend, and you know I love you, right?"

His head tilted to the side, closer to your own lips. There were mere inches between the both of you, and he could feel your breathing and smell your scent. It made him dizzy, so much so, that the desert started spinning around him. Terrified, he took a glimpse of your parted lips. He was too close.

For a horrible, awful, second, he thought he'd kiss you.

For a horrible, awful, second, you thought you'd let him.

Gathering all his willpower and strength, he stepped back, blinking and staring as if nothing had happened. Those were the only good news, nothing had happened, he had not caused a scene at his own wedding. Although he couldn't care less about what all those people thought about him.

It was at that moment that he knew it was too late. He'd have to live for the rest of his life with yet another thing to feel guilt for.

"I know," you finally said. "I love you too, Marc."

The words slipped out of his mouth. "You'll always have me. You're my only friend."

"You know I don't like it when you say that."

"But it's true," he insisted. He needed to say it, to let you know what he felt before the weight of everything crushed him down. He wouldn't be able to say it again after that, so he thought he'd enjoy it, savour it on his lips. "It's true, you're my best friend, the only one I've ever had, the only one I've ever needed. I love you, and I will always need you."

Despite his words, the whole scene felt like a farewell.

He squeezed his eyes shut once more, cursing all the Egyptian gods he knew the names of; specially Khonshu. If fate existed, he also cursed that, wondering why his destiny was so ironic and cruel, why the universe enjoyed seeing him suffer so much.

He was actually kidding, though. He didn't believe himself to be so important to have a designated path, or have gods pointing and laughing at him.

In the middle of his internal rambling, he heard a faint whimper. It broke his heart because it came from you.

"Why are you crying?"

You shook his head and wiped your tears. Then, another smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

"Oh you said it yourself," you responded, putting the cherry on top with a smile. "Everyone cries at weddings."

You left the flat in the middle of the night, before Steven could wake up next to you and everything became even more complicated than it already was.

Steven didn't call you in the morning, although he was on the verge of doing so when he thought that everything that had happened the day before was just another one of his nightmares, albeit a horrible one. If just he wouldn't have waited until he got to the museum, and checked that everything was, in fact, not another one of his nightmares, you could have talked to him for the very last time.

Instead, once he witnessed the mess the jackal had caused in the toilets and how Marc had saved both their lives; he decided that it was enough. Steven didn't know if you were aware of the supernatural that surrounded the life of your life-long best friend. In fact, there was still many things he didn't know about, but if he was sure about one thing, that was that he didn't want to put you in any more danger. Wether you knew everything about Marc or not —and he didn't trust Marc for one single second, so he doubted it— he wouldn't be the one to risk it.

Marc was ready to step in if Steven tried to go to you for answers. He didn't have the need to, though. And that was the first time in a while that Marc really felt connected to Steven. That maybe, somehow, they could talk things through and become something more than two strangers who fought for the body.

Steven, in turn, decided to seek the answers himself.

"Khonshu?" he asked, looking at his own reflection in the metal wall, but the man in front of him didn't look as incredulous as Steven was sure he looked. "The Egyptian god of the moon?" he turned around. "Oh my god, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

And it was, in fact, stupid. But as ridiculous as it might sound, a very low voice in the back of his brain told him that it did make sense.

"Is that rubbish what you told her?"

In other circumstances, Marc would have laughed it off, said something other than the truth; but right now he was forced to explain everything to Steven in the hopes that he would stop interfering in his matters with Khonshu. The sooner everything was over with, the sooner he could come back to you and fix that horrible love-hate triangle that had been summoned around the three of them.

"No," Marc said. "I wouldn't drag her into this. She doesn't know," he said. "Listen, I can't have you interfering in what I have left to do. For both our own sake and hers. So this is what you're gonna do. You're gonna lay in that cot there, and take a nice nap-"

"Sleep?" Steven could have hit his own reflection if he didn't know that all he would get in turn was a broken hand. "I'm never gonna go to sleep again!"

That was the moment Marc knew they had a long way to go.

The sensation became almost unbearable after Marc got rid of the second jackal, when Steven blamed him for eating parts of his life like a parasite, for making him lose his job, killing his goldfish, turning his life into a living nightmare, and taking away the only person he had ever loved. Little did Steven know that Marc believed it to be all the other way around. After all, Steven had gotten everything he always craved but never had: loving parents, an easy life, and the woman he had always felt undeserving of.

Hours passed, and the more you waited for a call the more obvious it was that Marc had lied to you, again. Calling him would mean to risk your relationship with Steven further into the grave now that he had Marc's phone, and calling Steven would, without a doubt, also end in disaster having in mind that you had run away from his flat. With those odds, your hands were tied. In a desperate attempt not to hurt either of them, nor to exacerbate the hatred Steven now felt for you, you were inflicting worse pain onto yourself.

Eventually, after endless hours of turning your phone on and off and walking back and forth the whole length of your flat, you couldn't take it anymore. Baby steps, you thought. You asked yourself what could be the smallest step towards easing that feeling of uselessness, what it was in your power to fix, and that's how you ended up surfing through teacher job offers. Because ironically, that was easier than thinking about Steven hating you for life or Marc lying to you and putting himself willingly in danger for whatever his reasons were.

And yet, once day gave way to night, a strange sensation settled in your chest, too overwhelming to ignore. A few minutes later you were taking the tube on the way to Steven's flat. And it wasn't until you left the underground, finally a few minutes from the flat, that you saw that Marc had called you four times.

"Where are you?" It's the first thing he said. "I need to talk to you."

"You sure do. Give me a literal minute and I'm on your doorstep."

Silence filled the line for a second before he agreed, not exactly comfortable with your angry tone. Marc sighed, tired of fighting, and the words slipped out of his mouth.

"I love you."

You hung up and walked faster. Something had to go terribly wrong.

"Oh my god, Marc."

He opened the first time you knocked on his front door, although hit might have been a more appropriate word. You heard him hiss under his breath once the door was half-open, and you couldn't help but push it all the way back into its hinges. Even under the dim orange light of Steven's flat, you could see the crimson on his knuckles. Blood pouring from the open wound, staining the door knob, Steven's colorful shirt and the floor as it flowed in large red rivers.

"What the hell did you do?" you asked him, taking his arms tightly into your hands, avoiding the blood. He, on the other hand, brushed the skin of your forearms with the pad of his fingers, leaving blood-stained fingerprints. A look of pure longing in his eyes, ignoring his wounds as if he had barely a paper cut.

"I have to talk to you," he said, almost in a dazed state. When you insisted, shaking his shoulders and looking for answers, asking him if he was hurt anywhere else, he shook his head. "No, no. I just came here and had to break all the mirrors. Steven was giving me a hell of a headache."

"I'm gonna grab the-"

"No," he pulled your arm as you tried to leave. "It's fine, really. This is perfect."

You were beginning to doubt his sanity.

You squinted in his direction, looking into his brown eyes for answers. There was a time in which you were capable of almost reading his mind, know exactly what went through his brain, his emotions. That was not the case anymore.

"Please," he said with pleading eyes, his fingers digging into your flesh. Marc got closer, his nose almost brushing yours. "Please, trust me."

And you nodded, because what else could you do.

Marc gently kicked the door shut, barely pushing it with the heel of his shoe. He guided you to the kitchen, the place in which all your fighting and making up seemed to happen lately, the now designated place for ruining and fixing and ruining again your relationship with the two of them. You shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold.

"Did you speak to him?"

"Yeah," then, he regretted his own words. "Well, not like speaking. More like screaming at me and telling me to fuck off. But you know the deal."

With your lips parted, an incredulous expression on your face, you almost facepalmed. Anxiety boiling just under your flesh.

"Oh, Marc... please, tell me you're having a laugh."

He shook his head.

"He became co-conscious earlier. Told me I was a parasite, kept being a fucking asshole, so I had to smash every single mirror here, just for him to vanish now," he said. His hand flew to his face, trying to soothe his own nerves, but he stopped it midway. "He can't hear us now. I know you wanted to talk to him, but it will have to wait. I can't give him the body now, or he won't give it back, and there's one last thing I have to do."

You couldn't stop thinking about his bloody knuckles.

"Marc," you talked with the gentlest tone you could harbor. He was anxious, restless, you didn't want to scare him further. "Marc, baby, listen. You're bleeding. Let me take care of you."

He had a blood stain on his cheek that made him look even more animalistic, deranged, than his messy hair and mud-stained clothes already made him look.

"That's the thing. I thought I could take care of myself," he said. His hands gripped the backrest of one of the chairs, right in front of you, as you stood next to the kitchen table. "Turns out I've never been able to do that. There's always someone looking after me. In my worst days, it was always you. And when something like this happens, now," he lifted his hands in the air. "Is Khonshu."

You frowned, not knowing what to say or what he meant, and he went on.

"You wanted me to be honest," he said. "I can promise you, this is the last thing I'll ever keep from you. I have no more secrets. I'm all yours from now on."

You blinked profusely, not knowing if you could trust him.

"No more lies?" you asked. The same hope in your voice you had heard in his a day earlier. "No more lies from now on? Can you promise me that?"

"I can," he said. "and I do. But you have to promise me you won't freak out, and won't put yourself in danger. Okay?" you nodded, and he insisted, walking closer. "I wanna hear you say it."

"I promise you Marc," you said. "I promise I won't put myself in danger," you repeated his words. Once he was mere inches from you, your fingers traced the line of buttons on his shirt. Something beyond reason urging you to slide your fingers under the hem of his shirt, but you didn't listen. "and I promise there's not one single thing you could say or do that could keep me away."

A little smile appeared on his face. Then, he left a peck of his lips in your forehead. He stepped back, away from you, and even if you wanted to follow him you didn't.

He stretched his arms on either side of his body and then you saw it. You saw the bandages rising from somewhere on his back, and quickly wrapping around his whole body, the hood forming over his curls until they weren't visible anymore, the cloak falling behind his back. His eyes began to glow, two bright moons growing into full moons and then covering his whole corneas. Everything in the flat seemed to be either broken or stained with blood; but not him. The suit was pristine white and gold. There were hieroglyphs written in black ink all over it.

There was something mystical, ancient and out-of-this-world in the air. You could feel it, magic blooming around you, in every single atom that surrounded you. And even if you didn't understand it, how that was even possible, you accepted it, because it was your Marc the one who wore it, the person under the suit.

Both the cloak and the bandages on his face disappeared in the blink of an eye. And Marc appeared underneath, now without a trace of blood on his face, as handsome as he had always been. He walked a hesitant step in your direction and you hit the table behind you when you backed off.

It wasn't as if you were scared of him, you never could. It was the fact that your mind could barely process how intimidating, and majestic he looked. You were having serious trouble with keeping your thoughts on track. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, the muscles in his thighs too. He even looked taller, if that was even possible.

"It's me," he said, his open palms, covered by the bandages, stretched out in your direction. "You don't have to be scared. It's still me."

"I know," you said, your voice low. "I know."

Marc walked his way back to you, as he always did. His covered fingers touched your hands, stained with his blood, but even then, the suit didn't get stained. You brought your hand to his chest, to the piece covering it, your fingers traced the golden moon there, and you swore you would've gotten an ugly cut if Marc had allowed you to reach the pointed edge of the half-crescent moon.

"When I got shot in Egypt last time," he started. "when Layla's father died, Khonshu, the god of the moon, gave me a chance to live," he said. "He exchanged my life for my servitude. I owe him. Neither Steven nor I would be alive today if it weren't for him," he waited, trying to find some kind of recognition in your eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

You frowned, looking at him but still speechless. You said the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you an Avenger?"

That made him laugh, but he simply shook his head, a wide grin still lingering on his lips.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Giving a hesitant touch, both your hands gently brushed his biceps covered by the suit. The fabric was strangely soft, but it was secured, attached to the body like a second skin. There was not one single thread out of place, and when you tried to pull from one end of the bandages, tried to find his own clothes or skin, you only found more cloth underneath.

When you looked into Marc's eyes again, he had a cheeky expression on his face. His eyes weren't glowing anymore, but they had a glint in them that was so characteristically Marc's.

"I think you like it a bit too much," he said.

"Oh," you chuckled, "I do."

Your fingertips caressed the fabric, travelling upwards until they reached the hem of the suit in his neck. Marc held his breath as your cool fingers made contact with his warm skin. He took your hand and pulled it away, placing it on his chest, close to his heart. He stepped forward, even if you thought it wasn't possible for him to be closer, cornering you against the table. One of his knees was now between yours.

"I meant it," he said, the most honest expression you had ever seen on his face. "...when I said I didn't want to hide anything from you anymore. That's why I'm here, telling you this. I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Cairo-"

"What?"

"I have to. Harrow has the scarab, he's trying to unleash ancient powers he won't be able to control," his hand cupped your cheek. "I have to stop him. If this goes right, it will be my last mission for Khonshu. It it goes wrong... well, the whole world's fucked."

You shook your head.

"No," you bit your own lip, anxiety blooming on your pupils. "How- how is any of that your responsibility, Marc? That's- that's madness."

"Shh..." he shushed you, his arms holding you tightly against him. "I'll be back soon, you don't have to worry about me."

"What if you don't?" you tried to get rid of his arms around you, but no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn't do it. "What if you get killed?"

He sighed, finally letting you free. Marc got rid of the suit. It shattered around him, disappeared without a trace, the bandages vanishing into thin air. Then, he held his knuckles high, just so you could observe the state of them. There was nothing there. There wasn't blood, or splinters, or one single scratch. Nothing, not even a thin white scar.

"The suit protects me. See?" Marc gently grabbed your chin and lifted your face to look at him. "I swear I'll be back. We both will. Then, the three of us will have a nice and long conversation. No fighting, no more Khonshu, no more mercenaries or weird artefacts, no more lies. I promise."

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke, the tears that had pricked your eyes moments earlier had vanished, but the knot in your throat did not suffer the same fate.

"How long will you be in Cairo?"

"I'm sorry..." he pursed his lips. His face pressed against your temple seconds later. He left a kiss on your hairline. "I don't have an answer for that. But I'm gonna call you every day and let you know we are okay, alright?" he smiled, now his forehead resting against yours. "How does that sound?"

"Horrible, actually," you bit your lower lip again, eyes squeezed shut in front of him. "I don't want you anywhere near that... genocidal maniac."

Marc's fingers caressed your skin, his gentle fingers barely touching you when he brushed some hairs our of your face. Despite everything, he was smiling.

"You've always taken such good care of me," he said, "but you don't have to worry now. I promise I'll be back."

You wanted to contadict his words, tell him that there was no way he knew how everything from this point on would unfold. Sure, his suit and god protected him, but to what extent? If Marc had these abilities, what were the chances of Harrow getting similar powers on his side? Still, you couldn't voice your concerns. It was a lost cause to argue with Marc when he was so sure of his decision.

So you sighed.

"I suppose you won't let me go with you."

His lips formed a thin line. He shook his head.

"Too dangerous," he said. "The only positive thing about Harrow having the scarab is they won't be here to bother you. They don't need us anymore," he paused, looked at his right, his eyes focusing on Gus' tank. "And I need someone here to take care of Steven's fish."

You rolled your eyes, a huff leaving your lips. He chuckled for a second, amused by the current of emotions showing on your face. He took one of your hands, his fingers intertwined his yours. And your other hand was quickly buried in his curls.

"You have to come back to me," you said, then he sensed a shift in your look, a more intense gaze, and he knew you weren't talking to him anymore, even before you parted your lips. "You too, Steven. You take care of each other."

Steven wasn't conscious at that precise moment, and Marc didn't want to bring up chaos in that situation, so he didn't dive into the headspace looking for him, but he would definitely tell Steven about it. Marc owed you that, now that he wouldn't allow the two of you to do something as necessary as saying goodbye.

Add to that the fact that Marc wasn't as sure of coming back in one piece as he made it seem, and the thoughts were soon tugging at his heart.

Marc wasn't so sure about Steven covering his back, but Marc wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. He wouldn't let anyone take Steven's happiness if he was there to prevent it. Once he came back, Marc would give him everything he took from him, he would mend it all. How, he didn't know, but if Marc was something, that was stubborn.

He wouldn't lose another brother. Or another part of himself, for that matter.

It wasn't until he felt a gentle pull from his curls that he snapped out of it.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked.

There it was, those kind eyes on your face. Your tone, sweetened with honey-flavored affection. He shook his head before your question, getting closer, his nose brushing your cheekbone as he worked up the courage to kiss you.

"Can we sleep together?" he asked, although he didn't mean it to sound as bad as it did. "Like we did last night. I really liked that."

He sounded so Steven right now. So soft, so unlike himself. And it wasn't until then that he remembered. Steven was him, a more gentle and open and vulnerable side of him, but him nonetheless. Marc was letting himself be vulnerable and soft, for the first time in a long while, and he would not feel guilty about it.

"Of course," you answered, your finger quickly crawling up to his neck, looking to start unbuttoning his shirt. It surprised both of you, even himself, when Marc didn't stop you. But his breath was still caught in his lungs. "What about your luggage? Do you need help with it?"

He drew a breath, as the cool air of the living room hit half of his chest. His eyes looking down at where your fingers tried to unbutton the last pair of buttons.

"All my things are in a warehouse in Central London," he said. "I'll grab a few shirts on my way to Victoria station."

You sighed, not entirely convinced with the sound of that. He was most certainly going to forget many things behind, but you figured he would have to manage.

He slid the sleeves of his shirt off his body. His now naked torso was warm, warmer than you remembered, and you had to fight the urge to bury your nose in the hole between his collarbones, looking up at his face instead.

"Can I at least accompany you to the station?" you asked.

Marc smirked, but shook his head.

"Don't make things more difficult," he said, then kissed your temple. "But I really appreciate that."

Soon, the two of you were back on Steven's bed, avoiding the sand on the floor as best you could. You took one of Steven's old t-shirts, expecting that to make you, at least, feel a bit closer to him. You needed them both with you, as you were sure Marc would leave in the blink of an eye; as he always did. And then you'd have none of them for god-knows-how-long. You also took one of Steven's shorts, even if they were most likely to slip from your hips. Part of you was begging for Marc to take those off as soon as you hit the bed; but you weren't so sure of that, having in mind how he had closed his eyes and drifted off the day before.

You hated the fact that your last conversation with Steven before they both left for Cairo was so tumultuous, so full of hatred. But you should have thought that before, both of you, because we never know what your last words to someone will be.

"Do you want me to say something to Steven?" Marc asked, knowing that you would have liked to at least say goodbye, and that he was taking that chance away from you.

"Tell him I love him," you said. Marc's mouth turned into half a smile. "I love you too, you know that."

Marc nodded. You might not be only his, but he is only yours.

His head rested on the pillow. Both your gazes locked into each other. Marc got closer, his body warm with only his boxers on, his big hand crawled its way under your arm and got hooked on your back, splashed there, covering as much flesh as he could. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed.

"I love you too," he said.

It was the first time he said those three words sober, meaning them, really, truly, meaning them. Marc had always avoided saying them, even the first time he let you know about his feelings a few days before, he had not used the verb love. And now that it was out of his mouth, out of his chest —finally— and lingering in the limited space between your mouths, he felt finally free from a baggage he didn't know was holding.

"Say it again," you whispered, and he loved that.

"I love you too."

His warm breath was all you could breathe in, being in that position, body pressed against him, eyes closed and heart wide open.

"Again, please."

"No," he chuckled. "Words aren't enough. Let me show you."

There were mere inches between your mouths, inches he closed as he threw himself against your lips with urgency. His hot breath in your mouth, so indistinctively him, tasted sweet in a way nothing else could. By then you had long forgotten how good of a kisser Marc was, and it took you by surprise when both of you found yourselves fighting for dominance, frenetically trying to taste each other as much as you could. His hand then left your back, that kept you pressed against him, and crawled its way to your jawline. The moment his fingertips touched your neck, and you moaned, Marc felt himself die and come back to life. You melted under his touch, and the kiss went from violent to lazy and wet and almost dumb.

This time, it was you who nibbled on his lower lip. Marc moaned, fingers digging into your shoulder as he tried to find and keep his sanity. The other hand, the one under your body, fisted the sheets.

Neither of you could believe what was happening. If you ever told your younger self —or even just a version from a week back— that you'd have some day Marc Spector moaning from your kisses, she would have lost her shit. If Marc had ever told his younger self, he'd have freaked out.

He pulled himself away from you, barely enough to admire your face, with the last ounce of willpower he had. You were both panting, out of breath, a faint red colour adorning his features, curls pointing in all directions.

"I think that's clear enough," you said.

He frowned for a second, seemingly having forgotten what led him to kiss you in the first place.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Hope it is."

"...because you won't repeat it?"

His smirk grew bigger.

"Who said such a thing?"

He pecked your lips a couple times, with a big grin still on his face, just before he moved and kissed your exposed cheek, the one that wasn't against the pillow. His hand buried itself under the hem of Steven's shirt, finding your waist below and pulling you against him, once, then drawing gentle, lazy circles over your naked flesh with his fingertips. He fell like a deadweight over the pillow just seconds later, still drawing circles, caressing all the skin he could reach; legs entangled with yours.

Goosebumps erupted on your skin, but he wouldn't be able to say if the cause were his attentions, the cold, or any other thing. Before he could stop himself, his touch dived further into your body, your stomach sinking away from his touch as he brushed the flesh there, but he didn't stop. Before he realized, his middle finger found the hem of your panties.

His eyes were locked in yours, and they hadn't changed its expression, as if nothing else was happening beyond two lovers looking into each other's eyes. But you knew somewhere, deep down, he was asking for permission. It was either that, or he wanted you to beg. And you did.

"Marc..."

The sound that came out of your mouth was half a whisper, half a moan, but beyond that, it was clear as day what it really was: a plea.

He parted his lips, drawing in a heavy breath. His fingers played with the hem, just to leave it alone and deciding to touch you —gently, without preassure— over the fabric.

He faked a puzzled face, frowning, as if he didn't know exactly what you wanted from him.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

You closed your eyes, now laying on your back and hips looking for a friction you couldn't find because he retrieved his hand, slightly, but never too far away. You looked at him, head lulling to the side.

"Marc... please."

He could have played with you all night, teasing you, making you beg. You saw it in his eyes, that he was capable of that and much more. But that night he was too eager, too needy. He had waited and imagined that moment for years, and now that it was happening, he was hard as a rock in his boxers. He couldn't wait, and a voice somewhere in his brain told him that it was cruel of him to make you wait any longer. But that didn't mean he had to rush things.

Marc leaned in and left a kiss on your clothed shoulder.

"Want this?" he said, a breath getting stuck at the very end of your lungs as his fingers pressed and massaged over the fabric of your panties.

"Yeah...," you gasped. "I want you. Marc, please."

He caught your mouth in his, savouring not only your mouth, but also the feeling of having you under him moaning his name, having you exactly as he had always needed you, imagined you. His open-mouthed kisses only made the pleasure and excitement more obvious, a pool of warmth growing in your insides.

Marc threw the covers away from you, leaving his laying position at last, now kneeling next to you on the mattress. With one hand he grabbed the hem of Steven's shorts, and pulled them so hard you could hear the seam unravel. You helped him pushing your hips over the mattress and prayed that the damage to the piece of clothing wasn't very serious. Not before you drowned in the sudden lightning bolt of pleasure that the sound brought to your body.

Then, Marc leaned in over you, trying to find the light switch just over the headboard. The bedroom space, only lit by the moonlight that poured through the window, became brighter as an orange-toned light bathed both bodies. You had to actively retain a gasp as you looked at Marc. The shadows created by the light definitely suited him, created shadows and light points making him look broader and his eyes darker, pupils wider.

His lips parted, breathing heavy as he looked at the way you slipped out of Steven's t-shirt. Your breasts on display, only for him to ravish on the sight.

"Lights stay on," he said. "I wanna see your pretty face when you cum."

He didn't even wait for a reaction, his fingers setting aside the fabric of your panties, his fingers now massagging up and down your naked flesh, not really with a path or a plan in mind. His other hand palmed his erection, hidden by the tent the fabric of his boxers had formed.

Marc kept the fabric out of the way with one hand, while he brought the fingers of his other hand to his tongue, wetting it with his spit. He buried those fingers in your folds, once, a low grunt leaving his lips when you moaned. Once he had them soaked, the pad of his fingers drew tight slow circles over your bundle of nerves.

"Oh, Marc..." you moaned. From your spot, you had a perfect sight of his shoulders and back, but also part of his face. Many of his dark curls fell over his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. "...Ah... I-isn't it- better if you get..." he looked at you, not leaving his work unfinished for one single second and proud of the way you weren't able to finish a single sentence. "...get them off."

He pulled harder from your panties, the fabric getting deliciously buried in all right places.

"What's the fun in that?" he smiled.

You gasped, the pressure too intense to keep any type of chit-chat. Panting, you tried to reach for his arm. As your grip tightened around his hot flesh, your head left the pillow to get a visual of what he was doing. You could barely see anything beyond your abdomen rising and falling with your spasm and heavy breathing, but that accompanied by Marc's stoic and focused face, was enough to send you back to the pillow, your body way too heavy for you to hold any of it, your muscles and bones melting over the mattress.

"Marc..." he looked back at your face when he heard you whimper. "Marc, I need you closer."

He left everything he was doing, earning a huff from you, but even then, you felt the luckiest woman on Earth when he leaned over you, this time resting his weight on his elbows at both sides of your body. One of his hands brushed a hair that you hadn't noticed on your face, and he kissed your lips, quickly pulling away just a few inches.

"I'm right here, baby," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was just a blatant lie, but one that could comfort you for the time being.

He lowered his face to lick a long stripe of skin on your chest, in the valley between your breasts. The sound that came from your chest sounded like a wounded animal, but Marc didn't mind. He massaged one of your tits, creating the perfect preassure right before he caught the nipple in his mouth. He licked, sucked, until they were perky and standing proud in the cold room. Although the flat seemed everything but cold in that moment. He gave the same attentions to the other one, not wanting to neglect a single inch of your body.

You buried your fingers in his hair as he did, massaging his scalp, pulling gently from his curls and drawing little moans from his mouth. When he was done —because it looked like he would give you a death glare if you interrupted his meal— you pulled his hair, trying to catch his lips again in yours.

He kissed you again, wet, hot and heavy tongue playing with yours, the saliva falling from one corner of your mouth for a moment before he kissed it away. The palm of your hand slipped over his hard flesh, not even stopping against his abs but instead going even lower. When you finally found the fabric of his black boxers, your fingers touching over the sensitive skin of his head by accident, he let his head fall over your collarbone. His heavy breath on your skin making you shiver.

You tried to reach for his member, but it wasn't like you had the best sight from that angle, so you failed. Luckily, Marc was too needy to behave as he normally would and guided your open palm to his covered cock, grinding against your touch.

In his mind, he was being harsh, not letting you touch him without asking permission first, not having all those gentle touches, caresses and complicit looks he was having with you. It didn't even feel like fucking. And he figured that maybe he wasn't fucking. Not at all.

He moaned when you pulled his hair, yanking his head back from your collarbones. You kissed his cheek, your lips never leaving his skin. And as you did, you touched him, pressing your hand and moving it up and down on his long shaft. When it became ridiculous the fact that he still had those boxers on, you pushed him back on the mattress, laying on his back so you could get rid of his boxers. He let you, looking at your much smaller hands pulling from the hem of his boxers until he had them around his knees. And he kicked it off of his body, while you took his heavy cock in your hands and gave him a stroke. His thighs trembled.

"You're so good to me," he said, his thumb caressing your neck while his other fingers rested on your nape. "I don't deserve you."

You quickly turned to him, almost snapping your head in the process.

"Don't say that ever again," you said. Marc gasped as you stroked him, his head leaking pre-cum, coating your fingers. But even with that serious expression on your face, you didn't stop jerking him off. "You deserve me. You deserve good things."

You leaned, now laying next to him on the bed. Marc's arm surrounded your body, he hooked his fingers in your waist. Reaching for his cock again, you kept giving him gentle strokes. He nodded in your direction.

"No, I wanna hear you say it now."

You increased the speed, barely, but even with that, he wasn't able to do so much as keeping his eyes open and take ragged breaths.

"Say it, say you deserve good things."

"I-" he tried, squeezing his eyes shut, panting. His other hand digged in your arm. "I deserve good things."

How had he ended up in that situation, that he kept wondering about. He rarely ever let a woman take control, but for you he could get used to it.

"That's my boy.”

He felt the familiar rush, the ticking bomb inside of him trying to implode just as you said that, and he quickly yanked your hand out of his body. He couldn't come yet, he wouldn't.

He behaved like a madman. He certainly felt like one, while getting over you and getting rid of your panties the same way he did with Steven's shorts earlier. He pushed your knees, your legs open for him; and before you could get used to the feeling of having nothing to cover yourself, he was already leaving wet kisses on the inside of your thighs.

Your weight was resting on your elbows, because you wanted to be able to see his pretty face. Even if he did nothing, you still wanted to look at him. You never got tired of that face, of his expression and focused gaze. Marc's too perfect not to be admired.

There was a moment of hesitation when he looked at you, as if he was asking for permission before lowering himself against your folds. You nodded for him to continue, and without breaking eye contact he buried himself between your legs, wet lips and skillful tongue eating you out, kissing, licking. Whatever he did, whatever pace he set, it felt like an thunderstorm suddenly bursting through your insides.

Between moans, you saw him roll his eyes, close them. That was when you knew that he was doing it for his own pleasure, not yours. His hands stopped you in your tracks when you tried to move your hips, slapping the tender skin of your thighs and leaving an angry red mark with the shape of his hand. He didn't let you move, long fingers and open palms keeping you open, still and available under him. His heavy tongue felt as if he was licking fire into your skin. Then, he put two fingers in and pumped, opening you up and getting you ready for what was about to come.

Marc said something, but you could hardly hear anything beyond your pulse, your own moans and half-hearted screams. You had never been as loud in bed as now, and it was frankly embarrassing how much you wanted —needed— him right then and there.

Even when he spoke, he never stopped pounding his thick fingers into you.

"You taste so fucking good," he said, before licking a long stripe between your lips. "I can’t believe I’ve missed this," he licked again, enthusiastically lapping at your bundle of nerves. "Come for me, baby. Come in my mouth."

He curled his fingers, knowing damn well what he was doing, sending you directly to rapture. His praise was well-received, triggering one of the most shattering orgasm of your life.

Marc held your hips, pushing you into the mattress as your thighs tried to close around his head. He moaned as if he was the one coming, his tongue licking around as if you were made of the most delicious sweet.

"That's it, there you are," he said, chin glistening below the dim lights, a cheeky smile on his face as he propped himself on his elbows, took the fingers out of you and licked them clean. "...my sweet girl. You come so good."

He lunged forward, looking for a kiss. You tasted yourself in his tongue, in the way he was passing the flavour into your mouth; and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth too. The whole thing was so nasty that it turned you on even more, the all-consuming fire burning in your skin —longing for his body— never fading, not for one split second.

You pushed at his chest and shoulders back, guiding him on a sitting position in front of you. He had a frown on his beautiful face, and you couldn't help but lean in and kiss the small wrinkle between his eyebrows and the swelling vein on his forehead.

"What you're up to?"

Marc said it with a grin on his face, but even then you could see the confusion.

"You'll see," you responded, crawling your way up to him, Your fingers looked blindly to grip the soft curls in the back of his head. Your lower body sitting over him, facing him, your thighs over his and his erection twitching when it brushed the inside of your thigh. "I think you'll love it. No one will ever fuck you like I do."

Marc's breath was caught in his lungs, he never thought you could talk like that; and it was certainly a first that he wasn't expecting.

He loves it.

"Are you gonna ride me?" he asked, looking into your eyes with so much desire and impatience that even if you weren't, you wouldn't have denied him anything. "Are you gonna ride my cock like a good girl?" then he brushed your hair back, the pads of his fingers lingering over the skin of your neck for way too long. Then he whispered. "Do you want me to lay back?"

"No."

He hissed when you touched his erection, hard as a rock in your hand, and held his breath as he watched how you propped yourself on him, just to slowly —almost cruelly— lower yourself on his cock, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, your thighs once again sitting on his lap, your heels digging into his lower back as you hooked yourself around him in a tight hug.

Marc had to close his eyes to keep himself from floating away, but still held your body against his chest. It wasn't until he felt your face against his collarbone, your ragged breath over his skin, that he came back to reality.

"You okay?" he asked, almost whispering. His open palm caressed your back in a comforting manner, up and down.

"Yeah, yeah," you responded. "Give me a second."

"All you need."

You were way too full, full to the brim. You could almost feel the pressure of him in your lungs, not letting you breathe. But soon the uncomfortable sensation faded, only leaving the pleasure and eagerness behind. Your arms embraced him over his shoulders, hugging his broad back and all of him as best you could. You'd never have enough of his boiling-hot flesh. You lowered your face against his neck and sucked and licked until he had a cute love bite blooming over his tanned skin.

"If you do that again," he sucked in a breath. "...I'm not taking responsibility for the things I'll do to you."

You chuckled, kissed the bruised skin and wondered if you felt like pushing his limits; finally concluding that maybe today wasn't the day.

“Just a little gift” you whispered against his ear, goosebumps erupted on his neck and shoulders “to remember me by.”

“I could never forget you.”

Your forehead rested against his, heavy breaths coming from the both of you; breaths that became even heavier as you rolled your hips and slowly sank yourself into him. Marc grunted, fingers digging deeply in your hips as the pace picked up.

"You'll be the end of me," he said between breaths.

He then hooked one of his arms around your waist. He held your lower back, but also pushed you up and down on his length, quick to begin thrusting from underneath as best he could. Even with those odds, his hips didn't falter, his thrusts were hard, slow and deep. You moaned his name against his mouth, and that's when his hand grabbed your neck, thumb and index getting buried just under your jaw.

Were those stars or black dots in your vision? You didn't know, maybe both.

"So precious," he said, and his grip on your neck faltered as you reached for his wrist, nails scratching his flesh. "Do you like that?"

You didn't respond, but your fingers cupped his hand and squeezed, urging him to do the same. Marc chuckled, and brought you in for a peck on the lips. "No, that's..." he gasped as he felt you tighten around him "...already too much. Fuck, I'm so close, already. What the fuck are you doing to me?"

Finding strength in his words, you gripped his shoulders and rode him. Faster, deeper, if that was even possible. Marc opened his mouth to complain, but went silent as his own eyes rolled back.

"F-fuck."

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself, trying not to cum yet. He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking there from the force. His fingers dug deeper into your waist, succeeding in their task of trying to slow down the pace when, finally, your muscles started to ask for a time-out.

"You little bitch," he complained, his hand left your neck and gripped your cheeks, a dull ache spreading beneath the grip that, unexpectedly., made you clench around him. "I'm not coming first. You are coming first. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes," you responded.

He didn't wait, couldn't wait. Marc reached for where you both joined, quick to find your swollen clit almost brushing his own groin, not without coating his fingers in spit. And he drew tight circles, his arm guiding you to keep sinking yourself around him. The head of his cock pulsing and hitting the right spot inside of you, time and time again. He was determined to wear you out.

"Give me another one, come on," he said, muttering to himself. "I know you can do it. I can feel you."

And so you did, the powerful blast of pleasure spreading everywhere from your centre, thighs stiff and unmoving over his, both your hands fisting his hair until a low grunt left the back of his throat. Your vision went blurry just before you closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his.

"I got you," he said through clenched teeth, following closely behind.

All he needed was a few more thrusts, feel your warm and tender skin against his. You were everywhere, all his senses could record were you against him: your back under his touch, your fingers on his nape, your body sitting over him, thighs drenched with a mix of sweat and cum. He grabbed your body closer, as if it wasn't close enough, and let himself fall into the void. His eyes squeezed shut as his own orgasm shattered everything around him. You heard him moan and struggle against your ear.

Both of you panted as you came down from your high. Marc never let you go, he knew better than that now. Your hand slipped over his shoulder, falling over his heart and feeling his quick pulse underneath.

Marc buried his head deeper into your collarbone, trying to quiet down a mix of contradicting thoughts clouding his mind. It wasn't until then that he realized he should've, at least, pulled out; instead of spilling himself inside of you without even asking. It wasn't until then, either, that he realized that leaving for Cairo would be a hundred times worse, that being away from you would be one of the worst things he would've to do. Again.

And he would still not have it any other way. Never. Not in a million years.

"You're alright, baby?" you asked him, caressing the back of his neck and shoulders with one hand.

"Mine," he whispered, the sound so muffled you hardly heard it. "I can't believe you're finally mine."

He felt tears pricking in his eyes, but didn't let go of them.

"Oh, silly," you chuckled and kissed his shoulder. "I've always been yours."

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thisisarcanereverie · 2 years

Text

With a Heavy Heart (Marc Spector x Reader)

this is part 2 to "Light as a Feather" based off an ask from my 500 follower prompt list!

This is a Marc Spector x Reader Angst!

Warnings: Angst, no happy ending for Marc.

It’s been years since you last saw Marc.

Nine to Ten years at least, but of course you could only remember only half of those, considering that you were one of the billions blipped by Thanos during the Battle of Wakanda. One moment you and Johnathan, your long term boyfriend at that point, were having tea and reading while it rained. The next thing you know it’s a completely different time of day and instead of one cup of freshly brewed black tea and a copy of “Oliver Twist” in your hands, you hold nothing. And your apartment was empty, and Johnathan was standing a bit aways from you equally confused.

Once you both were caught up on what had happened, a sick feeling wretched itself into your gut. Five years, five years had gone by and you had no idea what had happened. Johnathan had left to look for his daughter while you went to call your family in Chicago.

Your father had passed and your mother was still at home, having retired just a few years after the Snap. After making sure your siblings were alright as well, your fingers lingered on the call button after putting in his number. But called anyways, the dial tone only ringing for a few seconds before light breathing could be heard on the other side of the phone.

“Hello?” a tentative, posh british voice came through, you sighed a quiet sigh of relief in knowing he picked up. That somehow he had made it through the blip.

“Hi,” You said, “I’m sorry I must have dialed the wrong number by mistake.” Although you had met Steven, Marc’s alter, a few times throughout your friendship Marc had warned you to keep minimal contact with him. Saying that his life and Steven’s life should never become intertwined if at all possible. Hell he even paid rent for a flat a block away from the one he and Layla shared so that way Steven would never know.

“Oh,” his voice crackled, “sorry about that.” You couldn’t help but laugh, you just lied to him about calling the wrong number and yet he was the one apologizing.

“It’s fine,” you said, “have a good day Steven.”

“H-how did you-” You hung up before he could finish the question as you began to go down the list of people you wanted to check up on.

Later on that day you and Johnathan met in the park, where it seemed that stations were being set up for the people who got blipped. You and Johnathan sat next to each other on a bench, a trauma blanket wrapped around you both.

“Five years,” You said astonished, “I still can’t believe it.”

“Ava is fifteen years old,” Johnathan said, staring off into space with you, “she hardly remembered who I am.” you both just sat there, that sentence hanging in the air. The sun sets and the lights from the park light up as people continue to bustle around you. At this point you’ve seen maybe a few families being reunited in a heart wrenching sweetness as tears were shed. All of it was bittersweet, your family was way out in Chicago and Mira, Johnathan’s ex wife, kicked him out.

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get married.”

You looked beside you to see his gaze on you, the street light glaring off of the reflective surface of his glasses just a bit, but you could still feel his dark eyes and the serious nature of the question.

“What?” was the first thing to come out of your mouth, unfiltered.

“I’m serious,” Johnathan insisted, grabbing your hands in his large ones, “this isn’t about the five year blip or me being emotional right now. We just lost five years and I don’t want to lose another one without being married to you, or at least risk asking you knowing full well that you can say no.” He touched your forehead with his. “But please… don’t say no.”

You looked at him, truly looked at him, the way his hair fell in front of his eyes and his eyes were closed. You knew Johnathan well enough to know when he was trying to be brave, and right now you could see it. He was being brave by being vulnerable to you right now, this was him loving and trusting you enough to not break him. Something he rarely did, seeing as Mira nearly destroyed him. You smile as you bring his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles before gently cupping his face, his thick beard tickling the palm of your hand.

“Yes.”

—

It’s been three years since you’ve come back from the blip. After taking some time to recover from the fallout, you and Johnathan worked for a while before being able to afford a small wedding. Johnathan had taken time to get to know his daughter again, and you spent time with Ava as well, she was a great kid. She was smart and confident. You and her had similar tastes in books, leaning more towards the classic romantic type. So you gave her a few Jane Austen’s and mixed in a few Emily Dickinson poems for variety. It was something you and her bonded over, and while you and Mira didn’t see eye to eye on some things, you tried your best to keep the relationship between you civil. For Ava’s sake at least.

However the gentle tussling from the crib next to you reminded you of the other reason you kept things civil with Mira. You let out a gentle smile as you saw your son's dark eyes staring widely at you, a gleeful, toothless smile stretched across his face as he saw you looking at him. He had been a surprise to say the least, Johnathan had nearly fainted from excitement though. He was doting and experienced in this, which you were thankful for. He loved your son very much, just as loved Ava, and honestly you were the same.

You placed the bookmark carefully inside your book to mark your place as you set it aside to pick up the giggling infant in front of you.

“Hey little one,” You cooed as you picked him up and placed him on your hip, “did you have a nice nap.” He clapped his hands excitedly as a response, he was always so lovely when he woke up from his naps. And for a baby, he was pretty even tempered, barely woke up in the middle of the night.

After changing him out of his sweaty onesie and diaper and changing him into a pair of fresh ones you made your way to the kitchen and placed him in the highchair and gave him a few toys to occupy himself with as you started on dinner.

You had no sooner put the water on to boil when the light ring of the doorbell rang through the house. You checked the time on your stove, only for your curiosity to grow further. It was far too soon for Johnathan to come home early, and even then he wouldn’t use the doorbell.

Making sure your son was alright you went to open the door, the frosted decorative glass on the wooden door obscured your vision of the person as you opened it to reveal the last person you expected to see.

“Marc?” “Hey…” Marc greeted gruffly, “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Umm,” You were still processing the fact that he was there before you answered, “sure just leave your shoes on the rack over there.” You half expected him to put up a fight, saying that it was ridiculous, only to be surprised by compliance instead. He wordlessly toed his shoes off before placing them neatly on the rack and closing the door behind him. You backed up to give him some room to maneuver. The home wasn’t large, but it was enough. With a room for you, your son, and Ava when she stayed over. The living room was made for half tv half library, there was even a bookshelf in the dining room filled from floor to ceiling of your books. You would have loved more room, but based on the academia lifestyle you both lived and what you could afford at the time, the place was lovely.

“So wha-” You were cut off as two muscular arms enveloped you and the familiar smell of sea salt filled your nose. His embrace on your frame was firm and you knew Marc long enough to know that either he was dying or something absolutely terrible had happened.

Because he never, not even after you were blipped, visited you in person.

And he never initiated a hug between you and even if there was a hug it would be light, almost like he didn’t want to touch you. You tentatively wrap your arms around him as well and give him an almost awkward pat on his shoulder.

“Marc,” You said, “you’re scaring me.” You broke out of his hold easily after that. You put enough space between you so that you could look in his eyes. “What was that about?”

He didn’t answer for a minute, almost hesitating, before saying, “I don’t know,” He said, “I guess I missed you more than I realize.”

“Well it has been over a decade since we last saw each other.”

“For me it has,” Marc said soberly, “for you it’s only been seven or so years.”

“Still it’s been a while.” You said as you made your way to the kitchen, hoping that the water hadn't boiled over yet. You turn the stovetop off as you grab your son out of the highchair. “So what do you need?”

You enter the living room where he sat on one of the couches, his eyes focused on the ground. You casually waited for a reply, expecting something along the lines of Moon Knight related business, but you watched as he takes one shaky breath in before removing his eyes from the carpeted floor below him to you. You could see his eyes widen at the baby in your arms, looking widely at him, curiously. You saw him blink a few times.

“You have a kid?”

You laughed lightly as you lightly bounced your son getting an excited laugh from him.

“Yeah,” You sighed happily and looked at him, “his name is Jeremiah.” You make your way to place your curly haired son on the play mat in front of him.

You could see Marc staring at him, just as curious as he was, but you know Marc well enough to know when something was bothering him. His shoulders were forward slightly, almost huddling in on himself.

You casually sat beside him on the couch and watched as Jeremiah chewed on the teething rings in front of him.

“How are you and Layla doing?” You asked, genuinely wanting to know if Layla was alright.

“We uh,” He hesitated and was shifting his eyes away from you, “we aren’t on speaking terms right now.” You put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You apologized.

“Don’t be,” He said, taking your hand off his shoulder, “it was my own damn fault anyways.” He fiddled with his fingers a second before asking, “where’s the father?”

“He’s at work actually.”

“Anyone I know?”

“You might remember him,” You say faintly as you remember the night you met Johnathan. “You saw him walk me home that night.” A silence hung in the air for a moment.

“Yeah,” He said, “I said he looked like he belonged at the bottom of a book avalanche.” You smile and giggle at the image that popped into your head of Johnathan getting into that very likely scenario.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” You said, “but why the hell are you here?” he was about to speak when you shut him up. “The truth this time.” Marc knew there was no way to win this fight. Not with you.

“I don’t know where else to go.” He said, “I don’t have anyone else but you.”

“You sure as hell don’t act like it,” You said as you let out a frustrated sigh, “same shit different story.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I called you after I got back from the blip, Steven answered, but later on, when you checked the news to see the snapped got snapped back you could’ve called me back. Talked to me. But you didn’t even care to send me a text message. I invited you to my wedding and you didn’t even show up.” Although you wouldn’t admit it it hurt when Marc didn’t show up it hurt. Marc hung his head in shame.

“Something came up.”

“Of course it did,” You replied as you breathed in deeply before letting out an exhale, trying to keep your temper in line. “Marc, if you’re looking for some kind of forgiveness I don’t know what to tell you.” You could feel his eyes on you as you kept watching your son play with the toys on the ground, completely oblivious to the somber tone of the conversation you were having.

“I forgive you,” You let out, “but you can’t keep doing this. I’m not just something you can drop and pick up any time you want…Not anymore.” You smile as you see your family portrait hanging off the wall. You, Johnathan, Jeremiah, and Ava. “I have others in my life now, those who depend on me, and I on them. My life doesn’t revolve around you anymore.”

Those final words hung there, heavy and you could see Marc shaking slightly. After a very long pause he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said so quietly. If you had not been right next to him you wouldn’t have heard him. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, you don’t deserve any of it.”

“Thank you,” You said looking over at him and wrapped your arm around him in a half hug, “thank you for saying that.”

Time passed on and you decided to order dinner instead. You had asked Marc if he wanted to stay for dinner but he declined. Something about an early flight back to London in the morning.

Much unlike how he entered your life, that loud little boy that was your friend, he left your door quietly with a sad look in his eyes.

Marc didn’t know what he was looking for when he came there. When the blip happened, he knew immediately you were one of them. That you were gone, it ate at him, he started getting more reckless and more unhinged. He stopped pulling back punches, he wanted to make everyone suffer. The image of you dusting away haunted him, much like your smiles and laughter. It echoed through his brain, even as he laid next to Layla, his heart hurt.

What hurt the most, however, was how much more aware he was of how awful he was to you. He never texted you back, he didn’t even know you moved until a year had passed! He was cruel, keeping you close but never close enough to touch. He lied to you, he laughed at you, he manipulated you, and Marc felt sick to his stomach. Because you were never like that, not to him. You were kind, even as he was throwing up in the toilet hung over and shouting profanities at you, you stayed by his side so he wouldn’t be alone. You knew him, mind and soul. You accepted him for him, however broken and sharp his edges were.

Marc had known deep down that you loved him, people don’t stick around for that long and not love them in some way. And that terrified him, so he kept pushing the thought away and married Layla. It wasn’t until the last night he saw you, he made up some stupid excuses to see you. He didn’t realize he missed you until you were gone, and when he saw you that night. Your hair done up and a carefree smile on your face as you walked with the man beside you. Peppery unkempt hair and a thick beard. Glasses resting on the bridge of his hooked nose, the way you both talked to each other, like you had known this man just as long as you knew Marc. The way your eyes glittered when you saw him and the way Marc saw the connection between you two, the level of understanding that he knew he would never have with you or anyone. His heart pounded and he resisted the urge to punch the man's glasses off his face.

Marc thought he knew you, but you proved him wrong. You knew him, but he didn’t know you. It was like he was exposed, vulnerable, and he hated it. So he lashed out, like he always did and now he was paying the price.

When he saw everyone got snapped back that day, and that for the first time in five or so years, your contact came up in his call history. He hovered over the call button but decided against it, he didn’t want to call and have it be some sort of cruel hallucination. He didn’t think he could handle it.

Then the invitation to your wedding came, you and Johnathan Levy. He spent that day in bed, staring out the window, feeling like a coward. He couldn’t face it, so much was already happening in his life at that point. He had just defeated Ammit, Steven knew about him, Layla signed the divorce papers. So that white paper on his table mocked him, calling him out on being a coward, because rather than putting on a brave face and congratulating you, he stayed in London and did nothing.

The guilt ate him up, until there was nothing left. He tried everything he could, writing it out, talking to a therapist, but nothing helped. So finally, he listened to Steven and Jake and booked a plane ride to Boston.

He was at your front door for seven minutes before he finally had the gull to ring the doorbell. When you opened it, it felt like he could breathe. You were young, you both used to be the same age but the blip changed that. Your hair was longer than he remembered and you had this glow about you that you never had before. It wasn’t until later it was because you were finally happy.

His heart plummeted to his feet when he saw the baby on your hip, dark curls and eyes looking at him, reminding him that you weren’t the person you were all those years ago. You have changed.

As you both talked his mind wondered, if he had been kinder, if he had been better, if he was someone else. Maybe this could’ve been his life, that would’ve been his kid and you his wife. But that was a far off dream now, one that he could never have.

And as he closed your front door, after your talk, he told himself to let you go. He needed to let you go. You no longer needed him, you were finally happy and content, you made yourself a loving family and he needed to let you go.

But each step he took away from your door, memories of your life together, from children to fighting deities together, flashed. Made each step feel heavier than the last, all he wanted to do was beg on his knees and tell you he was sorry, over and over and over again until he felt some sort of weight being lifted off of him.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the face you made, smiling as you held your baby in your arms, he tried to sear that into his memory. Every last detail.

And then, with a heavy heart, he got on the bus to the airport, knowing he would never see you again.

Taglist:

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@themapoftinyperfectthings

@later-gators12

@lovepeaceorelse

@ahookedheroespureheart

@8hgel

@onestopficshop

@missdragon-1

#x reader #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #mcu moon knight #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x reader smut #x reader angst #mcu angst #angsty #angst #johnathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #prompt challenge

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80pairsofcrocs · 2 years

Text

baby scarab || 54

anon - y/n slapping marc on the butt so hard he falls over

~~~

anon - i only speak the truth

with that said, y/n pokes his butt whenever he is in front of her walking up the stairs. they share a parental bond but also a sibling one when y/n is mischievous enough?

~~~

anon - I just had a really cool bs idea. so like you know how y/n got turned into an 8 year old because of the murder bird, well do you also remember when Marc said he wanted to see things like y/ns first step and words and stuff. well what if murder bird turned y/n into a baby but this time she has a babies mind. and that way the moon boys can see her first steps and possibly her first words. I think that'd be really sweet and funny cause they prob have no idea how to take care of a baby ;)

~~~

A/N : this is everywhere.

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : THERE IS NO MORE SCHEDULE, IM SORRY also thank you all sm for the support and requests :)))

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader

TW : medicine (pills), spidey stuff, mentions of violence, language, fighting, nothing else really, crack, let me know if i missed anything.

~~~

you and marc were eating dinner when your tingle went off.

you didn’t know why, even though you and marc sweepers the entire apartment in the middle of dinner and locked all the windows.

you couldn’t find a single thing that could’ve set it off.

marc suggested that maybe your abilities were going haywire again.

steven and jake agreed, and you all let it go.

but the one thing you didn’t tell them was that it also went off when you were walking home from town earlier that day.

and yet again, you paid no mind to it, hoping it was nothing.

i mean, as far as you knew it was absolutely nothing.

but right now, the boys had other things to worry about.

“go to bed right the fuck now” marc says to you and you shake your head.

“i’m not fucking tired” you deadpan back to him.

“please watch your fucking language” steven complains.

“then let me stay up” you argue.

“no i actually agree with marc, and we all had this talk yesterday so please go to bed” steven tries to negotiate to which you ignore him.

marc sighs and hands the control right over to jake, who cracks his neck before making his way towards you.

you were glaring down at your phone until it was snatched from your grip and set down on the coffee table.

it was just then when you realized that you fucked up.

you practically heard jakes eye twitch when you got up and hid behind the couch.

he frustratedly sighs and quickly makes his way around to lift you up from where you were crouched down behind the couch, lifting you up further so that he could carry you to your room over his shoulder.

you were upside down, your phone dangling from your hand as marc laughed at your misery.

steven of course told him to knock it off, but ended up laughing as well.

you kind of just let it happen too, knowing you would’ve ended up being forced to go to bed anyways.

jake set you back down carefully on your bed after getting into your room.

you set your phone down on your nightstand, and proceeded to just blankly stare up at jake until he decided to say something.

“we need to talk” he tells you seriously and you tilt your head as he grabs two of your mirrors, setting them up on your nightstand next to your phone. steven in one and marc in the other.

“we just need to ask you a question, that’s all” steven starts, and it effectively makes your stomach churn in nervousness.

whenever they all got serious like this it never ends well.

it either ends with you crying or you being angry with all three of them.

you didn’t feel like doing either since you felt you were all finally getting along perfectly without too many petty arguments.

plus, none of you have gotten seriously hurt since that one incident where you broke your nose.

and then a few days later you broke their nose.

“khonshu brought something to our attention” marc continues for steven and you sigh, remembering what khonshu had told you last night.

“that son of a bitch had no right to tell you” you speak up and steven shakes his head.

“please watch the language” he states sternly and you nod sheepishly as an apology.

“i know we say that you don’t have to tell us until you’re ready, but we need to know about this one” marc continues and you stare down at your hands.

“it’s just this once, we promise” jake assures you and you take a breath before speaking.

“it was one of the homes i was grateful you didn’t see” you start. “when you saw my memories” you clarify.

“it was before my last one… and there was an incident where my ‘mother’..” you put the last word in air quotes.

“she uhm.. got mad” you blink away tears.

marc could barely watch or listen to you.

he had already gone through enough with his own mother, and just hearing what an old foster mom had done to his little girl was really close to setting him off.

he had a million mixed feelings, he wanted to hide in the headspace, but he also wanted to just be there for you so that he wasn’t alone like he was.

well, he wasn’t really alone, but he had to act like he was.

“what did she do?” jake asks softly and you look up at him through blurry vision.

“she threw a glass bottle at me and.. she pushed me down so she…. so she could cut me with the broken pieces” you choke on your last words, hiding your face in your hands after the reveal.

all three of your dads had different reactions.

all of which included disgust and guilt.

steven felt like he was going to vomit right then and there. you see, this was a bit different than just hitting a kid.

not that it was okay to hit kids- it’s just that the simple words your said made him sick.

she did in fact push you to the ground to cut up your back through your shirt when you were what? 9? 10? you can’t even remember anymore.

you were only with that family for a month.

now jake didn’t have his usual feeling of rage. it was more guilt than anything else.

he should’ve known something was up. that’s what he was there for, to figure things out.

marc was checked out at this point. he had disappeared from the mirror, jake being able to feel him lingering in the back of his head.

they didn’t know what to say, honestly. which was reasonable considering you were too lost in your own head to hear it.

it only took one gentle touch to your shoulder to make you look back up at jake and wipe your tears away.

“i’m sorry princesa. we just had to know this time” he sighs, and you simply nod.

“yeah i was going to have to tell you guys at some point” you shrug.

“will you be okay?” steven asks and you nod again.

“you guys should get sleep too” you start bluntly. “old people need rest too, you know” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood and forget about what you just told them.

“just.. please actually go to sleep tonight” jake tells you and you nod, saying goodnight to all to only get a response from two.

steven had promised to talk to marc as well, assuring you that it wasn’t your fault he disappeared again.

and one more thing- jake mentioned something about the day frank had brought you home.

he told you that you about whoever ‘red’ was, and you weren’t entirely sure what he was talking about.

so when jake closed your door for the night, that was your mission.

to find out who red was.

and of course the first person you call was your boyfriend.

you knew he would have no idea but you just wanted to hear his voice. even if it was just for a second.

your phone only rung twice before he picked up.

“why are you calling so late you’re supposed to be asleep” is the first thing he says to you.

“so are you” you raise an eyebrow at the device, smiling when you hear him laugh.

“no but for real, why are you calling me so late?”

“it’s only nine”

“yeah, well-“

“i’m trying to figure something out” you cut him off, getting to the reason you called him.

“go on” he responds.

“let’s say someone you know has like- a nickname but you don’t know the nickname” you start. “how would- how would you figure out who it was?” you ask and casper takes a minute to respond.

“well it depends on the nickname-“

“it’s ‘red’”

“okay.. so does anyone you know like the color red?”

“i don’t know” you shrug, even though he can’t see you.

“..i’m sorry i don’t really know how to help” casper says sadly.

you just smile. “no it’s okay, i just needed some input. i’ll figure it out” you tell him and you can almost sense him smiling as well.

“so i’ll.. i’ll see you soon then?” he asks and you hum in acknowledgment.

“very soon i hope” you tell him.

“have a good night, y/n. i lo- just get some rest” he adds on quickly while you feel heat rush to your cheeks.

“yeah.. you too” you say before hanging up and staring at your black screen before shoving your face into your pillow and letting out a silent scream.

you got over casper’s little slip up fairly quickly since you still had to find out who exactly ‘red’ was.

your second best bet was someone smart, someone who you knew was good at figuring things out.

and what’s better than the lawyer who gave you his card?

but now you had a problem.

you had to find the card first.

you don’t know why you didn’t just save matt’s number in your phone after you got the card.

well, in your defense he seemed like a creep until he told you why he was looking for you in the first place.

you got off your bed to dig through your pile of sweaters sitting in the corner of your room.

you shuffle from pocket to pocket until you finally find the crumpled card.

you smile as you read it, typing the number in your phone after sitting back down on your bed.

it only rings four times before he answers, expect you were the one who spoke first.

“heyyyyy matt its y/n i need to talk to you” you say quickly and you hear him snort.

“i was wondering when you’d finally call” he replies. “what can i do for you?”

“so i have this friend. his name is frank, and he told me that he has knows a guy called ‘red’ and i’m trying to figure out who it is” you rant and it’s silent for a minute.

“frank castle?” he asks and you make a face.

“you know him?” you question and you hear him chuckle.

“i do. now who do you think ‘red’ is?” you sense a kind of playfulness in his voice, which makes you suspicious.

“well i obviously know them and they know me..” you trail off, really thinking about it.

“and now that i think about it i do know someone who has a red costume”

“it’s not a costume” matt tells you.

“so it’s you?” you ask and you hear him hum to confirm.

“took you long enough” you roll your eyes at his comment.

“so how do you and frank know each other?”

“how do you and frank know each other?” matt shoots back.

“he kinda just showed up. he’s been here in london for like a month” you tell him.

“i’m assuming he didn’t chain you to a roof the first time you met?” he asks and you snort.

“i’m assuming that you did though” you point out.

matt just chuckles again. “it might have” he starts. “well now that you’ve figured it out i’m sure frank already told you the basics?”

“that i can call you whenever i want?“

“something like that” you can sense a smile by his voice. “if you need anything, and i mean anything don’t hesitate to reach out”

“i will. don’t be a stranger, daredevil”

“the only strange one here is you”

you both laugh softly before saying your goodbyes, and once you hang up you decide to finally get some sleep.

and you were just hoping your dads were too.

~~~

third pov

~~~

it wasn’t exactly known to anybody that khonshu listens to everything and anything.

everyone just kind of assumed he was anywhere but where his avatars were when he wasn’t present in the room.

but here he was, about to cast another freaky spell on y/n, jus because of something all his avatars agreed on.

it may not seem like it, but khonshu pays attention to what makes them miserable and what makes them happy.

and they specifically said that they wished they could see y/ns first steps, and hear her first words.

so that’s what khonshu was going to do.

of course he didn’t think it through though, not thinking about if you had to go to work or anything.

he just kind of gets an idea and does it.

so that’s how he ended up in this situation.

a baby no more than 16 months old.

and if khonshu had a heart, it would drop to his stomach, as he could not reverse it.

it was going to be a long 24 hours.

now, he was just planning on dipping right as y/ns dads woke up and found her, but they weren’t awake yet.

it was only 5 in the morning and the now very young y/n was bound to wake up at any moment.

and as if on cue, khonshu flinched at the sound of the baby’s crying, and he heard a thud before footsteps made their way towards the room.

“is there a baby in here? what the hell happened this time?” steven rushes in, khonshu disappearing in time to not be seen.

steven freezes at the sight, since it’s not like everyday he sees a baby in his teenage daughters bed.

with her nowhere to be seen, either.

“steven, amigo doesn’t that look just a bit like y/n?” jake notices so steven carefully steps closer, to which the baby stops crying to look up at him.

“oh jesus” steven starts. “she was pregnant and she didn’t tell us?!” he whisper shouts, and jake scoffs.

“ay ay ay- this has khonshu written all over it” jake mutters while steven continues to freak out.

“she said she was safe- we saw the condoms on the floor. unless she’s been doing it whenever we aren’t home-“

“steven shut up” marc tells him, shaking his head from one of y/ns mirrors.

“no but-“

“take a good look at her” marc refers to the now quiet child laying on the bed.

steven furrows his brows and looks right into the baby’s eyes, seeing as they are the exact same as y/ns.

“oh bollocks, it’s even got her eyes”

if marc could murder steven he would right at this moment.

“you idiot, that is y/n” marc sighs and steven tilts his head until it all clicks.

“ohhhhh” he realizes. “oh. what do we do?” he asks into the mirror, seeing jake shrug.

khonshu was nice enough to provide the needs for y/n next to her on the bed.

like a diaper bag basically.

he wasn’t that cruel.

“you think any of us know?” jake asks rhetorically, and notices that y/n was tearing up again and reaching out for steven.

“guys!?” steven looks for at least a bit of guidance, but receives no help whatsoever.

“just pick her up, she obviously wants you” marc tells steven and he nods.

“right- but she’s so small, what if i drop her?” steven panics and jake scoffs.

“just make sure to support her head. you won’t drop her” he assures him.

steven just carefully picks up the fussing baby slowly, making her stop to just stare up at steven.

“heyyyy darling” steven whispers, slightly rocking y/n from side to side.

“please don’t cry” he pleads with the small girl, to which she lets out a squeaky laugh, and hits steven in the chin with her hand.

he deadpans down at the baby while she continues to lightly smack him.

“aw she likes you” marc teases, making steven roll his eyes.

he walks slowly out of y/ns room, with her still in his arms, and he settles her in his lap after sitting down on the couch.

“at least she’s quiet” jake says, the other two agreeing.

“how long do you think she’s going to be like this?” steven asks.

“how are we supposed to know?” marc shoots back, making steven roll his eyes again.

y/n looks around the room, settling to stare at the laptop on the coffee table in front of her.

steven looks down and notices her line of sight, which reminds him of something.

he used one hand to make sure y/n didn’t fall over, while the other grabbed the laptop and opened it after a few tries.

“what are you doing?” marc asks him.

“you know how school is starting next week?” steven starts. “well i’ve been looking into taking online classes”

“for what? you’re like 50” jake chuckles.

“we are 43, thank you very much” steven responds. “but i’m looking into egyptology. maybe i could be some kind of important historian or something” he shrugs, signing himself up for said online class.

“hey, good for you” marc tells him genuinely, and it was right when steven smiled that y/n started to cry again.

steven shut the computer and set it aside before turning his full attention to y/n.

“nonono, shhhh don’t cry please- i don’t know what i’m doing” steven stands up, rocking the small girl in his arms.

“call layla” is all marc says, and steven does so without a second thought.

he carefully balances the crying y/n in one arm while he searches around for his phone, which only made the baby cry harder.

“please calm down” he whispers, trying to get the child to stop crying.

she was hanging onto stevens shirt with her tiny hands while she cried into his chest.

steven finally managed to spot his phone sitting on one of the many books he had at his desk, so he quickly made his way over there to call layla.

she answered after two rings, and sounded a bit out of breath. “marc?”

“no it’s steven. anyways listen i-“

“wait a second- is that a baby? please tell me you didn’t steal someone’s child” she accuses.

“of course not! we just have another khonshu situation” he explains in short and layla hums to confirm that she knows what he’s talking about.

“i’m so so sorry, but taweret has me doing a small mission right now” layla says regretfully.

steven let’s out a heavy sigh, while trying to think over the sound of y/ns crying.

“hey, doesn’t casper have a little sister? he would be more help than me anyways” layla offers a solution and marc immediately disagrees.

“don’t you dare-“

“oh yes, he does thank you” steven says, to which him and layla say their goodbyes before hanging up.

by now, y/n was growing tired, which meant the crying was only a bit quieter.

“steven i swear to- they are together. romantically” marc says.

“so? if he really likes her than he will help” steven half shrugs, going back into y/ns room to find her phone.

“it feels weird going through her stuff” jake points out.

“but it’s for a good cause. she won’t stop crying” steven murmurs.

“but it’s weird” marc whines, to which steven just scoffs and picks up y/ns phone from off her bed.

“do any of you remember her password?” steven asks and doesn’t receive an answer.

“i don’t know, she changed it a couple weeks ago, it used to be four digits but now it’s six” jake tells them, and they nod.

“well, how are we supposed to figure it out?” marc asks and steven looks around the room for some kind of clue.

y/n was calming down, but still letting out small sobs.

“wait, look over to her nightstand” jake starts. “those are seis letras” he nods over to the small piece of paper sticking out from under the mirror he was looking at steven through.

“okay, so it’s m, s, s, g, j, l” steven reads off as he types in the letters.

“i wonder what those mean” marc voices, and jake stays quiet while thinking about it.

“what if.. it’s our initials?” jake starts. “now hear me out. they are also in the order she met us in”

“oh my god you’re right, she met marc, then me, and then you, jake” steven says and all three of them smile while he finds casper’s contact to call him.

and of course, he picked up after the first ring while y/n was still quietly crying as steven rocked her back and forth.

“hey y/n-“

“not y/n it’s steven. so how- how are you? we need your help” stevens voice cracks at the end of his quick sentence.

it’s quiet for a minute. “..with what..?” casper asks.

“…well.. it’s a bit odd but uhmmm.. y/n is kind of- well she’s-“

“she’s what? what happened?” casper asks again, sounding a bit more stressed and worried than before.

“nonono, she’s fine she’s just very.. small?” steven tries to explain.

“okay- you know khonshu, y/n told you about him, right?”

“yeah”

“so he uhm.. kind of rewinded y/n so that she’s now 16 months old” he tries to make it sound as normal as possible.

“he what? is she okay?”

“yeah, she’s just really fussy and layla told me you were good with kids?”

“i think i am, i took care of my sister when she was a baby”

“that’s great”

there’s an awkward silence for a moment.

“i’ll be over in five”

“fantastic”

casper hangs up, and leaves steven to try and get y/n to stop crying.

he leaves the room to go back to the couch, where y/n stopped crying to just stare up at him with teary eyes.

“see, it’s okay” steven grabs one of the small blankets hanging on the back of the couch, wrapping y/n in a small burrito to keep her warm.

“why did khonshu have to do this? he knows damn well we can’t take care of a baby- we haven’t even thought of it” steven shakes his head.

“well…..” marc starts. “when you two aren’t around me and layla have talked about it”

“really? but you’re not even married anymore” steven replies, making jake snort to cover up a laugh.

“shut up- both of you” marc begins again. “but we have also talked about maybe getting remarried. you know, since we technically already have a kid together”

“true, and we’ll be there for you if and when you do” jake assures him, and right as he’s about to speak again, there’s a rapid knock at the door.

steven gently sets y/n down on the couch, making sure to put a pillow barrier between her and the edge.

he opens the door to see casper, who was looking down and fidgeting with his sleeve.

“so what exactly happened?” casper asks.

steven just sighs before letting him in.

it’s going to be a very long 24 hours.

~~~

casper helped a lot in giving tips on how to calm a rabid child.

it did feel weird seeing his girlfriend like that, it almost felt illegal in a way.

but he did have to leave though, his mom wanted him home after a couple hours.

and now it was marc who was sitting on the couch with y/n in his lap, staring up at him.

“is this what babies do all the time? just sit here and do nothing?” he asks and steven chuckles.

“well obviously, she can’t talk yet i’m guessing. or walk” he answers.

“ooh- try to get her to say something” jake offers and marc takes it into consideration.

“it’s worth a shot, hm?” he starts. “do you think she can hear you guys?” he then asks, receiving two ‘i don’t knows’ from both the other men.

marc just shrugs. “what do i do?” he asks, confused on how he was going to get y/n to say anything.

“hell if i know, mate. she’s just around the age that they would start talking so just have her say something simple” steven starts. “just ask nicely” he adds, and marc scoffs.

“can you tell steven to be quiet?” marc asks the baby, who just laughs.

“hey. well that wasn’t very nice” steven starts. “i meant something like ‘dad’ idiot” he continues, all of them smiling at the thought.

“alright then” marc turns his attention back to y/n. “okay baby, can you say ‘dad’?” marc asks the small child, who just stares up at him.

marc repeats those words a few times until y/n starts to hum along with him as he talks.

“good job, you’re getting there” he praises, continuing to try and convince y/n to say anything.

honestly all the guys missed her annoying voice.

it was the good kind of annoying though, like every time she opened her mouth they never knew what was going to come out.

they loved that about her, it’s was one of their favorite things.

the small girl hummed again before opening her mouth, trying to copy what marc had been telling her to say.

all three of the guys eyes widened, watching and listening intently.

y/n tried babbling the word a few times before she finally got it, while marc held his breath.

and then, she said it.

she said ‘dad’.

and it was technically her first word.

marc, steven, and jake were ecstatic. marc pulled her in close to his chest as she laughed, repeating how proud he was.

but that wasn’t all, she also happened to take her first three steps before falling over and bawling her eyes out again.

jake was fronting when that happened.

he had a genuine smile on his face, even when he was trying to get her to stop crying.

there was an incident though when marc was fronting.

y/n was about to finally fall asleep after being fed, and marc was going to go get some water when y/n reached out for him but ended up hitting him in the ass.

the thing is, y/n still had her spidey strength and knocked marc over.

technically y/n was stronger now.

she had the strength of a teenage girl and a little baby.

let’s just say her dads couldn’t wait until she was back to herself.

they were so underprepared to take care of her like this.

but they would always be prepared any other day.

any other day where she was back to her normal self.

any other day, no matter what she needed or when.

because that’s what dads are for.

~~~

A/N : i finally finished it thank god. it wasn’t too exciting. more plot worthy chapters coming soon

love you :)

~~~

taglist ---

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120 notes · View notes

sadlyghost · 2 years

Note

marc and steven support the reader at their new job? gender neutral reader but you can decide whether its more fatherly or brotherly, thank you!

Summary: You finally agree to let your older brothers pick you up from your new afterschool job. You had feared that they would playfully embarass you as usual, but instead you got to see their proud support for you.

Pairing: Steven Grant / Marc Spector x (platonic) Teen Sibling Reader

Words: 1.9k

Content Warnings: Insecurity(?)

You had recently been working afterschool at a small cafe in your area. You were new to the job, but had already adapted well to the environment. You had learned almost all the necessary skills, still getting the hang of some things, but overall, doing very well at your first job.

Your older brothers had been begging to come and see you at your work, but you had kept denying their requests. You knew how good they were at playfully embarassing you and you just didn't want your new coworkers to see you so embarassed. Of course your older brothers always had good intentions, you didn't doubt that, but they knew you so well that they could embarass you in practically any situation.

Steven was usually oblivious though, embarassing you on accident and only realising afterwards. Marc was more tactical, he always had a goal to execute; whether it was prompting you to start a conversation with a classmate you liked, or persuading your family members to favour you.

You wouldn't give them too much of a hard time about it though, it was their brotherly duty to do such a thing. You'd usually react by just hiding your face, shielding yourself from the embarassment as you slid away into the nearest hiding spot until it was safe to come out so that you and your brothers could laugh it off.

You were currently working at the register and handling the customers infront of the cafe afterschool when your brothers entered the store. Today was the day you had agreed that they could pick you up and drive you home from work.

You were too busy to notice as they entered the small cafe, looking around the place and taking in the atmosphere. It was nice, welcoming. They noticed you at the register, serving a customer kindly, which brought a smile to their faces. They hadn't seen you in a work environment before, but it looked like you were doing well, they were very proud.

You then moved on to making another hot drink, your brothers noticing that your concentration face was on full display. They new you well enough to know when you were truely concentrating on your task, even if it was something as small as making a coffee for someone.

They just observed your actions, not wanting to disturb you as you finished up your shift as it seemed quite busy at the moment.

Steven moved to the back of the cafe, just observing you proudly as you moved around behind the counter, collecting various treats for the customers.

After the line of customers had dissipated and there was no one else waiting in the store, Steven stepped forward to the register, deciding to speak to you while the cafe was quiet and empty. You automatically headed over as you noticed another customer you needed to serve in your peripheral vision. But when you looked up, your eyes widened as you realised it was your brother.

"Hiya y/nn," he greeted warmly as he waved at you.

"You're here already?!" you ask, a little shocked that they hadn't come to embarass you yet.

"Indeed we are. You look like such a professional here," Steven comments as he gestures around the coffee store. "Are you suree you haven't been workin' here for months?" he says, acting playfully suspicious, his words implications turning out to be a compliment.

"Not a chance. I started the other week. I still don't know how to use half of this stuff. Plus, a customer said 'thank you' after I served them and then I said 'you too'. Like what the hell? I can't even serve properly," you insult your own abilities, feeling down about your performance at this new job already.

"Heyy, I'm sure you're crushing it. I watched you serve like ten people, you were bloody brilliant. Totally aced it," he compliments. You look away, finding it hard to accept his words. "Here, I'll test it out, 'ey? Which is the best drink?" he asks, looking up at the menu hanging on the wall above you.

"Well you'd probably like the chai," you reply. You knew how much Steven loved his tea so of course you recommended that for him

Steven ordered the tea and watched curiously as you made it. Luckily the rush from before seemed to of died down as no other customers were entering the store currently. You spent your time making it, you knew just how Steven liked his tea so you were hoping he'd enjoy it. He took a sip of it and a wide smile spread across his face.

"Oh wow. Now this is a top tier cuppa. This is proper good y/n," he says, taking another sip.

"Yeah but your my brother, you have to say you like it. It's just sibling rules," you explain, still avoiding his compliments.

"But I'm telling the truthh," he whines playfully. "This is heavenly."

"You're also biased to tea, it's your British-ness," you pointed out.

"Hmm I'd say that I'm an expert, not biased - meaning that I know my good teas from bad" Steven says matter of factly, putting his index finger up.

"I still don't believe you. I've only been here for a couple of weeks. I can hardly make anything right," you say, feeling defeated.

"Seems like I'll have to be the real judge here," Marc says after switching out with Steven. You groan softly, the risk of embarassment just increased tenfold. What was he up to?

"And you know my opinions on tea, y/n, so I'm gonna give you my honest review" he says, referring to his dislike of almost all teas.

You watch nervously as your brother takes a sip of the tea. He nods to himself and then looks back to you.

"Man, Steven wasn't joking. This is actually very good. Maybe you're just a natural barista. Good job y/n," he says, acting surprisingly nice and not cheeky at all. Maybe he was being genuine and maybe you didn't actually suck at this job. Huh.

But you barely have time to brush of his compliments, as your boss steps in from out the back of the cafe, joining you behind the counter as she moves around, doing some general cleaning. Your wide eyes look to Marcs. He knows that look. It's the 'don't embarass me now' look. He chuckles softly to himself. Oh no.

"Excuse me ma'am," Marc calls out to your boss. You quietly groan to yourself, preparing for your older brothers antics on his seemingly life long quest to embarass you.

"Yes sir?" your boss replies, walking over beside you to assess the situation, thinking Marc is about to complain about something.

You watch as Marc adjusts his posture, noticing him putting on his acting face as he selects a character which will help him best suceed in his goal. You thought his goal was going to be just plain embarassing you again, but once he started talking, you became confused with his motives.

"I just gotta say, this is the best tea I've ever had! I mean, damn, you guys serve amazing drinks!" he says, acting unusually cheery. Your boss is relieved and you're just confused. He wasn't going to embarass you completely?

"And this employee here, absolutely wonderful! Great customer service," he states, really going over the top with his smile and facial expressions, which was much unlike your older brother. But he wanted to get his point positvely across to your boss, he was trying to persuade her.

"They did a great job! I can tell they're really skilled at what they do. A lot of care went into this tea. I can definitely taste it," he contiues complimenting you in his overly cheery voice.

"How long have they been working here?" Marc asks your boss, even though he already knew the answer of course.

"Just a few weeks now. They're very talented, aren't they?" your boss agrees.

"A few weeks? Thats impressive" Marc says, acting suprised at this information. "I know they've only been here for a little while, but I think they're a keeper for sure. I mean, I'd be giving them a raise if I were you," he suggests, persuasively. You gasp in shock at his words. Was that his goal here? Was he seriously trying to get you a raise when you had only just started here? That was never going to work.

Your boss considers his words before nodding her head in agreement, much to your suprise.

"You know what? You're very right sir. They definitely deserve a raise," she says. Marc smiles in sucess and you just look at him in disbelief. He really just did that. He totally just convinced your boss to give you a raise.

"You're shift is almost up, y/n. Lets talk about this raise before I let you go, okay?" your boss asks kindly. You nod to her and look back to Marc with wide eyes. Marc just smiles at you, lowkey amused by your shocked reaction.

"I'll wait outside," he whispers. You nod before heading to the back to discuss the raise.

Marc is waiting outside, back to his usual self, no more cheery over the top acting to win you a raise. You walk up to him, jaw still dropped at what he had done.

"I can't believe you just did that. You even put on your whole cheery face and everything," you state. He chuckles at you.

"I think it went pretty well. Did your boss give you a good raise?" he asks curiously.

"How couldn't she after your whole damn speech? It was a great amount" you said, laughing softly as you loosened up a bit.

"Well I'm glad. You're super good at this job, so you totally deserve it," he says, patting you on the back as you both start walking back to his car so they can drive you home.

"I can completely confirm. I've had my fair share of cuppa's in my time. But that was positively delicious" Steven pipes in. You smile, finally starting to believe their words and gain some confidence in your own abilities on the job.

"Well thanks guys. Maybe you picking me up from work isn't completellyyyy horriblee" you admit. Steven laughs at your reluctance to admit such a thing.

"Does that mean we're sheduled for tomorrow as well?" he says hopefully. You nod with a smile.

Turns out, your brothers picking you up from work went much better than expected. Sure you were still a little embarassed, but it was all with good intentions and it turned out well. They are your big brothers, its practically their job to embarass you. Thankfully, their countless compliments and over the top speech to your boss had worked out in your favour. You had even started accepting their kind words.

You were thankful to have such caring older brothers who were enthusiastic to come back and pick you up from your job again and again and however many times you wanted them to. They were the best.

~~~

A/N - Hello, yes, I am indeed back and returned. Sorry I kinda dipped out of Tumblr for a bit.

Hope y'all enjoy this and I hope the person who requested this is happy with it :)

Any and all feedback is accepted. I'm here to improve and make y'all feel better, so knowing what you want and how you feel about this is very helpful haha.

Fun Fact: Chai translates to tea in Hindi, so saying 'chai tea' really just means 'tea tea'.

Have a wonderful day everyone :)

122 notes · View notes

yikesitskennawrites · 2 years

Text

Transitions- Chapter Seventeen: Annoying Jake Lockley

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Pairings: Steven Grant x (platonic) Reader, Marc Spector x (platonic) Reader, Jake Lockley x (platonic) Reader, Layla El-Faouly x (platonic) Reader

---

“How was your weekend?” Lauren asks as you open your locker and put away your belongings before tying your apron around your waist. You groaned as you shut the small metal door and walked the couple of feet to where she was slicing cucumber.

“Too short.” You state. “I just napped all weekend and ate chicken and rice, while binge watching shitty rom-coms.” Really, you made your weekend not sound as terrible as it actually was. You did nap, but you didn’t sleep well. You tossed and turned on your couch well into the early morning hours after waking from a nightmare as you did every night for the past month. It was nice to try to relax but it didn’t work out so well. You did recover some by eating more than you have been, but you still felt tired; and you were sure that part of the reason was your worry for Marc and Steven.

You know that Jake would protect the body at all costs, but it’s still a body that Marc and Steven share. You began to get anxious whenever Jake was away for too long simply because you didn’t know if they would come back alive. It’s odd worrying for someone that you only knew for nearly three months. Back when you were fourteen and fifteen and you made friends, you didn’t worry this much or become this anxious for them. Perhaps the rooted fact that a cult and an Egyptian god are thrown into the mix is a major factor in how much you care. Also, you hate to think this, but you haven’t been close with anyone for a little over a year, so you understood why you were feeling nervous about the men's return. You were becoming soft for your neighbors.

“How was yours?” You ask while stifling a yawn.

“Kris and I went with the kids over to Canvey Island for the weekend.” She says as she reaches for another cucumber and puts into the slicer before turning the handle. You make an O shape with your mouth. Right, she took over your shift Friday.

“Oh shit.” You state with a wince. “I’m so sorry that Kris and you had to cancel date night.”

“It’s alright,” She waves away your apology. “It’s more memories for the kids and us to share. Besides, you can babysit next time if you’re up for it.” You lean against the sink and cross your arms over your chest.

“I never babysat anyone before.” You admit.

“Not even your siblings?”

“I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Didn’t even babysit the neighbors kids.”

“Well, I was just teasing you about it.” She says with a small smile on her face. You let out a relieved sigh. “I would be willing to help you learn how to take care of small children if you want to.”

“Really?” You say with an arched brow. You were a bit surprised that Lauren would let you trial run with her children. Well, it's under her supervision, so you guess you could understand her proposition. “I know the gist is to make sure that they stay alive.”

“That’s the most important part.” She agrees and laughs a bit. You smile and watch her pick up another cucumber and put it into the slicer before continuing turning the handle.

“So, how was Canvey Island?”

“It was good!” Lauren excitedly says. She briefly pauses in turning the handle and shooting you a grin. The sight of her eyes crinkling in the corners and the twinkles shining in her eyes made you force out a laugh from your tightening chest. She reminded you of your own mom whenever she used to get hyped about something or reminisce about her youth. Your own mother would get a similar expression on her face and tell you all about her past and excitement. You missed her.

Lauren doesn’t seem to notice your faltering smile as she says, “It was low-tide. So we were able to go out a bit and check out the tidepools. Molly loved seeing the starfish and barnacles while Jaime tried to catch fish in those small pools.” You look down at your shoes which looked like they barely had any scuff marks or dirt to signal the two years of use since you scrubbed them clean of blood the day after you were attacked.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink as you asked, “Did you and Kris have fun?” You shifted your eyes to her and the sight of her eyebrows wiggling a suggestive look in her eyes made you snort and the tightness in your chest loosen a small fraction.

“Oh we sure did.” She grins. “The kids fell asleep in the hotel room and Kris and I went out to the hot-tub.” You stand up straight and begin to mess with the strings of your apron before you walk over to the time clock and punch in to begin your shift.

Lauren peaks around the shelf supplies of mayonnaise, mustard, and seasonings towards you as she asks, “Have you been to Canvey Island?” You shake your head as you adjust the nametag on your cap.

“Nah, but I do want to travel around England.” You say as you walk back to the sink and drain the remaining water.

“Just England?” She gives you a look. “You don’t want to visit anywhere else?”

“Traveling outside of the country doesn’t seem like it's in the cards for me now and I don’t want to get my hopes up.” You shrug. “I do want to do more with my life than just move from America over to the United Kingdom. But, uh, I just don’t know.” You can’t exactly tell her that you don’t want people squinting at your passport and other documents.

“Even with the holiday pay we get?” She pushes as she begins to take apart the slicer and put the metal components in the sink next to you. The loud banging of the metal against the sink causes you to wince from the noise. You nod.

“I kind of want to focus more on saving money and traveling around England.” You say. It wasn’t a lie, you did want to travel around the country. Lauren hums and begins to fill up the sink with warm water. “I have yet to see Big Ben and the London Eye, and I’ve been living here for over a year. I also hear that Manchester is a good place to visit.” She stares at you with an expression of disbelief. You shrug and turn your attention to filling up the sink.

“You lived here for over a year and you haven’t traveled around London?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadass.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, Lauren.” You tell her. You run your hand underneath the running water to check if it's the right temperature before nodding to yourself. You turn back around and she gives you an incredulous look. “It’s not like I didn’t want to. I was just too busy.”

“You get two days off and paid holidays. I know that you’re a workaholic since you ask for shifts on your days off; but, love, it’s rubbish that you haven’t even seen Big Ben. Have you seen Buckingham Palace?”

“Only on television and social media.”

“Only on the telly?”

“Yeah,” You say. “It’s a building.”

“It’s the Queen's Palace.” She empathizes with the word and you shrug.

“Well, when you go to America would you want to see the White House?”

“No, it’s just a building.” She says. You shut off the water and watch a small frown tug at her lips. “I would want to see the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone, maybe try out some New York pizza.” You nod slowly and she bumps her shoulder into yours lightly as she places the cutting board into the new soapy water.

“I think you might know a few places to recommend.” She adds. You push yourself off of the sink and raise your arms above your head to stretch your back. You may be sixteen but sleeping on a couch for a year, excluding the few weeks you robbed your neighbors of their bed, hurts your back.

“I can tell you right off the bat that American life is better in the movies and shows than it is in real life.” You tell her and she nods in agreement.

“I know. I saw the Tiktoks of how the American government is handling the blip is like watching a dumpster fire.” Lauren sympathizes.

“The best sights to visit in New York are the subway system to see rats bigger than your size nine shoes.”

“Oh sod off.” She says and you laugh despite the honesty of it. “Are you joking?”

“I’m deadass.” You answer. “Y’know how bad the seagulls are here in London? The rats are worse.” You once saw someone eating some fries and a seagull swooped down and took them right from in between their fingers. You swore that they nearly lost their digits that day. The rats were worse in your opinion. They were all over the platforms in the subway station and you thought you saw one give birth in between some garbage cans in an alley. It was gross watching them scurry across the cement or in between the tracks as you waited for the subway. Lauren scrunches her nose.

“There is a good restaurant I recommend,” You say after a moment. “It’s not a pizza place but Shawarma Palace is really good.”

“Shawarma.” She says. You hum and grab a food service wiper from the box on the shelves with seasonings.

“Yeah, it became a popular joint after the battle of New York in 2012.” You turn around and begin to wash the dishes. Lauren hums.

“How was that?”

“Shawarma? It was good. It’s kind of like what we do here but just the wraps and they have their own dipping sauce.”

“No, the battle. Although, it does sound good.” She says and you nod in agreement. Man, you would enjoy it now. It became a tourist spot once the Avengers visited the restaurant and the owners posted the pictures of them eating online. But, you visited it a couple of times with your parents.

“Oh, the battle was terrifying. Loki was trying to take over New York and he was doing some weird mind control shit.” You shrug, “Aliens invaded the city and the Avengers took care of it.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Lauren asks. You look up from the knife you were washing and towards her.

“I can hear myself just fine.”

“You sound mad.” She says while she saran wraps the cucumber container. “I just can’t believe you lived in New York.”

“I wouldn’t have if it was up to me.” You tell her. You return your attention back to the knife you were washing. You don’t know how true the statement was because if you didn’t live in New York you wouldn’t have met your best friend and you probably wouldn’t have the same interests as you do today. But, if you didn’t live in the state, there's the highest possibility that your parents could be alive. They wouldn’t have gotten hit by the car after they came back from the blip.

“The insurance was high but some of the housing was cheap.” You add.

“Did your home ever get destroyed in fights?”

“No, but some of the people I went to high-school with did.” The sound of a bell rigging made you look up at the monitor hanging from the ceiling that shows the lobby and see a customer waiting in line to order.

“I got it.” Lauren says as she picks up the container of cucumbers and begins to walk into the front. You busy yourself with washing the dishes so the pre-closer wouldn’t have a stack of them to work on after the lunch rush hits. You carefully scrub the slicer and spray it with the nozzle before dipping it into the sanitizer and hanging it on the shelf above the sink to dry. From where you were standing, you could hear Lauren asking the customer what they wanted and laughing at something they said. You dry your hands with a paper towel as you gaze at the monitor for a moment.

For as long as you knew Lauren she always managed to stay upbeat and positive. For a while you thought she was putting drugs into her morning tea since you knew a handful of people at your old high-school who did drugs and acted similarly. Lauren never seemed to have a terrible day, she always found the good in something. It took you a long time to come to the conclusion that it’s just the type of person she is.

You toss the paper towels into the garbage can before opening up the fridge door to do your daily task of counting the vegetables and meats to determine how much you have left until delivery day. The sight of a small plastic container filled with red sauce and something else caught your attention. It was decorated with green scribbles on the surface of the container, it was hard to figure out what it was but you could tell that it was a child's drawing.

Lauren passed the open fridge door and so you poked your head out and held up the container while asking, “What’s this?” She stops in her tracks and looks at you and the small box you held.

“I brought you leftovers from last night's lasagna.” She says with a small shrug. Your mouth parts a bit and you feel your chest tighten a little once more.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t tell-”

“The manager you kept in the fridge. She wouldn’t like it because of the cross-contamination. I know.” You share a smile with her before you gesture to the green markings. “So, what’s with the scribbles?” Lauren eyes it with a frown.

“Molly thought the containers were too boring so she decided to spice it up.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. She took the liberty of decorating the containers. The one you’re holding right now is a spaceship.” She says. You hold it up a little higher so you could see the art piece. It was a lumpy oval with another circle inside of it. Lines were diagonally pointing down, you assumed that part was supposed to be beams of the ship. She adds, “The others have flowers and stars and princesses.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jamie once thought it was a perfect idea to paint the wall with Molly’s finger paint. We’re renting the apartment.” Your mouth drops open as you put the container back onto the shelf and make a mental note to take it back to your place later.

“All it takes is less than thirty seconds with my eyes off of them and they’re up to no good.” Lauren says. Just from listening to her stories about her children you were glad you didn’t have any mini humans to take care of. You crouch down and begin your count of the tomatoes as you listen to your friend ramble about other things Molly did when she was younger. The longer you listen, the less you want children. You don’t know how your parents decided to try for a baby and raise you. Looking back on it, you were kind of a problem child. Your mother told you countless times how you painted your nursery walls with the paint they were going to use for the living room.

She told you how you snuck off to the bathroom and flushed your toys down the toilet and that it caused the apartment building to have pipe issues for days. Your father told you how he brought you to work one day because the babysitter couldn’t watch you and you scribbled on his boss's desk during an important meeting. You don’t remember any of the events that they said you did, but your parents always found it amusing to recount them to you.

“How many tomatoes do we have?” Lauren asks as you finish up your count and stand back up. You try to shake the numbness out of your legs from crouching for so long as you let out a yawn.

“Enough to last us until delivery day on Wednesday.”

“Good.” She replies and you both look up at the monitor as you hear another bell ring.

“I got it.” You tell her. You walk around her and into the front. You shoot a smile at the customer before washing your hands in the small sink on the back counter and drying them with the paper towels as you approach the first station to begin the task of making them a sandwich. The customer was a woman with brown hair and matching eyes. She stared at the menu directly above you as you tossed the towels into the trash can and pulled out the correct size gloves from underneath the first station.

“What can I get started for you?” You ask as you struggle to pull on the plastic gloves onto your wet hands. Your tone was a little friendlier than it would be if you weren’t talking to anyone who wasn’t a customer. The smile you had on your face falters as you lifted the cover and stared at the women. You recognize her, she was the same person from the bus stop last month, your eyes glanced down to her arm and sure enough she had the scale tattoo.

“I don’t know. What do you recommend?” She asks. Her eyes trailed away from the menu and to you. Your hands trembled as you tried to keep calm by placing them onto the white boards in front of you. Your throat tightened and you swore you felt droplets hit your arms and soak the front of your uniform. You felt the blood rush out of your face as you shared eye contact with the women. You knew that if anything would happen it would be on camera and Lauren would be a witness to the crime if she were to survive. She’s probably staring at the monitor right now as both of the women wait to hear your response.

“Number twelve.” You say, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. “It’s bologna, pepperoni, and bacon with shredded mozzarella.” It was the worst sandwich in your opinion but she didn’t need to know that. She doesn’t look away from you to gaze back at the menu. You shift anxiously from foot to foot as you wait for her to say something.

“You look tired.” She says and tilts her head to the side a bit. Her baby hairs brush against her face. “Rough night?” Your hands grip one another harshly.

“Something like that.” You reply stiffly and she lets a small smile spread across her face.

“I would like a number seven.” She says after a moment. You pull out the deli paper from underneath the line and place it on the white board before turning around and grabbing a loaf of white bread from the cabinet. You reach for the pink handled knife from underneath the line and cut open the bread swiftly before returning it to its slot and reaching for the turkey and ham to place it onto the loaf. She says your name gently as if you were a wild animal. You look up at her with wide eyes. How the fuck did she know your name? Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you feel the room begin to sway.

You swallowed roughly as she says, “I would like cheddar cheese and for it to be toasted.” Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips and you nod before shakily placing down the remaining amount of meat and reach for the shredded cheddar. You grab the toaster pan and pick up the deli paper with both hands and pop it into the toaster oven. She says your name quietly, you would have been surprised that you heard it since the blood pounding in your ears made it difficult to hear.

“I want cucumbers, tomatoes…” She lists off the vegetables, and usually you would be attentive and be able to memorize the customers order before the timer for the toaster oven would go off. But, with the swaying room and the feeling like you were drowning was a challenge that you were losing to. How the fuck did she know your name? Your trembling hands pulled the sandwich from the oven with the spatula and placed it on the whiteboards before reaching for the vegetables you thought she asked for.

“Can you-?” You clear your throat and try to give her an apologetic smile, but you were sure that it was a fearful grimace instead. “Can you repeat that, ma’am?” You carefully put on the vegetables as she listed them and the appropriate sauce she requested to top it off.

“I would like it to-go.” She says as you cut the sandwich in half. You nod as you struggle to not look like you weren’t failing at not showing your panic. It took you two times to wrap the sandwich and put in your passcode for the tablet to ring her out. It took you a little longer to give her the appropriate amount of change back. Her fingers brushes against yours as you drop the quarters and bills into her hand and you try not to show your cringe at the contact.

“Thank you.” She smiles and places the bills into her pockets before picking up her sandwich. “See you around.” She adds your name as she leaves the restaurant. Your legs shook and you clutched onto the counter as Lauren passed next to you with arms full of stainless steel banes with food to restock before the lunch rush hits. You close your eyes and try to feel like air was filling your lungs and you were above the water rather than below it.

“Are you okay?” Lauren asks. She sounded like she was at the other end of a tunnel. You open your eyes and stare at her, she looked like she was moving slightly from side to side but you knew she was standing still. You couldn’t let her send you home. You already lost a few hours last week for your paycheck.

“How did she know my name?” The question didn’t sound like it came from you despite the vibrations of your voice in your throat..

“Your nametag?” She says incredulously and points to the tag on your cap. “Are you okay? You’re really pale and- are you sweating?” You didn’t know, honestly you didn’t care enough about your well-being at the moment. You swallow dryly and shrug in her direction. The movement caused your tense shoulders to feel more heavy. Your mouth felt dry and stuffed full of cotton.

“Go sit down.” Lauren demands as the bell chimes once again. You nod and the movement itself causes the room to sway even more. It was a mistake to move your head and it was an even greater mistake to walk to the break-chair in the back. You held onto the walls as you struggled to get the room to stop spinning and swaying, but you failed to make it stop like you were on the tea-cup ride at Disney World Amusement Park. You did stumble into the shelves and sink, you hit your hips and arms into the metal surface. You knew bruises will be forming on your body tomorrow but you didn’t care enough about it, you just wanted the world to stop spinning. You reached the break-chair and slid into the seat before placing your elbows on the small table in front of you and supporting your head with your hands.

You knew that the cult members were aware of where you worked and lived and what bus route you took, but for some reason you didn’t think they would have the audacity to walk into the establishment of where you were employed. Perhaps you thought that because of the cameras and the constant flow of people around you, of course you were wrong. You breathe a shuddering breath as tears threaten to spill out of your eyes and drop down onto the table-top. You refused to let the tears fall instead you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the air filling your lungs helped ground you as you counted to ten and slowly released it before repeating the process.

You only opened your eyes when you heard footsteps approaching you. Lauren looked upset and concerned, it wasn’t a good look for her. The thought made a snort leave you as you wiped your eyes away from any tears with the back of your hand.

“Eat some lasagna and take your lunch early. I don’t want to hear any ifs or buts.” Lauren glares at you as she stops next to the table you sat at. She placed a hand on her hip and gave you a stern, motherly look. “I’m serious, darling.” You didn’t want to go through the process of explaining to her that it wasn’t your lack of eating that caused you to panic but rather that women from a cult that attacked you and your friend who's your neighbor.

“Okay,” You say instead. She walks over to the fridge and grabs the container of the food and a plastic fork from the box of utensils on the shelf before setting both things in front of you.

“Eat. I want to see all of that gone by the time your lunch is over with. I’ll clock you out.” She says and points her two fingers at her eyes and back to you before she walks away to do what she promised and to finish up prepping for the day. You peeled open the plastic lid and set it onto the surface of the table before removing the plastic wrap from around the fork and stabbing the utensil into the pasta. You brought the noodle up to your mouth and chewed on it slowly. It tasted good but you bet that it would taste even better warmed up, but despite that you sat still and chewed on your cold meal.

You leaned back in your seat as you ate quietly, trying not to let yourself become overwhelmed with remembering what just happened a few minutes ago. A noise to your right caught your attention, it was loud and obnoxious. It was coming from one of the lockers. You stood up on wobbling legs and pulled open your locker door to see if it was coming from yours and sure enough your phone was vibrating with Marc's caller ID. You stared at it for a moment, wondering if you were somehow hallucinating this enough to imagine that Marc was calling your phone after a month of not being able to speak with him. Maybe you really were going insane and this was just your brain trying to comfort you. You picked up your phone as soon as the vibrations ended, you stared at your lock-screen of your parents until the screen went black and the phone began to vibrate in your hands. Your thumb hit the accept call button and you brought the device up to your ear.

“Hello?” You answer. You heard soft music in the background and the sound of cars honking at one another.

“It’s Jake,” He tells you. “Come outside.”

“I can’t just go outside.” You tell him, your voice was shaky. “I’m eating my lunch.” The excuse was weak, but you didn’t care, you just didn’t want to go outside and get ambushed by the cult again; and honestly, you didn’t know how brave you could be with facing Jake after what happened with the woman.

“Then why are you answering your phone?”

“Because I thought it was important.” You say with a roll of your eyes.

He pauses and awkward silence falls between you before he says, “When do you get off of work?” You glance at the time on your phone. You had about three hours left of your shift since the assistant of the morning opener always gets about five hours of work. You usually work eight hours since you needed money and your co-workers needed help; but, you decided that you were going to leave at the assigned time because of the creepy lady.

“I get off at two.” You answer. “Why?”

“You’re not riding the bus.”

“What?” You ask and stare in confusion at the wall in front of you. The soft call of your name made you turn your head. Lauren stood next to the freezer and the bread making counter with a look of concern. You hold up your finger to signal to give you a minute. The bell above the door rings and it momentarily distracts both of you before Lauren calls out a greeting to the customer and disappears to head into the front of the store. “What do you mean?”

“I’m waiting outside.” He says. You scrunch your brows and walk into the lobby while gazing out the front windows of the restaurant. All you saw was parked cars along the narrow street and people and traffic passing by.

“I don’t see you.” You say. You lean a little further towards the window to peek down the sidewalk for him to be leaning against the neighboring shops but you still didn’t see him. “Besides, you don’t have a car and I’m not walking to my apartment.”

You were lucky enough to not have to walk the hour and a half long stride to your building. You only goggled the maps to it because you were curious how long it would take for you if you missed the bus and didn’t have enough money to call a taxi or uber. You never missed the bus unless it was on one of your days off because you were more relaxed about taking your time; and even that was pretty rare.

“Si, and Marc and Steven didn’t know I existed until a while ago.” He replies. You shoot a reassuring smile at Lauren as you walk back into the employees only area.

“You really have a car?” You ask. He hums his answer, you can see him rolling his eyes in your mind. “And you’ve been letting Steven take the bus.”

“Well, he doesn’t have his permit.”

“Jake.”

“I’ll be waiting outside.” He says. The beeping coming from the phone made you pull away your device and stare at the black end call screen. Your reflection stared back until the phone Lauren rounds the corner and you glance up at the monitor when the bell rings just to see the customer leaving.

“Is everything okay?” She asks. You breathe out slowly and put your phone back into your locker.

“Everything is good.” You manage to lie. “Just my uncle telling me he was going to pick me up as a surprise so I don’t have to fight for a seat on the bus ride to the apartments.”

“Oh, that's nice of him.” She smiles. “You really need that after what just happened a while ago.”

“Yeah.” You return her smile. “Who’s the pre-closer today?”

“Emily, I think.” Lauren says before walking backwards to the corkboard and reading the schedule. “She gets here at two.” You sigh and nod slowly at Lauren before sitting back down and eating the remaining pasta. God, you just hoped the car Jake had wasn’t a creepy white van and he wasn’t going to kidnap you and kill you and dump your body into the Thames river. Your stomach churned and you breathed out another shuddering breath as you fought your body to hold down your food. It took several minutes just for your stomach to settle down before you were able to take another bite. Maybe you could spend your break with Jake if you feel brave enough to leave the building. That’s only if it slows down enough after the lunch-rush that you won’t feel too guilty about leaving Lauren and Emily alone.

By the time your lunch was over, you only had a small portion left which you didn’t feel too guilty about throwing it away since it was only a small bit. You clocked in and tightened the straps of your cap as the bell rings once more and you put on a smile and greeted the recent customer as cheerfully as you can.

You didn’t get to spend your fifteen minute break with Jake, although you did spend at least five minutes hiding in the bathroom just to be able to get a small amount of time to yourself. Your feet were aching by the end of your shift and you were ready to go to your flat and kick up your feet onto your sofa and relax. You shoot a text to Marc's phone stating that you were leaving the building and to watch for anyone who may try to kidnap you.

“Have a good night, Lauren and Emily.” You say over your shoulder and you pat your pockets for your key to your flat, the Eye of Horus paper, and your phone that was vibrating once again. You pick it up as you push open the door and look both ways down the street.

“Hello?”

“I’m in the white limo.” Jake says. You blink and turn your head to your right to find the exact vehicle he described parked a little further down the street. A limo. Jake Lockley owns a limo.

“At least it’s not a white van.” You say as you walk towards the car.

“¿Qué?”

“What?” You scrunch your brows. You don’t understand much Spanish.

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, you heard me.” You reply. Your eyes catch the license plate and you couldn’t help but breathe out a short laugh at the sight. Jake Lockley owns a limo and the plate had Marc's last name, you weren’t sure if Marc was aware of the purchase or not. Either way, you sure as hell was going to talk Jakes ear off about the purchase. You watch the passenger side window roll down and you hang up the phone and place it in your pocket. You stood a couple of feet away from the car as you bent down a bit to look into it. Jake Lockley sat behind the wheel with his flat cap and his frog-like expression resting on his face. You didn’t know what exactly gave you the impression that he looked like a frog but the more you squint at him you begin to think that it's his cheeks and glaring brown eyes.

“Get in.” He says. You pull open the door and slide onto the leather seat before shutting it behind you. The sound of the car being locked made you turn your head to see the small button pressed down and the window now rolled up completely.

“Why are you picking me up?” You ask as you buckle yourself in.

“The bus isn’t safe.”

“Did you run into that lady too?”

“Lady?”

“The one with the scale tattoo.” You say. “She came into my work.” He stares at you for a moment and you wait for his answer.

“Did she do anything?” He asks, his eyes quickly looking you up and down. If you blinked you probably would have missed it.

“No. Just ordered a turkey and ham sandwich.” You tell him and he nods once before turning the car into traffic while looking out the side mirror. You didn’t even hear the purr of the engine as he pressed down on the accelerator gently. “It was still creepy. She didn’t threaten me or tell me to watch my back or to praise Ammit. She just ordered a sandwich.”

“Her being there is the threat.” Jake states. You shift uncomfortably in your seat and his grip tightens on the steering-wheel. “They’re getting too comfortable being out in the open. They’re not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t trying to get to us. At least with Steven and Marc they pretended to be cops with a search warrant after Marc broke the toilets at the museum.”

“Why do you think that is?” You ask. “Why are they deciding to be comfortable now?”

“To get underneath our skin and because they don’t care anymore.” Jake says while staring ahead through the windshield.

“But why?”

“I don’t have all the answers.”

“Okay, but you’re gone all the time so surely you must know something.” You say while staring at him. He doesn’t reply and his silence becomes an answer for you. He does know something, he just doesn’t want to share with you. “Fine.” You huff out. “The less I know the better, right? Or whatever goddamn bullshit you tell me. But if your lack of answer sharing gets me killed. I’ll wring your neck as a ghost. I’ll haunt your ass, Lockley. You will never know a moment of peace once I’m dead.”

“It would be the same as now.” He says and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know a moment of peace with you.”

“Fuck you, Jake.” You hiss. “I’m fucking scared and you won’t tell me shit.”

“For your own safety.” He didn’t sound angry but rather frustrated at your pressure for him to tell you what he knows. You were frustrated because of how long you’ve been kept in the dark and continue to be even though you were nearly kidnapped and you had a guy's arm spray blood onto you and that you have to watch your back every time you go out in public.

“You look like a frog.” You tell him as you cross your arms and lean back in your seat.

“What?”

“You heard me. You look like a frog.” You say. “Ribbit.”

“You’re calling Steven and Marc a frog?”

“No just you.”

“We share the same body.” He deadpans.

“But you specifically look like a frog. Steven looks like a cinnamon roll and Marc looks like he has a stick up his ass half of the time.” You reply and he barks out a laugh. You didn’t want him to find your jabs humorous, you wanted to hurt him just because of how stressed and anxious his lack of sharing has made you. “You don’t even look like the kissable type of frog from Disney movies.”

“What type of frog do I look like then?” Jake asks. You could tell from his tone that he wasn’t hurt or angry at your jabs but deciding to play along.

“A toad.” You say. Honestly, he doesn’t look like a toad, you just said that in hopes of getting him to be upset about his looks. He laughs loudly, the noise hurts your ears in the small confined space the two of you were in. You frown at the noise and glare at him.

“You’re funny.” He admits and grins at you. The sight of his smile made the next insult in your brain disappear, you knew Jake for a month and your conversations were never this long and you never saw him smile. You let your anger and hurt slowly calm down into a simmer as you did a couple of breathing exercises. The sound of soft mariachi band music plays in the silence between you two.

“So, you have a limo.” You say once you felt calm enough to not take your fear and anger out on him.

“No shit.”

“Why a limo?”

“I’m a limo driver.” He answered and you were surprised that he told you.

You try not to show your surprise on your face as you ask, “For who?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” He replies. You shrug.

“I’m bored and you’re the only person outside of work who I get to talk to.”

“What about Lauren?” He asks. “Didn’t you go over to her apartment last month?” Your mouth falls open and you turn your head towards him. You weren’t sure what expression you were showing but whatever it was, it didn’t seem to faze him.

“How do you know about Lauren?”

“I know every person who you work with and their history.” He admits and you blink once. “Part of the job of keeping tabs for your safety and Marcs and Stevens.”

“What?”

“Did you suddenly go deaf or something?”

“No,” You shake your head. “I just- you looked up my friends and co-workers history just to keep me safe, but you won’t tell me what you know to keep me safe.”

“If I found something threatening to your life, I would have taken care of it by now.” Jake says. You didn’t need to guess that ‘by take care of’ means killed. You swallow. At least that means any criminal history your co-workers may have wouldn’t be detrimental to you.

“But the cult obviously wants something. They’re stalking and they feel comfortable enough to go into my work place to order food after, you know, you killed six of their members. So, why aren’t they taken care of?” You state at him and watch the subtle tightening of his grip on the steering-wheel. He’s not going to tell you the answer because he claims that it would keep you safe. The less you know the safer you are and whatever bullshit he says. You run your tongue over your teeth as you think about how he’s Khonshus avatar, a god's avatar, and he disappears for days to weeks without telling you where he’s going and yet the cult is still active and wanting something. Maybe there's a reason Jake hasn’t destroyed Harrow's followers.

“You’re doing this for Marc and Steven. The whole… making sure I stay alive.” You wave around with your hand. “Because you want to keep them safe.”

“You got it.” He says. You nod slowly and knit your hands together in your lap. You didn’t know what to say anymore. You were tired of how much you had to fight him for answers. You leaned your head against the window and watched the scenery go by.

“A client of mine pays me to chauffeur them to parties and the airport and their home.” Jake says. The answer surprised you, you lifted your head from the window and turned towards him he didn't add onto it, which you didn’t expect him to, instead he says, “I’m going to be gone for a while.” You give him a look. “Longer than I have been before.”

“You’re going to be gone for more than a week.” You state. “And you’re not going to tell me where you’re going.”

“I think you already know why.” He replies. You huff out a breath before he adds, “I have a friend who is going to stay with you until then.”

“In my apartment?”

“No. You’re staying in the dumbasses flat.”

“Who’s?” You furrowed your brows at him in confusion.

“Stevens and Marcs.”

“I don’t understand.” You shake your head and turn your body towards him. You slightly lean against the car door and pull the seat belt away from your throat. “You’re going to be gone for a while and you have a friend who’s staying with me?”

He ignores your question by saying, “Here.” He digs into his pants pockets before he hands you a silver key with an orange lanyard attached to it. “The spare key to the apartment. Don’t lose it.” You grasp the thin lanyard in your hands, the thread of it was soft and a little warm from his body heat. The apartment complex you both live in doesn’t give extra keys to the tenants when you sign up as a safety precaution, but they do make spares if you were to ask. So that means Jake had to either go to the hardware store to make a spare key or request a spare key for you.

“Attach your apartment key to it so you don’t lose that too.” Jake adds. “It’s a miracle you haven’t lost that one yet.” You don’t bother to tell him the time that you searched your apartment for hours looking for that key only to find it underneath the couch. After that you decided to make the counter next to your door the spot you place it whenever you walk into your apartment. You bite your cheek as you turn your face to look out the window at the passing scenery. It was scary having Jake pick you up from work and suddenly drop the news that he’s going to be gone longer than a few days and that a friend of his is staying with you in Marcs’ and Stevens flat rather than your own.

That friend better not be Khonshu. Whatever has shaken Jake up enough to wait for a few hours outside of your work place just so you wouldn’t be alone on the bus was bad. This whole situation was horrible but it was terrifying in itself for a god's avatar to be taking these measures.

“Jake.” You say, your tone being pleading and firm. He glances away from the road and to you. “It’s bad isn’t it?”

“That’s for me to worry about.” He answers. His hands gripping the steering wheel a little more tighter. “You’re just a kid.” Any hope that you may have allowed yourself to have, wilted with that statement. Of course you shouldn’t have hoped that Jake-the-secretist would tell you shit.

You decided to ignore that last statement by asking, “Who’s the friend?”

“You met her before.” He says. You rack your brain for someone who you met that may have connections to Jake. The only woman you could think of was Marc's ex-wife who you only met once when Marc and Steven suddenly disappeared off of the planet.

“Layla?”

“Bingo.” Jake states. You look out the windshield to see the familiar street with your apartment building.

“Does she know where you’re going?” You ask. He glances away from the road and towards you with a raised brow. “I’m gonna guess you’re keeping her in the dark as much as I am.”

“Why even bother to ask then?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, a small smile spreading across your face. You hoped the sight would annoy him. “Just to irritate you, I suppose.”

---

Taglist:

@letugulus , @only-roaches , @jvdethirlwall , @xennityxen , @astrobuzzsstuff , @nub-the-stub , @em-asian , @yawn0-0 , @80pairsofcrocs

#moonknight #moonknight x teen!reader #moonknight series #marc spector x teen!reader #Jake lockely x teen!reader #steven grant x teen!reader #Layla el faouly x teen!reader #jake lockely x you #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #layla el faouly x you #gender neutral fanfic #gender neutral reader #marvel x gender neutral reader #transitions

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asherloki · 1 year

Text

Her shield

Marc Spector x reader

Request :- hi!!! I saw ur requests are open for moon night! could I maybe request my fav trope, protective!marc Spector where Marc saves/helps the reader from any number of issues from creepy guy at bar, bad family, car accident or whatever, with some soft!smut after?! thank you!! <3 - @romanarose

You have always been a soft person. Soft at heart soft by nature. Even when your sibling takes your top and never returns you're the rare species who doesn't yells.

You weren't sure how you became marc Spector's girlfriend. Maybe because he did the thing you always wanted, saved you, saved you from everything that bothered you. You found an assurance of safety when he wrapped his arms around you.

When your strict father didn't accepted your relationship with Marc. He was the one you found your home in, when you moved in with him.

Anyway so it was a fine evening when you got a bit tipsy with your friends. As you knew you can't drive yourself home, you were more than tipsy, you were drunk. You called Marc,

"Yes darling" he said on the phone.

"Hi Marc, I was wondering..." You said but he interrupted.

"Are you that drunk?"

"Yes, I fucking am, now pick me up pleaaaasssseee". You said absolutely drunken.

"Okay tell me where you are And I'll pick you".

"Okaaaayyyyy" you said and your friend typed the bar's name.

Both of you were drunk but she was little less. Fifteen minutes later you wondered where your boyfriend might be. You picked up your phone and your purse fell. It was thick with money. And eventually a guy had his eyes on it .

He sneaked slowly and grabbed it, while he was about to put it in his pocket someone caught his arm, a man, he looked and saw a man with furious expression.

"Put it down" he said, to which everyone one looked. So did you and tipsily said,

"ohhhhh maaaarrc".

"You, I'll Talk to you on our way home" marc said to you. "I need to see him first ".

"I... I... Wasn't stealing " said the guy.

"Right, but was being nice enough to hand it over to y/n?" Crosstalked Marc. He held him tightly and said, "Give it back and I'll spare your life".

He got so scared that he almost sweat. He handed him the purse and marc left him. He turned to you and your friend saying, "you both are fucked up, I'll get you two home."

Your friend and you followed him to the car and he turned to you, "what on earth you thought you were doing?"

"What?" Was your drunken reply. To which he kissed you suddenly and deeply.

"Ooooo my baby is in mooooood". You said.

He giggled at your drunken stage and whispered in your ears, "let's go home to get mooooorrrrreee".

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marc spector x you #marc spector smut

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starryevermore · 2 years

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So can you do a comfort one with all the boys & Khonshu where the reader has to put down her dog (for convince of the story it will be she got the dog when she was 9) five days before the reader turns 23. The reader went through a ton of Shit with the dog(multiple moves from being in a military family), fake friends, parents missed sweet 16, youngest sister goes through cancer at age 2)so they decide to Cheer up their S/O

comforting you after you have to put down your dog ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley, & khonshu

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: So can you do a comfort one with all the boys & Khonshu where the reader has to put down her dog (for convince of the story it will be she got the dog when she was 9) five days before the reader turns 23. The reader went through a ton of Shit with the dog(multiple moves from being in a military family), fake friends, parents missed sweet 16, youngest sister goes through cancer at age 2)so they decide to Cheer up their S/O - arc-0606

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector x jake lockley x khonshu

word count: 756

warnings?: a little bit of angst but mostly fluff, discussion of putting down your beloved dog, not proofread

marc would be the fist one to comfort you out of the moon boys and khonshu. while marc was not the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve the most, he would make an exception for only you. he would hold you in his arms as you cried, telling you how much your dog loved you.

he would ask you stories about your dog, listen to you talk about when you first got the dog, how the two of you were best friends. how your dog was one of the only constants in your life, in a life where you were always moving, in a life of backstabbing friends and absentee parents and a sick sibling.

and when you were crying too hard to tell anymore, marc would tell you stories instead. he would talk about how your dog always cheered him up, always made him feel like a welcomed member of your small family. how sometimes, when you were gone to work and marc was alone with your dog, he would talk to your dog about how much he loved you and how your dog always seemed to know exactly what he was saying, nodding along and barking out agreements when appropriate.

khonshu was the type of person (god, if we’re being accurate) who dealt little with issues of comfort. he was never sure what to do, especially when it came to you. his love language was threats, threats to protect those he cared for.

for the first day after you had to put your dog down, he had let you be, let the worm comfort you. but eventually his hollow heart began to ache, knowing that he should be doing more for you.

that first night without your beloved dog, he appeared to you, watching silently as you flipped through a photo album filled with precious memories. finally, he said to you, “i am sorry i could not protect your dog from the illnesses of life.”

you looked at him, offering a small smile. “it’s not your fault. there are some things not even a god can help.”

“that does not change that i could not protect you from this pain,” he said. “from here on out, i shall include dogs among those my moon knight shall protect. i could not protect yours, but i will honor your dog’s memory in all that i do.”

khonshu wasn’t the best with comfort, but he made do with what he could. and for that, you were grateful.

steven was the most familiar with your pain. when he had lost gus the first, he had been heartbroken. he had loved his fish so much, and he had only had gus for a short while. he could only imagine how much pain you were in, having your dog for over a decade.

like marc, he would hold you, listen to you talk. he would offer kind words, tell you that you were the best mom a dog could ask for. he’d tell you to imagine your dog running through the field of reeds, of living a beautiful afterlife.

“one day,” he’d say, “you will see your dog again. and it will feel like no time has passed. one day, you’ll have an eternity of walking your dog, of playing fetch, of being with your best friend again. but until then…your dog will wait eagerly for you and tell anyone who happens upon its way about the amazing human that provided the most wonderful life a dog could ask for.”

jake took you by surprise. when your birthday came a few days later, he woke you up early, taking you to the nearest shelter.

“nothing can replace the bond you and your dog had,” he’d say, “but that doesn’t mean it has to be the only bond you have. and while i don’t expect you to want to jump in and adopt another dog today, i thought it might be nice to pay with some of the dogs here.”

“this is probably the most thoughtful thing you’ve ever done,” you’d say, kissing him softly.

and the two of you would spend the entire day playing with the dogs at the shelter, laughing and having fun for the first time since you put your dog down. it didn’t completely numb the pain, but it did make you forget for just a little while. and, it planted a seed of an idea of what it might be like to co-parent a dog with your lovely boyfriends.

#steven grant imagine #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x female reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x reader #khonshu imagine #khonshu x reader #khonshu x fem!reader #khonshu x female reader #starrywrites #starryevermore

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belovedspector · 8 months

Text

Moon Knight College!AU Headcanons

Pairings: Steven Grant x Layla El-Faouly, Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly

Warnings: Mentions of Randall Spector's death, allusions to Wendy Spector

Word Count: ~700

A/N: I've had this idea rattling around in my head for a while and decided to share the headcanons I've accumulated. Enjoy! :)

Steven knows about Marc and they get along/share the body well (haven't quite figured out when/how this would have happened).

Jake is technically there, too, but Steven and Marc don't know about him yet.

Marc and Randall both loved baseball. They played together and followed the Cubs, going to games whenever they could.

Marc kind of threw himself into baseball after Randall's death. Practices and games gave him a reason to be out of the house and took his mind off everything.

He also started working as soon as he could as a teen and took on as many hours after school and over the summer as he was legally allowed to, along with mowing lawns and shoveling snow for neighbors. Again, it got him out of the house, and he was able to save up a decent bit of money before going off to college.

Marc is on his high school baseball team and is good enough to get a full ride scholarship to [insert college/university here一something in either Chicago or New York]. He ends up there instead of joining the military, at Steven's urging.

They minor in history for Steven but major in something "practical" (Marc's wording) like business.

Marc has never really liked school. He can't sit still, can't focus. He's not dumb, far from it, but just doesn't do well in a traditional classroom setting.

He hates the first day of classes most of all, when it's all ice breakers and introducing oneself. He hates the attention on him, prefers to just keep his head down and do his work.

"Do you have any siblings?" / "No," Marc lies through gritted teeth. It's easier this way. No need to trauma dump to a class full of poor, unsuspecting students.

Steven, on the other hand, loves school. He thrives in that environment.

They're co-conscious during classes, so Steven is there to absorb all the information and take notes, but Marc is still the one to participate and answer questions when necessary.

More than once, a professor has called on Marc, who hadn't been paying attention, but Steven is there to feed him the answer.

Anyway, to the story:

Maybe one evening Steven is stopping by the coffee shop on campus to grab a coffee/tea before heading back to the library to study.

The coffee shop is playing the college radio station, and Layla is the host/DJ for the evening.

That day, the station is running a trivia contest for listeners.

Steven's not really paying attention as he waits in line, but he can't help but perk up at the mention of ancient Egypt.

He mentally answers the question himself. The contestant gives a different answer, and, to Steven's horror, the host rules them correct.

Steven is lowkey fuming, so he ends up calling the station and speaking to Layla. They argue over it for a bit.

(It would have to be something that's contested among scholars, because Steven and Layla both know their stuff. Steven is an ancient Egypt buff, and Layla is an archaeology major.)

Steven starts tuning in to Layla's show after that. He only knows her voice, sure, but he's quickly developing a crush on her. Her voice is just so nice to listen to, and she's smart and cool and kind. He becomes a regular caller.

Layla looks forward to Steven's calls. He's a bit dorky but also so charming. She's crushing on him, too.

Maybe Layla and Marc have run into each other before, so when she and Steven finally do meet irl, she's confused.

(Maybe she has a friend whose boyfriend is on the baseball team, or she tags along to the games with a friend who writes for the school paper.)

Steven may or may not panic and tell her that Marc is his identical twin brother. That'll be fun to clear up later. (It's not a total lie, though, is it?)

Anyway, Steven and Layla start dating.

Eventually the truth comes out about the Marc/Steven situation and Layla is hurt that she was lied to, but also ultimately understands that Steven was trying to protect himself and Marc.

She ends up also getting to know Marc better, and soon enough she's dating him as well.

Maybe over summer break they go to Egypt together and visit Layla's family? Steven absolutely loves it.

Also, I had nowhere else to put this, but Marc drives a 90s Toyota Corolla. It's not the coolest car, but, hey, it's reliable.

Okay, I think that's all for now.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

#moon knight #mcu #marc spector #steven grant #layla el-faouly #marc spector x layla el-faouly #steven grant x layla el-faouly #jace writes

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l3m0ncyan · 2 years

Text

New at Life | Chapter 3

Steven Grant/Marc Spector x latina!teen!reader

Took me long cause I was trying to figure out how to start it

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

————————————————————

Y/N's first week at the museum's gift shop was busy and overwhelming. Since she was the new employee, she had to take on most of the tasks while other employees slacked off or were absent. Plus she wanted didn’t want to embarrass Steven, especially with the way he elevitated her.

Her tasks included restocking shelves, organizing the mess left by customers, and wiping down the front desk, for some reason. After she’d finish, she would try to sit down to relieve her aching body but would be stopped once Donna came back with a new list of instructions. And of course, Y/N would be up on her feet before Donna could finish her sentence.

As the days went on and Y/N's energy drained, Steven grew concerned for her. It was her first job, and she was being worked relentlessly. He attempted to help with some tasks, but she insisted on doing everything herself, leaving him to watch as she hurried around the gift shop.

One day, Donna handed Y/N a sticker gun and told her to mark all the snow globes on clearance. Once she was done, she had to stack them on a designated shelf. Y/N immediately nodded and started applying the stickers, not minding that it was July and nowhere near December.

Seeing Y/N's relentless pace, Steven approached her and joked, “You don’t have to push yourself so hard, don’t want you to combust,”. However, Y/N was too focused to notice. Eventually, she finished marking all the snow globes, feeling relieved. But then she realized she still had to put them on the shelf, which made her groan in frustration.

Steven offered to help, saying it would be faster. This time, Y/N welcomed his assistance. As they both worked to put the snow globes on the shelf, Steven broke the silence, “Anything on your mind?”.

Y/N had a lot on her mind. She was stressed, tired, and on the verge of tears. Steven's worried expression reminded her of her siblings telling her to take a break after a study session, which only made her feel more homesick. She didn't want to break down and prove her parents right about her.

She was considered an adult now, and adults shouldn’t cry to people, especially to their own neighbors who they’ve only met for about a week.

But instead of sharing her true feelings, she simply replied, "I'm fine, thanks for the help, by the way." She grabbed the empty box and went to the register to assist a waiting customer.

After they left, Steven approached her again, “Alright, just take things at your own pace, you don’t have to prove Donna anything,”.

He took a box that he was tasked to take to the stock room and went on his way. Y/N was left with the flood of customers coming in, and Donna passing by to boss her around more.

After two hours, her body felt so tense that it might be considered sculpture in the museum. With her brain constantly firing actions and thoughts, her body felt like it was on autopilot. Luckily, it was finally time for Y/N and Steven's lunch break, granting them 30 minutes of rest, which was much needed, especially for Y/N.

—— Y/N eagerly waited for her granola bar to drop from the vending machine, watching as it descended into the slot. She grabbed a chair, leaned back, and heard her bones crack. Getting back up, she took a sip of water and a bite of her granola. She twisted her feet and neck to find some relief when Steven joined her at the table, holding his lunch.

"I did tell you to slow down," he said, sounding like he was giving her a lecture.

Y/N let out a tired sigh and replied, "I know, but I got things done fast though, didn’t I?”

Steven nodded and began eating his sandwich. Y/N finished her granola bar quickly but was still hungry and didn't have any change for another snack. She regretted not packing her own lunch.

Noticing her playing with the water bottle, Steven looked down and offered her half of his sandwich, “I’m sure that protein bar and water won’t fill you,”.

Y/N looked at his offer and shook her head, “I can’t that’s your lunch,”

“I will be fine, you however won’t and you still have a long way before the end of the day.” he insisted.

She hesitated but eventually accepted the sandwich, thanking him quietly before taking a bite. It was delicious, maybe it was her growling stomach talking or maybe Steven was an amazing sandwich maker, but she didn’t care.

Once she finished, she looked up to see Steven's surprised expression. He didn’t expect her to be so hungry, but he smiled nonetheless. Y/N wiped her mouth and felt a tinge of embarrassment.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to down all that in just seconds,” she said.

Steven waved it off, “It wasn’t that, it just looks like you haven’t eaten.”

Y/N looked away, knowing he was about to worry him, “Well I was kinda in a rush this morning, so I didn’t have a chance to eat breakfast,”

Steven's eyes widened in shock. She was working herself to death with her body running with no food. “How are you still standing?” he said rather loudly, “You have to put yourself first, a job won’t be as important as your wellbeing,”

Y/N shrank in her seat, feeling like she was being lectured by a parent. He went on about the importance of eating breakfast, even bringing up an Egyptian story. She learned in the past few days about his love with Egyptian facts and stories. It was probably why he didn’t try to resign.

"I'll give you my phone number in case you forget to eat or need someone to pack your lunch," he offered, pulling out his phone. He realized he should have given her his number earlier.

Comparing their phones, it was clear who was the younger one. Steven had a simple gray flip phone, while Y/N had a touchscreen phone adorned with stickers of her favorite shows and movies. After exchanging numbers, Y/N saved Steven's contact as "Neighbor Steven."

"It was nice negotiating with you," Y/N quipped before putting her phone away. Steven looked at her with a mix of confusion and amusement. With only ten minutes left of their break, Y/N excused herself to use the restroom.

After coming out of the stall, she walked to the sink, washed and dried her hands, and looked at herself in the mirror. Steven had been right—she looked like she had only slept for an hour. As she attempted to fix her hair, she noticed the lights above flickering and heard a buzzing sound. It reminded her of the elevator lights. Maybe there was an electrical issue in London. She shrugged it off, not wanting to dwell on it.

She walked out of the restroom and headed to the gift shop where Steven was was already starting on his assignments. “You freshened up?” He asked, as he took out blue hippo plushies from a box. She nodded and only promised that she won’t overwork herself.

———— Nearly a month had passed, leaving only a few days until the end of July. During this time, Steven and Y/N have gotten closer to where everyone at the museum were convinced that they were actually cousins. Really it felt like they were siblings.

As a result, Y/N often acted like a younger sister to Steven.

Steven was peacefully asleep when his phone rang, causing him to jolt awake. He reached for his phone on the nightstand and checked the caller ID, unsurprisingly finding it was Y/N.

"Why are you calling so early?" he groggily asked, his voice tired. However, he was immediately met with Y/N's loud voice on the other end of the line, which instantly woke him up.

"It's about time you answered! Are you ready?" she exclaimed.

Confused, Steven furrowed his brow and asked, "Wait, what time is—"

Before he could finish his sentence, he heard Spanish cursing coming from the other end of the line. "Ay chingado, Steven, did you just wake up?" Y/N questioned.

Taking Stevens silence as a yes, she continued, “Dude, we’re going be late for work!”.

Wide-eyed, Steven checked the time and realized they had only ten minutes before the bus departed. Realizing he missed his alarm, he quickly got up, but his ankle was held back by the chain still attached to his ankle cuff. Sighing, he worked his way out of the cuff and got ready. He tended to his goldfish before heading out of his apartment to meet Y/N, who stood there with her arms crossed.

“About time you came out! Let's go!" she urged.

They stepped into the elevator, and Y/N leaned back against the wall as the doors closed. "Good thing I called you. Was your alarm clock broken or something?" she asked.

Steven shrugged, “I’m not sure. That usually doesn’t happen,”

“Yeah, guess I’ll have to record my voice as your new alarm,” she teased.

"Please, no," he chuckled in response.

When they reached the ground floor, they quickly exited the apartment building and made their way to the bus stop. They arrived just in time to catch the bus before the doors closed, but it was already packed, leaving them standing amidst a crowd of people. Standing on a crowded bus had become a common occurrence for them.

Y/N and Steven managed to make it to the museum entrance just in time, weaving through the crowd. Y/N glanced at Steven, asking if their dear boss will be a ‘female dog’ for todays shift. Despite trying to get used to Donna’s personality, she found it hard to like her. The more she had to deal with her, the more reasons she found to dislike her. . Inside the museum, they joined the bustling crowd. Seeing a little girl stuffing a candy wrapper into a pyramid model, Steven told Y/N to go on without him. She nodded and watched as Steven approached the girl.

Steven seemed to enjoy sharing ancient Egyptian facts with others, especially children. Y/N couldn’t help but think of how he would a great teacher if he wasn’t stuck playing gift shopist. He didn't seem like the type to play favorites or get angry at someone for not understanding something.

Y/N made her way to the locker room to store her bag and lunch. Her coworkers greeted her with a "good morning" or simply ignored her, which was fine by her. Returning to the gift shop, she logged into the register and tidied up any items that had been knocked over. Then she went to the rope barrier and unclasped it, allowing visitors to enter.

Although she still worked hard, Y/N stopped going the extra mile like she did during her first week. The main reason was because she would end up exhausted by the end of the day. Steven had even lectured her about taking care of her health, scaring her a bit with his intensity. She knew he meant well, but he could be terrifying at times.

Fortunately, Y/N had gotten used to the museum layout, making it easier for her to find and finish tasks in different places. Most of her shifts were with Steven, as Donna still believed they were cousins. Not out of empathy, but because Donna needed someone to blame if Y/N made a mistake. Which was nearly difficult to do since Y/N was very aware of her actions and surroundings to make any clumsy mistakes.

As Y/N restocked a shelf, she overheard Steven and Donna approaching. Donna was scolding Steven, as usual, about not being a tour guide.

"Don't know how many times I have to tell you this. You're not the bloody tour guide, Stevie," Donna chastised him while he put on his name tag.

"Steven, actually. I am Steven," he corrected her, tapping his name tag. It seemed like Donna never cared enough to remember his name correctly.

After Donna finished berating him, she assigned him a task and walked away. Y/N couldn't help but glare at Donna's retreating figure and muttered, "Guess she didn't make it to third base with her date last night." She expected a smile or a chuckle from Steven, but he looked tired and defeated, most likely from being unheard by the managers.

Y/N pouted and sighed, trying to lift his spirits. "Hey, don't listen to her. Honestly, I think you'd make a better tour guide than those show-offs," she gestured towards the other tour guides who were already busy with their duties. Her words seemed to brighten Steven's mood slightly. His eyes lit up, and he straightened his posture, offering her a grateful smile.

"I've told them many times before, but they just ignore it," he said, frustration in his voice.

“You just gotta keep trying,” she offers a smile which Steven returns. As if on cue, one of the tour guides walk up to them. Looking towards Steven.

"You just gotta keep trying," Y/N encouraged, returning his smile. Just then, one of the tour guides approached them, making a beeline for Steven. The woman was dressed in a black dress and had long curly hair. Y/N had seen her leading tours before, mostly for adults, and they had exchanged a few greetings.

There seemed to be more than a casual acquaintance between her and Steven, judging by the way she smiled at him. "How's the sugar trading going?" she asked, starting the conversation in a quirky manner. However, Steven took her words quite literally and started rambling about how figs and dates would be more historically accurate snacks than what the museum provided. Y/N cringed internally, watching him struggle to maintain the conversation. Deciding to give them some privacy, she moved to a nearby shelf and continued stocking items. She still kept a distance where she can still hear the conversation however.

The woman swiftly changed the topic, "Are we still on for 7pm tomorrow?"

Steven looked puzzled, "7pm tomorrow?"

She tilted her head, amused by his confusion but continued smiling, "Best steak in town?"

Y/N furrowed her brows, when did this happen? Steven was usually too shy to speak to anyone, especially attractive women. She sensed the awkwardness in the air and feared Steven would ruin his chance if it continued. Acting quickly, Y/N moved closer to Steven, pretending to wipe down the desk with a cloth. Before the woman could scoff, Y/N discreetly kicked Steven's leg, urging him to respond and not drive her away.

"Oh, uh, right, yeah," he nodded to the woman in front of him. She smiled and walked back to her tour group. Steven watched her walk away, amazed that someone like her would be interested in going out with him. Still, he doesn’t remember when he asked her out. His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N elbowed his arm.

"Damn, look who's got a hot date. Guess I won't be seeing much of you in the future, cousin," she teased.

"Oh, hush now. You didn't think I could do it?" he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“I mean you were only staring at her while she waited for you to confirm your date. So I had my doubts," Y/N playfully shrugged. Steven crinkled his face into a smile and lightly pushed Y/N, causing her to giggle. Their lighthearted moment was interrupted when Donna walked in with a surprised expression. Y/N groaned, not wanting to deal with her.

"Stevie, you absolute rascal," Donna chimed in, having overheard their conversation. She always seemed to be eavesdropping on her employees' lives and being a judge. Unlike Y/N, who joked about Steven's dating skills, Donna belittled him. Steven simply would nod and let her walk all over him, as usual.

“Oh, speaking of which, have you guys seen the video of that one guy dressed up as Spider-Man riding the motorcycle?” Y/N laughs awkwardly as she tries to change the subject.

Ignoring her, Donna begins judging their date plan, critiquing the way Steven is a vegan and is going to eat at a steakhouse, because how could a sane person choose to go to an all meat restaurant when their vegan? It’s preposterous. Finally Steven had enough and gave Donna a witty answer, “I don’t know, Donna. Salad? Bread?”.

His witty retort caught Donna and even Y/N off guard. Donna remained silent for a moment before scowling and walking away. Steven huffed and continued working, sensing Y/N's gaze on him.

"Dang, and here I thought I was going to be the first one to blow," Y/N smirked, placing a hand on her hip and leaning on the counter.

"I wouldn't necessarily call it that. I just gave her a response," Steven shrugged with a hint of attitude, prompting Y/N to laugh.

"I'll have to keep that in mind, though. Wouldn't want to catch you on one of your bad days and end up fighting,” Y/N playfully positioned herself in a fighting stance, fists raised as if ready to throw punches at Steven.

Steven shook his head and gently lowered her hands. "Oh, put those tiny fists down. You've got nothing to worry about."

Y/N smirked, "I'll take that as a sign to keep annoying you then."

During their lunch breaks, Steven and Y/N enjoyed sitting together, while having casual conversations about their day or discussing the latest news of villains causing trouble in New York. It was their special time together, unless Y/N entered the break room with some juicy gossip, which Steven secretly enjoyed despite telling her that it wasn't their business.

As Steven sat at the table with his sandwich, already immersed in his meal, he heard the door to the break room open. Soon, Y/N walked in, her familiar smile lighting up her face. He knew that smile meant she had some interesting information to share, which would entertain them both.

"So, guess what I found out on my way to the break room," Y/N pulled out a chair and sat down. Steven, with a mouthful of food, simply nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

Leaning forward, Y/N lowered her voice, "Remember Ava from customer service?"

Steven nodded again, signaling her to proceed. Y/N went on to reveal how their coworker who was crying to her ex-boyfriend about wanting him back, rejected her because she had been cheating on him with his best friend from another department. Steven's jaw dropped, and Y/N confirmed it by nodding, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair.

"You're lying," Steven said in disbelief.

"I saw them kissing in the stock room with my own eyes," Y/N shrugged casually. Steven was still a bit shocked by the revelation but accepted the information. "I hope her ex doesn't find out soon, or we might witness a scene right here at the museum."

"I actually hope he does find out. It would definitely make my week," Y/N added with a mischievous smile.

Steven nodded in agreement and then remembered the second sandwich he had packed. He slid it across the table to Y/N, who looked at it and suddenly recalled something.

"Oh yeah," she said, standing up and heading to the fridge. She retrieved two Tupperware containers and heated them in the microwave. Returning to the table, she placed one container in front of Steven and kept the other for herself. Steven glanced down at the closed container, then looked back at Y/N.

"I did some grocery shopping and wanted to make you lunch too," Y/N explained, opening her container to reveal a pair of quesadillas and orange rice. Steven opened his container and found the same dish inside. "Thank you, Y/N, but you didn't have to do this for me," he said, grateful for her gesture.

"You always pack me lunch, and you've been so helpful since I started working here. Consider it a thank you," she replied, taking a bite of the sandwich Steven had made for her before moving on to the food she had packed for him. Steven followed suit, and the two of them enjoyed their meal in comfortable silence.

For Steven, it still felt odd to share his lunch break with someone. He used to eat alone and hardly spoke to anyone in the break room. Whenever he tried to strike up a conversation, most people would simply nod or make an excuse to leave, sometimes both. He thought the same situation would happen with Y/N, where she would stick by him for a week or two before finding her own group of friends. However, to his pleasant surprise, she had stuck by his side and engaged in genuine conversation.

"When do your classes start?" Steven asked, taking a sip from his water bottle while waiting for Y/N's response.

Y/N paused for a moment to think. "I think they start this Tuesday," she finally replied.

Steven nodded in understanding. "Have you gotten all your school supplies?"

Y/N paused again, pursing her lips to the side. "I was able to get some, but I still have a few things to get," she admitted.

"Well, if you're missing anything, I might have some extra supplies I can give you," Steven offered, humming thoughtfully.

Y/N's face lit up. "That would honestly mean a lot to me," she said, feeling the weight of her student debt pressing on her.

——

"I think I'm about done here. Are you ready to go?" Y/N turned to Steven, who was locking up the register.

"Same here," he replied, finishing up his tasks. They gathered their belongings from the locker room and headed out.

As they passed JB, the museum's security man, he spotted them and turned in his chair, a smile on his face. "Heard you're going on a date, Steven," he said, teasingly.

Steven ignored him and simply wished JB a good night, already feeling tired from his shift.

"With this miracle, maybe young Y/N can get herself a first date too," JB continued, practically giggling at his own joke. Y/N forced a laugh and responded, "Fuck you too."

She let out a frustrated huff as they walked out of the museum and down the steps. "All he does is watch videos and watch people pass by. He has no room to talk. It's so annoying," she vented.

"At least you now know how your teasing makes me feel," Steven joked.

"My intentions are pure, from one friend to another," Y/N said, placing her hands over her heart in a humorous gesture.

The bus arrived just in time as they reached the bus stop. The small crowd of people poured in, and since it was late, there were a few empty seats available. Steven and Y/N sat down, stretching their limbs and holding their belongings close to their chests.

"So what are you wearing for your date?" Y/N asked curiously.

Steven shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Honestly, not sure. Plus, it's been a while since I've been on a date, so I don't even know what's appropriate to wear."

Y/N pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, personally, I think it's nice when a guy dresses up a bit more than usual," she said, scanning Steven up and down, making him feel slightly self-conscious. "You could definitely use an upgrade."

Steven glanced down at his jacket and button-up shirt. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"No offense, but they kind of give off a janitor vibe," Y/N replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. Steven looked at her with a half-lidded gaze, not sure if she was being serious. "Oh, how funny," he said sarcastically.

Y/N nudged him lightly with her elbow. "I'm just messing with you. But seriously, I'm going to help you pick out your outfit."

Despite her teasing, it was evident that Y/N cared about Steven as a friend. She often stood up for him, defending him against anyone who spoke ill of him. Whenever she confronted someone, Steven would intervene, pulling her away before things escalated. Later, he would lecture her about not needing her to fight his battles, though he secretly appreciated her support. It always ended with laughter, thanks to the witty comments Y/N made.

Still, Donna was the one person she couldn’t talk back to, for some reason.

——

In the elevator, Steven suddenly remembered his offer to give Y/N the college supplies. "Oh, right. You still want those supplies I mentioned earlier?" he asked, turning to Y/N and catching her off guard.

Y/N blinked for a moment, then replied, "Oh yeah, but if you want we can do it tomorrow."

"Let's be honest, we'll both forget about it by the time we get to our apartments."

Y/N nodded, admitting her forgetfulness. "True. Alright, I guess we'll head to your place first."

As the elevator doors opened, they stepped out and made their way to Steven's door. Y/N waited patiently as he fumbled with the keys to unlock it. Finally, they entered his apartment. Steven placed his satchel on a table and hung his jacket next to it.

"It won't take long, you can hang out with Gus in the meantime," he said, gesturing towards his pet goldfish. He then walked over to a table where a stack of books and other materials were piled up.

Y/N's eyes roamed around the apartment, taking in the decor and the various items scattered about. A large bookshelf filled with books caught her attention as she entered. To the left, there was a table with piles of papers, and to the right, a bulletin board with Egyptian pictures. Rugs were scattered across the floor, and stacks of books and papers added to the organized chaos. As she stepped further in, she heard the creaking of the floorboards beneath her feet. Guess it wasn’t just her studio.

Towards the far right side of the apartment, she noticed the kitchen area. An old-style stove stood against the wall, and above it was a large vent with a light at the bottom, an unusual design choice that piqued her curiosity. She then glanced to her left and saw a table stacked with boxes, but what intrigued her were the bags of sand. Puzzled, she shrugged it off and continued towards the center of the apartment.

There, she spotted a fish tank surrounded by books, serving as makeshift support for the tank. Inside, there was a chubby goldfish with only one fin. "You must be Gus, huh?" she murmured, offering a smile to the aquatic resident.

Moving on, her gaze fell upon a small one-seat sofa facing a modest television. It sat atop a table overflowing with books. As she turned to her right, she noticed Steven's bed. Curiosity got the better of her, and she approached for a closer look. To her surprise, she discovered cuffs tied to the bed frame, with sand meticulously spread around it. "That's what the bags of sand were for," she uttered aloud, her voice laced with intrigue.

Just then, Steven walked in, carrying a stack of lined paper, folders, and pencils. “Alright, I have all the things you might need…”, his words trailed off as he caught sight of Y/N staring at his bed. His heart sank, this gave off so many red flags. His thoughts ran more wild as her silence made it worse.

"So, uh, cuffs, huh?" Y/N stood there in shock, her eyes fixed on the restraints attached to the bed. She then turned to Steven, a mix of curiosity and amusement on her face. "Okay, I don't know if this is for murderous or kinky purposes, but strangely enough, I'm not freaked out."

Steven's eyebrows shot up, surprised by her response. "Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

She nodded affirmatively. "Yup."

"Well, that's good to hear because both of your assumptions were way off," he said, placing the items he was carrying onto a nearby table. "What other reason could there be?"

Y/N crossed her arms, contemplating for a moment. He walked toward the bed, picking up one of the cuffs. "Well, I sleepwalk," he admitted. "And sometimes it causes me to leave my apartment unknowingly. So I use these," he gestured to the cuff in his hand, "to prevent myself from wandering off."

Y/N took a few seconds to process the information, and then a look of understanding appeared on her face. "Oh, that makes sense," she exclaimed, relieved. "I'm glad it's that and not something more concerning."

Steven let out a small chuckle. "Of course, you surely didn't think I was a–”

"A psychopath with a weird fetish?" she finished his sentence, a playful smile on her lips.

He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Uhm, in short, yes."

Y/N shook her head. "Nah, I know how to spot someone like that from a mile away. And you, sir, have no 'killing spree' bone in you."

"I see. I'm surprised you didn't freak out and run out the door," he remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

A mischievous glint sparkled in Y/N's eyes. "Oh, if I were freaked out, I would have pulled out my pepper spray and extendable pole on you," she teased. Steven looked at her in shock, not quite sure what she meant by "extendable pole."

Sensing his confusion, she rummaged through her purse and retrieved a small silver canister with a pin attached to it. Steven furrowed his eyebrows, his curiosity piqued.

"How does that work?" Steven asked.

Y/N grinned mischievously. "You'll see, step back."

Steven obeyed, taking a few steps away from her. Y/N carefully positioned the cylinder so it wouldn't cause any damage. With a swift motion, she pulled the pin, and in an instant, the cylinder transformed into a six-foot pole. Steven jumped back in surprise.

Y/N laughed at his reaction and retracted the pole back into its compact form. "See, now I don't have to worry about being mugged," she said with a satisfied smile.

Steven nodded, still a bit startled. Then he remembered the supplies he had promised Y/N. "Oh yeah, here are the supplies I promised you." Y/N looked at the stack of items and was amazed. "Oh wowm when you said it was a few things, I didn’t think that much," she exclaimed, letting out a small laugh.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Steven walked Y/N to the door. As she opened it, she turned back to him, gratitude in her eyes. "Hey, thanks for the stuff. I really appreciate it. I owe you."

Steven waved her off. "You don't owe me anything, but if you want, you can make me more of that dish you made for lunch."

Y/N's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah! I'll make you more tomorrow," she promised, already looking forward to it. She walked across the hallway to her own door. "Anyways, good night, man. I'll help you with your outfit tomorrow," she called out, unlocking her door and disappearing inside.

———

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows as Y/N slipped on her shoes and made her way to Steven's apartment. She knocked on the door, expecting a prompt response. Silence greeted her. She knocked again, a growing sense of unease creeping up within her. Still, there was no answer. She knocked a few more times, each attempt met with an eerie silence that sent a chill down her spine.

Did he sleep through his alarm again? Y/N pondered, a twinge of worry tugging at her. She reached for her phone and dialed Steven's number, only to be met with the voicemail greeting. She kept trying to calling him, but it was the same automated voice of Steven.

Frustration mounting, Y/N's concern turned into alarm. She started to pound on the door, her fists connecting with the solid wood. "Hey, Steven! Wake up!" Her voice echoed through the hallway as she relentlessly banged on the door. She was probably waking up the neighbors, but she didn't care. Something wasn't right. This wasn't like him. Did he pass out? Did he leave without her? He would have told her before he left.

Anxiety slowly crept into her body as she wondered about Steven. "Where is he?" she muttered.

————————

So sorry for the late update! Honestly, I was going through writers block but I am back now. Hope you guys enjoy. I tried to have Steven and Y/N’s become closer in a week as you can see.

#hispanic reader #marc spector x teen!reader #moon knight #steven grant x teen!reader #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant x reader #platonic #marc spector x reader #latina reader

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romanarose · 1 year

Text

Seattle: Chapter 5

Marc Spector X fem! OC

Seattle Masterlist

Part 4 : Part 6

Summary: Rebecca and Marc travel back to Chicago for a funeral, Rebecca and Marc face people from their past, together.

Warnings: References to domestic violence, sexual assault via condom tampering, references to child abuse, shown child abuse (aggressive behavior/manhandling/pain inflicted on teenagers), mentions of miscarriage, inflicting miscarriage, siblings being siblings, victim blaming, Marc and Rebecca are in a bit of a fight, Rebecca got some anger she gotta work on.

Not proof read, this literally took me hours I'm so tired of looking at it

This picture is just so cute asdfgjkl look how mad he is, he’s pouting watching the others fight knowing he’s not supposed to intervene

A/N got my groove back, last chapter sucked ass, this is much better. the flashbacks have tie in with the present, top tier

**********

“Mac, I told you 1000 times you didn’t have to come”

It had been nearly two months at this point. Two months of divorce paper work and filing complaints with the court, getting medical and police records. Jack’s calls and texts to Becca had become none-stop, to the point where the courts ordered all phone communication to go through Matty. No protection or restraining order was granted, however the judge seemed to think Jack “wasn’t an immediate threat”. It still seemed like Rebecca would be granted the divorce and a settlement, Matt and Foggy were good at their job, but the male judge still seemed to take things easy on Jack, despite the overwhelming evidence.

“Oh, yeah, sure, and leave you to deal with him alone? Yeah Beccs, I’m definitely gonna do that” Marc rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “And I told you, that you don’t have to go in the first place.” After several decade of drinking and poor health, Rebecca’s dad died of a heart attack. Marc knew better than most that this does not bring the relief that many might think, but it doesn’t bring the sorrow you’d expect from the death of a parent. It brings both, and it’s confusing as hell. He tried to tell her she didn’t have to go to the funeral or the shiva, but she insisted she had too. Rebecca had lost years to Jack, years of traditions and faith, Marc assumed this was part of her reclaiming it.

Problem was, Jack was going too. Asa invited him. Rebecca refused to tell Asa the brunt of what happened, Marc figured this was out of pride, or embarrassment, but either way, Asa had taken Jack's side in the divorce, as had much of the family. Still, for whatever reason, Rebecca had decided it was her duty to go and help. She had already insta-carted groceries she’d need to feed the family after services. Rebecca wasn’t observing the complete shiva, no she couldn’t take her family that long. Funeral was the evening of their flight, which left at 6 in the fucking morning, then one day of shiva with everyone, Sunday, they’d get lunch with Elias, and her and Marc might spend some time at their old stomping grounds, then head home monday in time for Steven to teach his evening class, and Rebecca would finish out the shiva in her own way. ‘In and out’ she had said, like it was a fucking heist. Somehow, this was more intimidating than any mission he had been on before. Chicago, his dad, her dad, Jack, Asa… it was all overwhelming. Hey mate, I’ll be here, yeah? I can fake your accent pretty well. Maybe not for dad, but enough to get by with the shiva, so it’s too much, let me take over, yeah?

I’ll be fine, Steven, thanks

Marc.

He sighed. Yeah, okay, I’ll let you take the body if I need it.

And just talk to her. She understands. She loves you.

I need to be here for her

I know, but she’s still embarrassed. Allowing her to help you, will help her too. She wants to repay you

She doesn’t have too-

I know, but she wanted to.

“I know you don’t want to come. I can handle Jack and Asa by myself” She insisted, breaking Marc out of his thoughts.

Marc scoffs, they’ve had this argument 100 the last few days since Asa called to tell her her dad passed. “Yeah, right, and leave you to get back together with Jack” He rolled his eyes as he kept walking straight ahead. When he didn’t hear her voice telling him to fuck off, like she had several times since they had been… are they fighting? He turned around to find her glaring at him, arms crossed. He sighs, the bustle of the airport terminal suddenly very loud. “What?”

“That was a dick thing to say” she pointed at him. “And you fucking know it.” Behind her anger was genuine hurt, and Marc didn’t like to see her hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

She softened, but was still on edge. “It’s fine Marc, just… if you’re coming with me, you need to try and behave, or I will not hesitate to kick you out of the shiva.” She was dead serious as she continued walking to their flight. Fuck, Marc needed coffee. He turned to the Starbucks and got in line with Rebecca.

“I know you will, baby” He smirked a bit. “You might be the most terrifying girl I’ve dated.”

“Am I really scarier than Layla?” She asked, smiling at him, then ordering for both of them.

“Hm” he pretended to think it over. “You both have crazy eyes, let's call it a tie”

Marc Elias Spector had been in a lot of situations in his life. Recently, meaning last week, he had agreed to being the avatar for an Egyptian god, because it was slightly better than death. Slightly. But as he sat in Rebecca’s living room with her and her fiance, he wondered if it was too late to choose the other alternative.

Jack didn’t like him. That was okay, he didn’t like Jack. He seemed arrogant, smug, harsh. But the worst part is, Rebecca was nervous. When was the last time he saw Becca nervous? She wasn’t even nervous around her dad. But she was nervous around Jack. She got him food and whiskey and whatever he wanted, and Marc couldn’t quite put his finger on how this felt wrong to him. Rebecca was a caretaker, she took care of Asa, she took care of Marc, and she even took care of her dad in the early years. But this… this felt like serving. This felt like watching Rebecca waitress as he waited for her shift to end.

“So Marc,” Jack starts “Becky tells me you work in Cairo, helping with expeditions?” So that's what she told him. Marc eased a bit, a swell of pride in his chest. Marc and Rebecca didn’t have secrets. Jack and her did.

“Yeah” He nods along with her lie seamlessly. “For now anyway. I tend to go where life takes me”

“Is that why you’re here? Work is too unstable, you need somewhere to crash?” It wasn’t so much what Jack said, but how he said it. He was condescending. Pretty rich boy who had everything laid out for him, felt superior to Marc. Did he know Rebecca’s struggles with housing? Did he make her feel bad for it? Or did she keep that part of her life from him? Was she ashamed of her time homeless, or was she ashamed of Marc?”

Marc felt himself flaring with anger, but he looked at Becca, sitting so far away on the other side of the couch. She could feel the tension. For her, he’d play nice. “Nope” He smiled as best he could. “Just wanted to be here for the wedding” he lied through his teeth.

“I bet you do” Jack smiled. Marc smiled. Becca smiled. Marc swore he saw her mouth ‘fuck’

Silence persisted.

Being in Chicago was not one of Marc’s favorite places to be, but it wasn’t one of the worst. Chicago is a major city, the various bullshit odd jobs he worked would bring him there from time to time, and he got used to being in the vicinity, seeing old sights and the familiar culture. This would be slightly more difficult, as Rebecca’s family was in the same neighborhood as his, but as long as he avoided the surrounding streets to his house, he’d be okay. Rebecca would never ask him to enter that area. She didn’t even ask him to come, honestly. Marc was already going to go, of course, but when he found out Jack was attending the services, he wasn’t going to leave Rebecca alone for a second

This had been… tense, the last few days. There had been times the last two months that they bickered, even fought, but it wasn’t bad. She was hurting, she was suffering. She always apologized, even when she didn’t really need to. That was a byproduct of Jack too. Rebecca was proud, always admitting when she was wong, but never when she wasn’t. Marc allowed her to apologize, picking his battles. She was starting to look more like herself again; color coming back in her face, the chemicals fading out of her hair, allowing it to curl again. She even cut it off again and dyed it closer to her natural color again. She was also acting more like herself, the bickering was evidence of that. But the last few days were different. Marc found himself with a bunch of feelings he couldn’t really discern, an anger in him he didn’t feel comfortable with, an anger that seemed to center around her, and he couldn’t place why.

So he had been distancing himself, not wanting to take his anger out of her in any way, allowing Steven to take the body a majority of the time. Rebecca noticed, but didn’t say anything. He assumed she figured it had to do with going back to Chicago, but there was something else.

When they arrived at Rebecca’s childhood home, he felt the nervousness he often did in their childhood while standing at this very doorstep. Some things never change.

“Marc.” Carl was standing in the doorway. Maybe it’s the memory being distorted by the haze of the past, or maybe he really was towering over Marc. Carl was always tall, that’s where Becca got it. By the end of puberty, Rebecca was an inch taller than Marc, sanding at 5’10. Marc was always on the shorter side, but at 14 he had barely started his growth spurt. Embarrassingly, people thought Rebecca was his older sister in more than one situation. Right now, Marc wished he was taller, stronger, braver. He wanted to fight for her, stand up to her dad, stand up to his mom… but right now, they were both pretty helpless. The most they could do was be there for each other, and protect each other in school. Rebecca’s grades were significantly better, she helped Marc with school so he could avoid getting whipped when grades came in. Likewise, although they never told people they were dating, Marc’s protective grasp on her shoulders out in public and the way they were attached at the hip generally kept her safe from men at school. At 14, he wasn’t exactly the strongest in the high school, but he had absolutely thrown punches for her before. And for other reasons. And for no reason. Point being, although he wasn’t strong, he was known for being a bit crazy. Psycho was thrown around a lot.

“Hello, Mr. Levi” Marc tried his best to be polite. He had seen what Carl had done to Rebecca, and always tried to avoid that, although he suspected he wouldn’t dare, considering his dad's position in the temple. Marc had always told Rebecca he’d talk to his dad for her, get Rebecca and Asa help, but Rebecca had the martyr complex of a catholic. She rationed that Carl only hurt her, not Asa, and being sent to foster care would absolutely hurt him. It wasn’t Marc’s place to make that choice for her, so he minded his business. “Is Becca home?”

Carl looked at him for a moment, considering the boy. “Yeah, she’s in her room, but I think we should have a talk first.” The tone he used was strangely calm, the tone Wendy used before she hurt Marc, it sent a shiver down his spine, but he was in no position to argue, stepping inside the hallway at Carl’s motioning. “What’s going on with you guys.”

Marc had wondered how long until this conversation happened. Elias and Wendy both teased Marc about her, one more gently than the other, but neither malicious. Wendy mostly referred to her as Marc’s “little girlfriend” on good days, or “That Levi girl” on bad ones. His dad hadn’t exactly given him “the sex talk”, school’s lackluster sex ed had covered most of what Marc knew. Not having friends that weren’t Rebecca really cut into his knowledge on the subject, and his dad certainly didn’t have any hidden porno mags to find, so the barebones basics of public education had to due on the mechanical end. What Elias did give him was a very basic, but very straightforward (and very humiliating) talk on consent. Of course, that wasn’t the word he used, but that was the theme of one of the few talks his dad had given him in regards to being a man, and it had happened after Elias asked what his relationship with Rebecca was last year. With a blushing Marc desperately trying to escape the conversation, insisting they were just friends, Elias told him all that he really needed to know about sex. Make sure sh’s comfortable, make sure she actually wants it. Don’t force, don’t beg, don’t bargain for it. Make sure she’s enjoying herself, and stop if she’s not. Years latter, although Marc could write a book on his dads mistakes, he would always respect his dad for not giving the simple “don’t do it”. Marc had barely ever thought about kids, Layla didn’t want them, and he wasn’t really sure he could do it right, but he knew if he ever did, this was one talk he’d pass down to his son.

He had a feeling this is not where Carl was going.

Asa opened the door. “Hey Becca” He greeted his sister with a warm hug, and it seemed like the grief may have swept away some tension, at least for now. “Marc” he extended a hand, which Marc shook. “Thanks for coming, it’s nice to see you again.” He sounded sincere, at least.

“You too Asa. I’m sorry for your loss”

Asa smirked, and looked a little more like the preteen Marc knew way back. “No, you’re not, but it’s fine, please, come in.”

Rebecca went right to work with the groceries that were delivered, prepping for the gathering after the funeral. People from the temple would probably drop by, offer condolences, and maybe stop to chat to see what the gossip was on Asa and Rebecca’s lives, but no one really liked Carl, and their family wasn’t that big. Marc could tell she was nervous. Jack was literally only going to be there to piss torment Rebecca and piss off Marc. Men like Jack usually separated their partners from their family, Jack’s method was a bit different. Jack was big on portraying perfection, abusive families and sibling tensions wouldn’t do. Rebecca was forced back into a relationship with her dad and brother. She wasn’t upset about seeing Asa, she counted that as a blessing, but Jack was in total control, stepping into the role Marc occupied before, hence Asa taking Jack’s side in the divorce. They still played video games online regularly, despite not talking to Rebecca since she left, until he called to let her know their dad had a heart attack.

Services went as expected, a jewish funeral despite Carl’s lack of participation in the faith. When he felt Rebecca’s hand squeeze Marc’s hard, he knew that meant she spotted Jack. She remained strong, always so strong, his pillar, his rock. He would be that for her.

Marc didn’t leave her side for a second. She spent most of her time in the kitchen prepping and plating and cooking, not exactly eager to be in the room with her family who all just adored Jack. He watched her angrily cut a cucumber with the aggression of a butcher. “You doing okay Beccs? We can-”

She slammed the knife on the cutting board, and Marc was thankful she couldn’t see him startle. “Marc Spector, suggest we leave again and I’m kicking you out.” She stared at the wall ahead of her.

“Beccs-”

She turned to him. “Don’t ‘Beccs’ me, Marc, you don’t want to be here, so just go, go back to the hotel, or go back to New York, I don’t fucking care, I’ll deal with this myself.”

He groaned. “Of course I don’t want to be here Rebecca! Nothing good happened her, not in this house, not in this city, nothing, being here brings back bad memories I try my damnest to forget, and I don’t understand why you insist on being here!”

“He’s my dad”

Marc threw up his hands. “I get it, Rebecca! I get it, you’re morally superior to me, you go to your dads funeral, you forgive him after everything he did to you, you forgive Jack, again and again, you’re better than me, I get it”

Marc… mate…

Rebecca stared at him, and Marc braced for a fight, for her to yell at him and for them to bicker like they had been, but instead her face just softened. “Is that why you’ve been so upset this week?”

“Yes” He practically whined out, feeling relief at being able to pinpoint the source of his anger.

“Honey…” She took his hand. “I’m not blaming you for not going to your mom's shiva… I don’t think I’m better than you. Our lives were very, very different, your relationship with Wendy was very different. You hadn’t even talked to her for, what? A decade? You did what you could, and I don’t blame you for the choices you made. My dad and I… things were more complicated, there was good and bad”

Marc closed his eyes, shaking his head. “There was good with us to, it’s just… it’s hard to separate it from the rest”

Rebecca wrapped her hands around his waist, drawing the man she loved in for a hug, relieved to know where the tension that had surrounded them came from. “Marc, honey, I know. These things will always be complicated. We have to deal with them in our own way. For me, this is closure. Laying it all to rest. For you, it would be letting her win.” She kissed his forehead softly. “I’m so proud of you, I’ve always been so fucking proud of you. You’ve come so far, despite everything, and you’ve done so much of it alone.”

He shook his head as he nestled into her neck, smelling her. “No, not alone. I had you, I had Layla, I had Steven, even if he didn’t know it.”

“Baby, you shouldered so much alone, don’t mitigate how far you’ve come, how strong you are, I’m so, so proud”

They stayed like that for a moment, so lost in the embrace that they didn’t notice anyone enter the room.

“I expected as much”

Jack

Marc felt felt her rip on his tighten, and he turned her away from where the voice was, putting his body between them.

“What. Is. Going on with you guys?” Carl repeated, when Marc was too scared to answer.

“Nothing sir” He managed to get out, trying not to shake, trying to stand tall and brave.

“You guys aren’t fucking?”

Looking back, Marc couldn’t fathom every saying that to a 14 year old his daughter was friends with, but Carl had no tact.

“No sir, we’re friends”

Carl laughed at that, putting a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “That’s what they always say”

Wincing at the touch, he put his brave face back on, refusing to back down. “We’re not-ah!” Carl’s grip on his shoulder squeezed down painfully tight, digging into his skill, and all Marc’s mustered bravado dissipated.

“I honestly don’t care, but I ain’t raising another kid”

If Marc was less terrified, he’d laugh at that. Becca raised herself and Asa.

Carl continued. “You get her pregnant, I will kill both of you.” He shoved Marc into a side table, causing Marc to fall down into it, the commission drawing Becca out of her room at the end of the hall.

When she saw Marc on the floor, she quickly ran to him, but was stopped when her dad clamped a hand over her mouth, shoving her against the wall. “I’ll tell you what I told your little boyfriend. You can be a whore all you want, but you get knocked up, you’re both dead. Understood?”

Unable to speak with the hand over her, she simply glared at him, unwilling to give in.

His hold on her face began bruising, making Rebecca yelp. “Is that clear? Or do I have to ask Marc?”

She glanced over to where Marc was frozen on the floor. She didn’t want him hurt. Rebecca swallowed her pride and nodded. Carl let go, and walked away, mumbling obscenities about Rebecca she didn’t even hear, she was quickly at Marc’s side. “C’mon, let’s go to the library, start on that paper”

“I’m sorry” He muttered as he stood up, shaking from the interaction.

She helped him stand. “For what?”

“For no stopping him, I wanted to… but I just… I froze” Marc looked down, embarrassed, his masculinity already at a low point, this did not help.

“Marc” She steadied him, forcing him to look her in the eye. “It is not your job to protect me. I can handle myself”

“I know”

But Marc felt like it was his job to protect her, ever since that first act of kindness she shared with him, and he continued to feel that way for the next 2 decades together. As they exited the house, Marc heard steps and turned around, catching Asa watching them leave with a look in his eyes Marc couldn’t read.

Jack was munching on a latke. “Good stuff. You always did like your food.” He punctuated the comment with a glance to her stomach.

Rebecca held Marc back by his shirt. “Jack, let’s not do this”

Asa entered the room. “Do what?” He frowned at Marc, who was clearly postering, gearing up for a fight.

Jack answered. “Rebecca is holding Marc back from fighting me” It wasn’t a lie, but a bit dramatic.

Asa scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fucking hell you two, this is why I didn’t want you to come. It’s always dramatics with you two!”

Marc scoffed. “Dramatics? Asa, you invited your sister's ex-husband-”

“We’re still married,” Jack reminded them.

Marc ignored him. “To your dad shiva, that’s insane! Do you have any idea what he did to her?”

Asa crossed his arms. “I know all about the divorce, Spector, that’s half the reason dad had the heart attack!”

“You’re blaming me for that?”

“YES!” Asa shouted. “It’s always you Marc! Ever since I can remember you’ve caused her problems! Jesus, the amount of time he kicked her stomach because he thought you knocked her up-”

Marc didn’t know that, but when he turned to Rebecca, the guilty look on her face confirmed she had never intended on him finding out.

Jack was smirking, allowing the scene to play out.

Asa continued. “All this time, you constantly fucked her life up, constantly got in the way of things, leading her on, then she finally moves on from you, gets married, and you can’t even let her have that?”

Marc felt like he could burst out of his skin. The suit he had rented was stiff and uncomfortable, the church was way too much. Too hot, too noisy, to crowded. Everything was happening at once. Were christian churches always like this? He picked at a scab on his arm, cracked his knuckles, and tore at his nails, trying to find something for his fingers to do to calm him, but Christ, when was this supposed to start? He checked his watch. 10 minuets ago. He supposed it was normal for weddings to start late, all the girls needing their hair and make up done, the guys running off to grab one thing or another, everyone probably drunk by this point. Did baptists drink? Yeah, yeah, they did, it was in the services. Wait, no, that was the catholics. Were baptists the ones that did the speaking in tongues? Or was that pentecostals? Or Calvinists? No, Calvinists were the ones with the really bleak outlook. Was Calvinism a religion or a philosophy? Which one was the 19 Kids and Counting people?

Marc was interrupted from his strange thought process by a hand on his shoulder. “Marc?”

It was Asa, all dressed up for his role as a groomsman. Damn, he hadn’t seen the kid in a long time, he really grew up.

“Hey man” Marc stood up, shaking the hand of the boy he had thought of as a little brother for much of his early life, but who had become a stranger. “Good to see you.”

He nodded, not impressed. “She’s asking for you”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck else do you know here?”

Rude, but the point was made.

Marc frowned. “Why?”

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Asa practically dragged Marc out of the pew. “I don’t know, but she won’t walk until you talk to her”

Asa dragged him to the door to where Rebecca was, through a sea of bridesmaids and a wedding party he didn’t recognize a face of. Must all be Jack’s friends.

Marc went to open the door, but Asa stopped him. “Marc, listen. I know we haven't gotten along the last few years, but I need you to do this for me” he was serious, earnest, but Marc was wary, nodding for Asa to continue with his request. “Let her have this” He must have seen the confusion in Marc’s face. “Whatever it is you two have had, it needs to end. At least in the form it’s been in. She cannot keep waiting for you to pop in and out of her life. She needs a new start, and this is it. Jack is good for her, keeps her focused, takes care of her. She has a good life with him. I don’t know what she needs you for but.” Asa closed his eyes and sighed before opening them. “But don’t get in the way of her happiness, Spector. Please, man to man” There was a pleading look in Asa’s eyes.

Marc wondered if Asa was right, had Marc gotten in the way of Rebecca’s life? ‘Whatever it is you two have had’ what did Asa think they had? Did Rebecca say something? Did she have the same feelings Marc felt?

Asa took his hand off the handle, and Marc entered the room. Rebecca was pacing the floor, turning when she heard it open.

Marc watched Asa’s face for a while. The little boy he had helped raise had changed a lot over the years, for better or for worse, but even after everything, even after all the fights he had witnessed Becca get in over the years, he cared deeply for his sister, his mind had just been skewed and manipulated by their dad and Jack, not unlike Rebecca. Marc was about to let him have this, to back down like Becca’s touch requested of him, when she spoke.

“You think Marc is the reason all this happened?”

All three men turned to her.

“Marc has done nothing but try to protect me since he was 9 years old, Asa. You are too young to remember a time before him, but dad was always like that! And Jack? Jack and I aren’t getting a divorce because of Marc, we’re getting a divorce because he beat the shit out of me!”

Asa’s brow furrowed in confusion, glancing at Jack with suspicion.

“This” She motioned to the pink scar on her face. “I didn’t trip and spill coffee, Jack threw tea at me!”

Marc watched as Rebecca laid it open for Asa, finally letting her brother in on the secrets she’d been keeping.

Jack tried to deny it, but she talked over him, only booking at her brother as she stepped forward. “Dad attempted to make me miscarry an imaginary baby, but he,” she pointed at Jack “He purposely got me pregnant, which I did not agree too, and then beat me so bad I bruised my rips and actually miscarried.”

Asa believed her, turning to Jack. “What the actual fuck man?”

Jack stayed cool, calm, attempting to talk his way out of it. “I didn’t do shit, c’mon Asa, you know me.”

Asa looked to Rebecca.

She looked at him gently, eyes filled with a sadness he rarely saw in her. “Asa, I wouldn’t lie to you, not about this”

Asa wanted to believe Jack. It was easier to believe Jack, to believe their dad, to hate Marc and blame him for Rebecca’s choices, but when he looked at them… All he could see was the ever-honest, painfully honest face of the woman who raised him, and the friend who had been there when his dad wasn’t. “Jack, get the fuck out.”

“Asa-”

“GET OUT!” Asa shouted, placing himself between Jack and his sister.

Jack turned to Rebecca “This isn’t over, I’m dragging this divorce out as long as possible, and I’ll bleed you dry while doing it”

Marc stepped back up. “Leave without making a scene, or I swear to god-”

Jack turned to Marc “I will fucking kill you” Before leaving.

Asa started to go after him for that threat, but Marc caught his shoulder. Asa turned quickly into Marc, taking him in an embrace. “I’m sorry” he muttered, apologizing for the last 20 years of near-silence and anger

Rebecca joined their hug. “Oh Ace, it’s okay”

Marc held him in a hug, relieved to have both the people he grew up with in his arms, safe, out of Jack and Carl’s grasp.

“Becc, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know” She pulled back, brushing a dark curl that wasn’t unlike Marc’s out of his face. “Let’s get through day one of the shiva, we can talk more after people leave, okay?”

Feeling more like a baby brother than he had in years, Asa nodded.

She was stunning, something straight out of a wedding magazine. Extensions in her hair that was half up, the rest in loose curls that cascaded from a tiara. The dress had to be designer, an a-line off the shoulder, low neckline and floral and lace detailing, something she looked beautiful in, but so distinctly not her.

Her face lit up when she saw him. ‘Marc! HI!” She stayed away from him, instead of rushing to take his hand like she used to. Marc supposed this was more appropriate, seeing as she was always married.

“Hey, metukah, what’s going on?”

She wrung her hand nervously. Since when was her nervous? “I’m just… just anxious, thats all. Big day” A slight chuckle. She was hiding something.

“Are you… are you having second thoughts?”

Her face faltered. “Well, not exactly… just… thoughts in general…”

He paused. This could be it. He could tell her. Two decades after meeting, 15 or so years after they gave their bodies to each other that night, he could do it. He could tell her loved her. He could take her away. “Becca.. Do you want to go?”

She hesitated. “I… I don’t know…”

“Is something wrong with him? Did Jack do anything?”

Rebecca shook her head. She wasn’t lying. He knew when she was lying, which was rare. “I’m just nervous”

“Why did you want to talk to me?” Give me something, he thought something that says you love me.

“You’re my best friend”

Was he? They had spoken less and less since she started seeing Jack…

He could tell her. He should tell her.

I love you I love you I love you

Are you sure you want her in this right now?

A chill ran through Marc’s spin with that ever more familiar voice in his head, he didn't dare look to the side. He knew who was standing there, a grim reminder of who he had become.

Marc didn’t have a stable job, a steady incoming, consistent housing.

He was the avatar for a god

He was a killer

He couldn’t provide anything for her. He never had been able to give her what she deserves, what Jack can. With Jack, she’ll never have to worry about living on the streets or when she’s going to eat. Jack’s never killed.

Marc thought through the faces of everyone he killed, every death he was responsible for.

She deserved better than what he could offer her.

“Rebecca, honey, it’s just jitters, that’s all” It killed him to say it. “He’ll take care of you, you’ll be happy.” Marc had to fight back the anger at himself, the frustration he felt, the tears of helplessness. This wasn’t his life. He couldn’t give her anything. This was the life she deserved. Pretty things, safety, security. He approached her, taking both her hands in his. “Rebecca, you make a beautiful bride”

She nodded, taking in the sight of him, and for a moment he could almost imagine he was at the alter with her, that it was him she was marrying… he let go on her hands before the fantasy took over.

When the night ended and guests left, Marc, Becca and Asa sat in the living room like they had done countless times throughout the years, catching up, reminiscing, hashing over old beefs and memories. Marc sensed a change, a change for the better.

They were a family again.

***************

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