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vintagemulti · 4 months

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shards and splinters

parings: marc spector x reader , steven grant x reader

desc: apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

warnings: blood, angst, swearing, fighting, guns and gun violence, death descriptions, long as fuck, sex mentions i guess(? if you squint), hurt/comfort, gory i guess (jake🤷🏻‍♀️) writers note: idk how accurate these are bc i’ve been writing this on and off for years but cover all bases i guess xx

a/n: psa to pls reblog anyway she’s BAAAAAACKKK did you miss me ?? i missed youse … if there’s even a moonknight fandom anymore 🫣 i’m so sorry for the 2 years gone from the face of tumblr, i’ve quite honestly had two years from hell and insane writers block so. can anyone even remember this series?? idk maybe you should all reread the first parts 👀👀 anyways. there’ll be one more part to this (will it come this year? next? 2026? who knows…) bc i HATED my original ending and just had to change it. also sorry if this feels rushed or like it jumps around a lot, it’s been written over YEARS, but i’ve tried my best for continuity. also, i know there’s a lot missing in like fight scenes but they are BORING and i hate writing em so i’m not doing it. tried, got half way thru then didn’t touch this for 7 months so.. it’s no fight scene or no part at all. but my last part is pretty much done so hopefully it’ll be posted soon! ill let youse savour this for a while tho lol. on a real note thank you all SO much for all the love, even two years later. it means the world. all my love, all the time x

series masterlist

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the air felt different now. it was funny; you and marc had been apart hundreds, if not thousands of times, but he had never felt your absence. not like this. no, never like this. it was different now because he knew he could look for you everywhere and you would still be in that room, not breathing, not living.

he could see it all so clearly now. all of what? all of it. everything; life, your life, his life, where everything went wrong, what he should have done, should have said, how he could have saved you.

there was nothing you could have done, marc.

“that’s easy for you to say.” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. “you’re not the one who was halfway through a fucking argument when harrow took her. and if you can remember, harrow took her because of me.”

steven sighed, and went quiet.

“i should’ve died on that fucking alter.”

marc said it over and over, like a prayer, to go back in time and pull the trigger. he was fuck knows where, it looked like the middle of the desert but marc didn’t care enough to question it.

he had walked out of that pyramid and kept on walking - for hours. the hot egyptian sun had began to set, casting a rosy hue on everything. the humidity make marc’s head ache.

steven had gone silent - a small hum of anger in the back of marc’s head. it usually would have surprised marc, for steven to be the angry one. but he wasn’t sure he would never feel surprised again.

are you going to wallow here forever?

marc looked up, low sun glinting in his eyes, making him squint. but he could tell exactly who it was - crescent staff in his peripheral.

“fuck off.”

khonshu laughed. that’s one way to talk to a god.

“fuck off.” he repeated.

and why should i, mortal? why should i listen to you?

“you did this.” it was stiff, cold, a definite statement. “you did this to us.”

khonshu groaned, moving to block the sun from marc’s eyes so he could see him properly. aren’t you going to question how i am here?

“no.”

perhaps you should.

marc could never cope with khonshu’s riddles. they had always infuriated him - never getting a straight answer. but this one, he could tolerate.

“fuck does that mean?” he was looking directly into khonshu’s eyes now - something he had readily avoided for years. “and don’t give me any of your goddamn riddles.”

if you must be so blunt, it would seem like osiris has taken a liking to your poor lady wife. hathor isn’t half fond of her, either. maybe you ought to go back to the pyramid, something tells me your needed.

and he was gone. disappeared with a gust of wind, leaving marc alone in the saharan sunset, shaking and still covered in his wife’s blood.

she’s alive?

“i-” marc looked around. “i don’t-”

his eyes slipped into the back of his head.

steven took a deep breath, swallowing hard. he set off in a run - towards the pyramid.

“this feels so fucking weird.”

you were pressed flat against the wall, peeking around every few seconds to make sure one of harrow’s followers wasn’t coming your way.

i must admit, it’s been a while since i’ve had an avatar.

you let out a breathy laugh. was that your first ever laugh since being revived? you supposed it must be. oh, you wished it was one of steven’s jokes you were laughing at instead.

you didn’t think you’d ever find one of his jokes unfunny again.

“where is he?”

it’s hard to tell. i can’t check, unless i’d like ammit to spot me.

humming, you looked around the corner once again, breath hitching when you saw a shadow come closer.

what made your breath stop completely, however, was the slow, melodic tapping of a cane, following every footstep the person took.

harrow was less than two feet away from you.

swallowing hard, you pushed yourself against the wall even harder, back cold against the concrete. you hoped - prayed with your newfound faith in osiris and his mercy - that harrow would turn back the other way, not hearing your thumping heart.

but your luck had ran out for this lifetime.

the tapping of the cane became louder, until you could see the tip of it in your peripheral, crunching glass finally becoming audible. he was about to come around the corner, and see you. you would be impossible to miss, even the bright red of your new outfit making you stand out.

it seemed like it was impossible to escape harrow, and the tapping of his cane. he had killed you once, what would stop him from doing it again?

apparently, a guardian angel. someone spoke, making harrow turn to look behind him.

this was your chance - to slip away and turn the opposite corner, escape harrow in your new life as you couldn’t in your last.

his voice made you flinch. cool, charming, low. like a snake - exactly like a snake, now you thought about it. the way he slid through life, from the bar all those years ago, to now, awakening a centuries old god, aiming to destroy the world.

you could slither away too, though.

still holding your breath, you sidestepped along the wall, making sure to watch your step over any lose stones, until the wall fell away behind you and led you into another corridor.

as soon as the light from the hall had faded, you let out your breath, hands coming to your forehead and rubbing your eyes.

we have to keep moving. ammit is almost ready to begin.

nodding - although it felt like your brain was rattling around your skull - you looked back up and saw hathor, still looking as beautiful as ever.

this hallway was much dimmer than the last. colder, too. it was like all the light had been blocked, the only thing keeping your vision was the small, fading candles lining the walls every meter or so.

perhaps it was your natural instinct, or a new given sense as an avatar, but you could tell - something wasn’t right. something in the air had shifted, on top of the hot, sticky, egyptian heat, there was something sinister.

your years as a mercenary had taught you to recognise something - blood in the air. and there was certainly blood in the air around you.

“what is harrow’s plan?”

he wants to judge people. through ammit, he believes he can rid the world of everyone bad, even if they aren’t already bad.

“so he’s playing god?” the corridor seemed to go on forever.

he would never admit it, but yes. and ammit is the perfect enabler for him, she’ll know exactly what he’s up to, but because he can give her her power back, she’ll play along.

you scoffed lightly. “harrow isn’t stupid either. he’ll know what she thinks.”

hathor shrugged, a few paces in front of you. only time will tell, my dear.

for a few minutes, the walk along the corridor was silent. the tap of your shoes echoed down the hall, breeze from your passing flickering the candles on the wall.

why did you marry him?

it stopped you in your tracks, hathor stopping too.

“what?”

marc. why did you marry him?

you stuttered for a moment, looking around as if someone would come and help you.

i don’t mean it in a rude way. i’m the goddess of love, it’s natural for me to want to know.

“well,” you paused for a moment and began walking again, slower this time. “we were young when we met, i was coming up for 18 and he was 19.”

and?

“and i knew what i had done to him.” you swallowed. “i felt fucking awful, i thought, maybe if i get to know the guy, and he’s not as much of an ass as everyone makes him out to be, it’ll make it easier for me to forgive myself.”

the corridor kept on, as if it were never ending.

“as you can tell, it didn’t work.”

he wasn’t as much of an asshole as everyone thought?

“no, he was,” you gave a dry smile. “it just so happened that assholes are my type, and i think he worked it out pretty quickly. so after only about two months of knowing each other, he asked me on a date. a real date. it was my first ever date too, god knows anton never took me out. but god, he was such a gentleman.

he picked me up, gave me flowers, wore a fucking tie. and he payed for everything, too. dinner at a four star restaurant, a movie, then out to a bar for drinks.

i knew i had fucked up when he kissed me that night.”

you regret it?

“not for a day. and that’s my mistake- i mean, i was supposed to hate him. i told myself i would hate him. so i wouldn’t feel bad about telling someone to kill him. i didn’t even know how he got out alive- he didn’t tell me about the khonshu shit until after we got married.

oh, our wedding,” you smiled again, a real one. “it was perfect. i was twenty one, marc was twenty three. we were so young. it was a small wedding, just some friends, neither of us invited our family. it was the best night of my life.

it was the night i met steven, too. i think the stress of the day must have triggered it. and that was it- there was marc, and there was steven.”

didn’t it take a while to get used to?

the corridor began to open up, getting slightly wider by the meter. still - there was no end to it in sight.

“it did and it didn’t. i knew for a while there was something happening to him, he would disappear, look confused all the time. i knew it was a matter of time until something changed. and then came steven, perfect steven.

he changed so much- it was like dating all over again. he was even more perfect than marc, stupid english accent included. but, naturally, abuthing that’s perfect must come to an end.”

hathor sighed. and it gave you the impression, just for a moment, that she already knew the whole story. that she was humouring you by letting you tell it. her sigh, sad and resigned, almost confirmed that she knew what was coming.

“the-” you stopped. your voice had broken, and your feet no longer moved. hathor continued for a few paces before looking back at you.

i understand, but if there’s any time you need to tell this, it’s now.

“you know?” you voiced your suspicions.

take into account which god i am, my dear. there is no one else i could chose, but you.

you swallowed. “what’s the point of talking about it if you already know?”

you have been born again. revived. would you like to carry this, this horrible vendetta against someone who has done nothing but love you, for the rest of your new life?

“no.”

then voice it. i can take this pain from you, if you only ask me too. i can help you.

you bit your tongue, looking down at your feet and kicking around a few of the loose rocks. hathor waited.

“the baby was supposed to be born just after my twenty-third birthday.”

a beat. hathor didn’t reply.

“but he didn’t live past twelve weeks.”

you looked back up at hathor, anxious for a reply. she didn’t give you one, only nodding.

“i don’t- i don’t know what i did. i was waiting until i could get a scan, tell marc, have it done properly, you know? but when i went to my appointment, i knew. she didn’t say anything, she just looked. then she left, got the doctor to come in.

he said that the baby had died, that they weren’t sure of the cause, but it was a boy. that my baby boy had died.”

tears threatened your eyes. never - never - had you spoken about this before. not even with marc.

“i went home, with a hatred in my heart. the next few days were the worst. i was grieving a child no one knew i even had. the blood was horrible, it hurt so badly. i told marc i was on my period. fuck, for all he knew i was.

and then my baby was gone. and i hated marc.”

why did you hate him?

you shrugged. “i have no idea. i needed someone to blame and marc was the easiest. that’s when it all went downhill, you know? i wanted him to be there for me, for something he didn’t even know happened. and when he wasn’t, i blew up at him. and he blew up at me.

and that was it, for three years. this horrible hatred towards each other, me hating marc for something he knew nothing about, and marc hating me for every other reason.

he hated me the most for making him stay a mercenary. he wanted out, he wanted a normal life in the suburbs with a dog and a big house and maybe, one day, a child.

but i can’t have that. i don’t want that kind of normal - not when i was so close to it and lost it. so i pushed him into this world. i made him take jobs and work himself to death, even when i found out about khonshu. i made him do it.

and that’s why we’re here. because i told him to follow khonshu here. and now look what i’ve done.”

hathor took two, wide steps towards you, and cradled your face in her hands.

you have done nothing that makes you inhumane. none of this mess is you fault. khonshu would have gotten marc here one way or another. anyone in your shoes would be the same.

her hands were warm. you felt a tear fall, running underneath her fingers. “but i’ve been so horrible. i’m a monster - if not for this, for everything else.”

hathor shook her head. you are a human being.

there was silence as you cried and hathor wiped your tears. at least two minutes passed - but it didn’t matter to you. harrow could come running around the corner and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

hathor took a deep breath, looking to her left along the corridor. she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another figure appeared.

is now a bad time, human?

you flinched at the rough edge in khonshu’s voice. “what do you want?”

what do i want? there’s a long list.

even through your tears, your patience thinned. “seriously?”

hathor took her hands from your face, turning to look at khonshu. enough of your riddles. just tell her.

the unmistakable sound of footsteps, running, drew your attention. they were getting closer.

i don’t think i have to say a word, actually.

just as khonshu had finished, a figure appeared, coming around the twists and turns of the corridor.

your heart stopped.

marc looked around in a daze, eyes falling first on khonshu, then on hathor, then…

“y/n!”

just as he had stopped running, he started again, coming towards you like a lion out of his cage, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off of your feet.

“oh baby,” he mumbled into your neck.

you had just reached - wrapping your arms around him in equal tightness, hands flying into his hair. oh, god. his hair - his curls, his skin - you’d never take it for granted again.

he pulled back, hands on your cheeks in a mirror image to hathor. his eyes locked into yours, brown irises melting into his pupils, filling with tears.

marc stuttered, trying to get several sentences out at once, before you hushed him.

“please, marc, we don’t have much time. harrow is gonna-”

“i know,” he nodded, eyes still not breaking from yours. “i know- baby, i know. please- please, just give me a minute. i never- i thought i’d never- oh, baby.”

he leaned in, moving his hands out of the way to rest his forehead against yours. he was hot - sticky with sweat and dirt and, although you didnt want to think about it, your blood.

“i know,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “marc, i know.”

barely having finished your sentence, he leaned in and kissed you.

it was like the first kiss all over again, and you supposed it was. hot, needy, passionate, desperate. you could live in this moment.

but the unmistakable sound of khonshu clearing his throat broke your kiss.

if you wouldn’t mind, harrow is about to release ammit. i’m sure your couples catch-up can wait another hour.

“yeah,” you nodded, breaking away, but marc was far more hesitant to let go.

“i can’t-” he looked around, paranoid. “i can’t do this, y/n. i just lost you, i can’t run the risk of losing you again, i’ve never- y/n, i can’t let you go, you’re everything to me, and if harrow- oh god, what did harrow do to you? i swear to god, the minute i see him, i’m gonna-”

he blinked. a beat.

“paranoid git never did know when to be quiet, did he?”

“oh, steven,” you threw your arms around him again. “fucking hell.”

steven, unlike marc, seemed far more willing to let you go. “love, i know, but if we don’t go now, we’re all gonna end up dead. please, we can do this all after, yeah?”

he took your hands in his, stilling your shaking fingers. he was so warm - always so warm.

“okay,” you nodded, looking between him and the gods beside you. “okay.”

you had severely underestimated how far harrow was willing to go. it had been what felt like hours, an unrelenting fight. you weren’t even sure when layla showed up, hoping to help you in any way she could.

but her attempts were futile; ammit was huge. really - huge, bigger than the pyramid behind her. khonshu had, as usual, gotten involved too, so that meant he was the same size, almost trampling you with every step he took.

you had tried. really, you had. you’d tried to use your new found avatar abilities to at least land something on harrow, but truth be told, you were failing. he’d hit you far more times that you’d even aimed for him, you were covered in cuts and rapidly forming bruises, you were sure your shoulder was dislocated.

but worst of all? your head wasn’t right. you weren’t sure what was wrong with it - it seemed fine every time you focused on identifying the issue, but every time you weren’t paying attention, it was there again. dizzy, a ringing in your eyes, everything a second or two behind; your vision lagging and cloudy. but just as you’d notice it, it was gone.

it was getting worse, too. you could see marc out of the corner of your eye; he was one to one with harrow. it would have made you anxious if you could properly focus on what was going on. but you couldn’t - your thought were scattered, a ringing back tenfold in your ears, the world had gone distant and hazy.

the doctors told you it was a concussion the next morning. layla had actually came in very handy, able to translate the man’s arabic into english for you.

he had told you that you’d sustained a massive head injury - you figured it would have been investigated, if you hadn’t been one of the people there last night.

‘there’ was all people could talk about. first the sky had gone backwards (you’d missed that part, thanks to being dead), then, out of nowhere, two ancient egyptian gods had appeared, destroying all the buildings in their wake, pyramids too.

it wasn’t that you couldn’t remember it. you could - it was clear in every aspect. it just didn’t feel like you’d been there at all. even the build up to it, every moment from when you’d stepped out of that pyramid, hand in hand with steven, hot air hitting your face;

it wasn’t you.

well, obviously it was you. but it wasn’t the same you. everything felt different, you didn’t have the same emotions you did before. the same key ones, yes, like how you felt about marc, and steven, and who you are as a person, but basic thing, like fear, and compassion? it was gone.

you’d have voiced this to a doctor if you could put ‘i died and got brought back to like by an ancient god, but not the same one who destroyed half of your city last night, sorry about that, by the way’ into layman’s terms.

trauma induced dissociation was enough of a label for you. it fit - everything just felt a little hazy, was all. not that you’d asked your doctor, a google search (excluding the resurrection part) had taken you to pages and pages about dissociation and how it’s normal to feel it after a traumatic event. you were pretty sure dying was a traumatic event.

and yes, you could bring it up to your doctor, he was payed to help you, after all. but there was a strange gnawing in the back of your head: that if you voiced this feeling, it would only get worse, and the happy ending you and your husband currently had would be shred in two because you couldn’t feel properly.

so instead, you listened to his professional diagnosis; a severe concussion, fractured rib, dislocated shoulder, several cosmetic wounds, and mental trauma that would be discovered at a later point, if you ever got around to voicing it to a doctor.

what a lovely shopping list, you thought.

it was three days before they let you out, and marc wasn’t getting out for another two after that. you’d had to beg him to even go to the hospital in the first place, but now he was getting the medical attention he’d needed for years, he seemed content in his hospital bed. not that he’d ever admit it.

with two days to yourself (not nights, you’d go back to the hospital and stay with marc), you decided to have the egyptian holiday you had come for.

the first stop was obvious; buy clothes. all of the ones you had were either covered in blood or halfway shredded. once you’d achieved this, in a new white linen sundress (cut below the knees to hide the still raw scars), you felt just slightly lost.

of course, you weren’t lost, you were always quick to get your bearings in new places - mercenary years had left you with a few skills, after all - and you kept yourself in a fairly small area, close to the hospital in case you got an emergency call.

no - the feeling of being lost came from deep down. ever since you’d come back to life it was the same, a strange longing for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. something you felt you just had to have, maybe not right now, but in the near future. the hazy feeling had already begun to pass, you were sure google had served you well. but it left behind this in its wake, a new, even stranger feeling.

a breeze blew your hair lightly as you looked down the street in front of you. it was picturesque, all kinds of small shops and cafes as far as you could see. you could hear kids playing somewhere, a baby crying in the distance.

the lost-longing feeling piqued at this.

“oh.” you breathed. “oh.”

beside you, hathor, dressed in a golden, floor length dress and looking beautiful as ever, laughed.

oh, indeed. did you forget which god i am?

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range.

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side.

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief.

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level.

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought.

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment.

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him.

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd.

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple.

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?”

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away.

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium.

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you.

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you.

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles.

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu.

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing.

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica.

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now.

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity.

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time.

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana.

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults.

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat.

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering.

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes.

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused.

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower.

You didn’t stay to answer his question.

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips.

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him.

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince.

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively.

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied.

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him.

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him.

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you.

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running.

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it.

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed.

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide.

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun.

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition.

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him.

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees.

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter.

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity.

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked.

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him.

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline.

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people.

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off.

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say.

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it.

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?”

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight.

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes.

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening.

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast.

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile.

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba.

So this was goodbye.

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat.

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes.

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing.

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes.

Air.

Gasping for breath.

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates.

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind.

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord.

The man fell limp in your hold.

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out,

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip.

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang.

A breath of relief.

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask.

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away.

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his.

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it.

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them.

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages.

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The two of you sat in silence for a while.

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be.

But he didn’t.

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound.

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth.

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence.

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector angst #marc spector fluff #marc spector imagines #marc spector drabbles #marc spector fanfic #marc spector x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight angst #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x you #moon knight drabbles #moon knight imagines #moon knight oneshot #steven grant x reader #steven grant fanfiction

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character-babblings · 1 month

Text

mdni 18+ only

everyday i wake up

(this is a oscar isaac character home)

welcome to my moonknight headcanons (also, yes i'm always down to elaborate or discuss)

Steven Grant, my sweet boy:

steven is actually working on skills in the bedroom. he's 100% branching out thanks to you. he's an eager and ready to learn student.

he's not entirely inexperienced but he's just so deeply obsessed with you. the way your clothes just always looks so good on your. hugging your curves and always bringing out your eyes. he may be biased but he thinks you're easily the most perfect woman in the whole world.

and the way you moan for him is just as perfect of course. steven 100% prefers to be face to face with you when it comes to sex. he has to see your face when he does anything.

and he's obsessed with how vocal you can get. when he's eating you out (honestly his favorite most of the time). the way your hands play with his hair as he'll lick and lap at your pretty clit.

"oh good steven. you're so good. such a good boy." and he's like putty. you cannot tell me that this man doesn't have a praise kink. bless his heart. he just wants to make you so happy. the way he flicks your clit with his tongue with hooded eyes because he's lowkey playing with himself with one hand while one dances at your entrance.

"steven. i need your fingers. please?" and he's just ready to please as he plunges his fingers in you. hair starting to become wet with sweat as an idea bubbles in his head. inserting two fingers into before removing his mouth.

"you have the prettiest cunt, love. it's so delicious and warm. i can't wait to put my dick in here." he tries. and he damn near cums his pants watching your eyes roll as you let out the most earth shattering moan. his eyes widen as he abandons your pussy all together. he didn't expect that.

"oh? do you like it when i talk like this? that's awfully naughty of you darling..." you're beginning to squirm as you wrap your legs around his torso. "steven just fuck me now please! you whine as you reach to take hold of his face to kiss him. and with that he's back to being a whiney mess at your words.

"fuck alright love."

Marc Spector: Resident dom (fight me. fight me rn)

absolutely dom. only a handful of times have you ever had any control. and that's fine because he 100% knows what he's doing obviously. he's gifted in the eating and bossing department.

he's got you on your knees in front of him just ramming the fuck out of your face and relishing in the gurgles and choking sounds your mouth is making. one hand in your hair and the other on the back of your head.

"oh what a good girl you are. good fucking girl. hey, relax your throat more. there you go little slut. swallow around my dick." he's tapping the side of your face before pulling your face off his dick. "you alright sweet girl?" he asked as he checks your face. he's revels in how ruined your makeup is as you nod at him, you're the one eager to please him now. he smiles almost darkly at you before grabbing you by your neck.

"good. because i didn't forget what a fucking brat you were today." he states as he drags you over to the bed, pushing you on it. "you have five seconds to strip. whatever's left on is getting ripped." he sighs taking his pants off. "you know i love you, but the way you acted today...i should have bent you over right there." he states as you assume the face down ass up position. reaching over to grab your face before

"remember i don't like brats. that shit may fly with Steven but never me. and i know Jake doesn't tolerate it either. so do me a favor. act like your brain actually fucking works." he warns as he lets go of your face. sitting up fully before beginning to pound your shit.

"let me enjoy this, don't make a sound. you make a sound and that's one more orgasm i'm giving you."

Jack Lockley: Hard dom.

(thank god this dude got minimal screentime bc idk how to act)

as aforementioned he's got a 0 brat tolerance. absolutely don't give this man attitude. he won't hesitate to smack your mouth a little or grab you by your face harshly before whispering to behave with a stone hard face.

he also will never hesitate to find a secluded area to fuck you hard in. he's fucked you against the window of both yours and his place for sure. no balcony is safe honestly. he loves to leave so many marks for the other two guys to find. he also has a safe word because when i say he gets rough i mean it.

he's choked you so hard he's made you pass out a hand full of times. then he'll patiently wait for you to wake up before continuing on while you whine and complain wondering why he stopped. muttering about how you're such a whore who only thinks about his dick.

he's giving your face a smack when he detects a little attitude. talking about "what was that? did you wanna say something little girl?!" and making you repeat yourself.

"your brain is fucking gone huh pretty girl? is that why you're talking to me like this?! i know i've fucked you out but talk to me like that again and i promise you that you can watch while i take care of myself." he literally growls as he grabs your hair and brings your head up so his hot breath hits your ear.

"because next time, i won't be nice and let you cum for the rest of the week." he says while releasing you.

(a/n please tell me this is a safe place for my moonlight slut thoughts please please please)

#steven grant smut #steven grant imagine #steven grant imagines #jake lockley smut #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley imagines #marc spector smut #marc spector imagine #marc spector imagines #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #moonknight smut #moonknight imagines #moonknight imagine

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buckmepapi · 2 years

Text

This was literally so iconic and sexy of Oscar Isaac to do, the hair I’m—

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

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ooo hi!! can i request something with marc where he tells the reader a secret (any secret) while they're laying in bed together? just something cute and sweet and maybe a lil vulnerable, thank you!!

Forever Feels Like… (Marc Spector x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

A/N: Heya lovely! Thanks for the ask, this is so pure ughhh. I added a little change but I hope you like this huhu <33 THIS GIF OF MARC LORD I WILL SIN HES SO BEAUTIFUL!! also THIS SONG UGH TAYLORRRRR

Word count: 1.4 k

One of your favourite things in the world was coming back home to a soft warm bed where no secrets are kept. It was a promise you made with the love of your life and he had intended to keep that promise, no matter how much the truth hurt. It was a difficult process, trying to get Marc to open up, but when he started doing it, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he realized that if he ever had secrets he wouldn’t mind sharing them with you.

Today was a particularly cold night. The city below was exceptionally silent and it wasn’t hard to get cosy in bed. You had a book in your hands, mouthing the words as Marc dried his hair off from his late shower, lighting one of your favourite scented candles before climbing into bed. He crawled towards you and settled his head on your tummy, wordlessly placing your hand in his hair and you smiled down at him, letting your fingers lazily twist his damp locks.

The silence between the both of you was something of a luxury, rich and comfortable, a silence that made you feel like everything was going to be alright whenever he was by your side. Sometimes, one of you would punctuate the silence with something that the both of you would giggle about and when your peripheral caught Marc staring up at you, you knew it was his turn today.

“Do you ever just pretend like you are in a music video when you’re listening to music?” Marc whispered.

“Huh?” you were caught off guard with his statement and you sat up a little, confused.

“Uhhh, nevermind…” Marc reeled back and your heart almost stopped.

“No, no, wait, do you?” you stutter out before you could lose your husband to his own dilemmas.

After a long pause, you finally got an answer from Marc.

“Yes…”

Your mouth twisted into a grin as Marc hides his face in his hands. You caught a blush creeping up his face and your heart fluttered at his cuteness.

“Tell me how.” you whispered, letting your hands curl around his wrist, gently tugging his hands to expose his beautiful face.

“No.” he mumbled.

“Baby, come on, you can’t spring a secret on me like that and not dwell into it. You know I will never ever judge.” you felt Marc’s vulnerability pulling at your heartstrings.

Marc takes a deep breath as you lace your fingers with his, kissing his knuckles gently. He gets up from where he is laying down and changes his position, so that now he was facing you.

“Sometimes, I just close my eyes and let the music soothe everything and it means that I eventually forget all my troubles and fall into a dream world.” he whispers, his breath fanning your face with how close he was.

You nod, egging him on.

“It’s just me alone, in a world without people and it feels safe and comfortable.”

Marc used a lot of things to cope over the years. He had believed in himself and therapy had been slowly taking the edge off things. You were glad that your husband was getting all of the help that he needed. Often you would find him doing things that would make you smile.

He’d like to seem tough around you but in reality, he was a real softy who deserved the world. Sometimes you would catch him fast asleep with his headphones on, and when you leaned down to press a kiss onto his cheek, you would catch Taylor Swift’s beautiful voice, making you giggle at his choice of music. It was endearing, the way he would smile softly in his sleep and snuggle his nose into the pillow.

“Then when I met you, you kinda changed everything, because then, all the songs had you in it.”

His statement caught you way off guard now and your heart thudded in your chest furiously.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He smiled softly and you swore in that moment, you will literally do anything for him.

“Oh Marc…” you whispered, tracing your fingertips on the lines on his face.

“Winters here are cold and miserable but you make me feel warm and loved.” He whispers, his lips meeting yours softly.

Healing was something that was hard for Marc. The idea of mortality was so confusing for a man that had died and come back to life. When the songs started to sound like they had been written about you and him, Marc choose to believe that he needed to cherish his mortality, choosing to hand it to you instead because he knew that you were the only one he could trust it with.

“Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about you and I hate being a romantic but I guess it's ok since it’s you.” He sighs and you giggle.

“Says the man who lets me steal his favourite cookies.” you boop his nose and his face scrunches.

“You and me both know that the missing cookies are the work of elves.” Marc grumbles and you barked out a laugh before kissing his forehead. “Very sexy wifey elves.”

You used to dream of a man like this, one who would give you everything without a single question. You knew his love was genuine and he had so much love to give, so much so that it exhausted him. You searched hard for years but he turned up when you least expected him to and now here he was, this beautiful man, barring his secrets to you.

“I guess it’s my turn now huh, Spector?” you say, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself.

Marc nodded encouragingly into your chest where he had settled his head in. You gently wrapped your arms around him and held him close, twisting his hair between your fingers.

“Okay, mine has been a little thing I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. I’ve stopped wearing setting spray.” You sighed and Marc brought his head out of your chest and glared at you.

“Wait! Before you say anything, hear me out.” You say before Marc could berate you about that not being a real secret.

He nodded, snuggling back into your chest.

Marc had always been a big fan of the blush you wear. Everyday you thank the goddess called Selena Gomez and slowly press the cream foundation over your foundation. Marc always noticed when you wore it and would watch you with his head perched on his palms as you skipped around the kitchen making breakfast.

One day, you had forgotten to spray your setting spray and Marc kissed your cheek before you could say anything. When he pulled away, you noticed that the blush had transferred onto his lips, the light tinge of colour making your heart swell with happiness. He left to work like that before you could say a thing and from that day on, you decided to skip out on your setting spray.

“So yea, you’ve been going to work with my blush on your lips, babe.” you say finally and almost jumped when Marc began to laugh in your arms.

“I know.” Marc stuttered out between laughs.

“Huh?”

“Yea, I know, I’ve been doing it on purpose.” He raised his head to kiss your cheek with a big ‘MUAH!’

“You looked so cute the first time I did that to you, there was a small imprint of my lips on your cheek and I pretended not to notice, but I loved it. It just gave me a reason to come back and kiss you again and again.” he said, kissing you between sentences as you writhed and giggled under him.

“What god brought you to me?” You sighed, pressing your forehead to his.

“Weirdly, an Egyptian one.” Marc murmured.

“Ok, let’s not talk about big bird and summon him here.” you rolled your eyes at the thought of your husband’s ex employer.

“Mmhm, I’d most definitely wish to be alone now with my sweetheart.” Marc mumbled as his lips dropped to yours again and his arms curl around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

You relaxed into his touch, accepting every single path you had taken to get to this single moment. Your heart swooned as Marc hooked your legs behind him, his nose dragging gently along your neck.

Secrets had never tasted so good.

Reblogs are appreciated~~~

Tagging: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @pimosworld @undermoonknightwalk

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refiwrites · 2 years

Text

WAIT HOLD ON

THERE'S TWO NEW FISHES WITH TWO FINS AS WELL

SO, LIKE,, DID JAKE BOUGHT BOTH MARC AND STEVEN A FISH? 😭

and oh my god I wonder if Jake took control one time then just found the fish floating, not making any movement and jake just

face palms

BUT THEN IMAGINE JAKE GOING TO THE PET SHOP DEMANDING TWO FISHES WITH TWO FINS HELP—

Jake: Look, lady. D'you have those goldfish with two fins? A pair of them? I need em quick.

The woman in the pet shop confused as fuck cause hadn't he just been here two times a week ago????: No? Sir, you've been here before demanding I give you a fish with one fin, now you want two with two fins?

Jake: Oh, well, yeah I want two. Just a little peace offering s'all.

CURRENTLY DYING RN

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multific · 1 year

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A Man With Love

Marc Spector/Jake Lockely/Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: You had to learn a lot, having two boyfriends, and one day you learned about a third.

When Steven told you about the other person inside his body, you thought it was a very weird way of telling someone 'It's not you, it's me' when breaking up with them.

But to your surprise, it wasn't a break up.

He just wanted you to meet Marc Spector.

It took a lot for you to fully wrap your head around what was happening, to fully understand his personality disorder and the reasoning behind it.

It broke your heart, yes, but you also understood.

With the help of the internet, you even managed to do your research to understand better.

You learned about triggers.

What to say and what not to say to either Marc or Steven.

But then, one day, someone else got triggered to the front.

You were on a date with Marc, having dinner in a nice cosy restaurant then on your way home you stopped at a small convenience store to grab some things before heading home.

You were in the snack aisle when a loud bang as if something exploded came from the front.

Men came barging into the store, you saw them as you leaned over and one of them noticed you.

Marc was in hiding.

"Get on the floor bitch!" you lifted your hands, but froze in terror at the gun pointed at you. "Are you deaf?! Get on the floor." the man took another step when Marc lounged forward, knocking the man out and the gun out of his hands. The man groaned in pain and you quickly dodged behind the shelves, kneeling onto the floor before letting your boyfriend take care of everything.

You knew he used to be a mercenary, so you didn't doubt his skills.

It still didn't stop your ears from ringing, you couldn't hear anything from your loud heartbeats.

You failed to notice your boyfriend in front of you. When you finally started to come back to your senses, you were home, sitting in Steven's favourite armchair with your boyfriend kneeling in front of you as he softly spoke.

You blinked a couple times before you started to hear what he was saying.

"We shouldn't have gone to that store, Chiquita. We should have just got you home. Lo siento, Mi amor." he placed a kiss on your hands and you were confused. You grabbed his chin and made him look into your eyes. "Lo siento, Chiquita." he said once more.

"You are not Marc." he shook his head. "Not Steven." another shake. "Who are you then?"

"I'm the one who does the dirty work, the one who does what the others can't, the one who saved you tonight."

"What's your name? Or should I call you Zorro?" you tried to joke.

"No, Mi amor. Jake Lockley, the one hiding in the dark. You must not mention me to Marc or Steven, they don't know about me. But I needed to save you, Chiquita."

Your eyes searched his. You did recall Marc mentioning blacking out as did Steven, they were sure the other was blocking them, but this made more sense.

"Have I met you before?"

"Once or twice. I came home once, you thought I was Marc, you insisted I take a bath while you made dinner. You fell asleep by the time I got out of the shower. Another time, you thought I was Steven, gave me a hug while I slept, kissed my back and fell asleep on me. Mi vida, I mean no harm to you or your relationship with the others. I merely watch through their eyes, that sounds wrong...I... I care for you, Mi vida."

"You saved me, thank you." he nodded and kissed your hand, you moved the other to his cheek. "You are so different, I can feel it, you are dangerous, mysterious and so fucking sexy."

"That might be the adrenaline, you never had a gun pointed at you before."

"No." your hand moved from his cheek to neck, to the necklace he wore with the star of David. Your eyes were looking at him as if you have never seen him before. Like he was the meal and you were the lion. "You are so different from them. Steven's sweet, Marc's serious and you, you are dangerous. Something in me tells me to run while my other half wants to just tear the shirt off of you."

"That might be lust. Chiquita."

"And you speak Spanish, you devil." Jake watched as your eyes darkened. He would be a liar to say that he wouldn't want you. He would be a liar if he said he never watched any of the other two have their way with you. He would be a liar if he said he wasn't thinking about the ways he would make you moan and groan. But he couldn't.

"I'll give the body back to Marc."

"Leaving so soon?"

"You will see me again, I promise."

"Say it in Spanish."

"Te prometo, Mi amor." and you nodded before you watched the change in his eyes.

"Marc, as I said, I'm fine, you saved me." you said with a smile as Marc tried to collect himself. He didn't remember saving you, he blamed his training.

"Love, are you really okay?"

"As I said, yes. Thank you."

You will keep Jake's secret as long as he wants you to. After all, you couldn't help but fall in love with all of them all over again.

Steven hugged you close. But both him and Marc was very suspicious as neither remembered anything of the incident.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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mrs-lockley · 3 months

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Reach for the Moon | I. The Breaking

PAIRINGS: (Slow Burn, Romantic) Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, (Platonic) Steven Grant x Southeast Asian!Fem Reader, (Unrequited) Marc Spector x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, no use of Y/N, no physical description of the reader

WARNINGS: Unrequited love (Reader is in love with Marc, Marc is oblivious but means well), first love and heartbreak, Reader knows limited Spanish, italics in dialogue indicates Reader and her parents speaking a foreign language (unspecified), mentions of divorce and a brief mention of the military

WORD COUNT: 7.5k

SERIES SUMMARY: Inspired by the 1954 film & 1995 remake of Sabrina, No Moon Knight AU.

To heal your broken heart from your unrequited crush on Marc Spector, your family sends you to Singapore to help establish your cousin’s bakery. You return to New York two years later as a more confident woman, but you find yourself picking up the pieces of your broken heart (again) after seeing Marc still holding onto his first love. Sensing the pain and heartbreak between you and Marc, Jake steps in as a white knight to create distance to help both of you heal, but he was never supposed to fall in love with you.

Author's Note: Many thanks to @soft-girl-musings, @v4mpires0ap, @callingmrsbarnes for supporting me with this fic. It's been a long time coming 🤍 Special thanks to @flightlessangelwings for your guidance and advice on making writing more inclusive! Today is my birthday, and I wanted to share this to my dear friends who never gave up on me when I gave up on writing.

Tagging (but no pressure to read!): @writefightandflightclub @venting402 @musing-magpie @themarcusmoreno

THE BREAKING

You remembered your last night in New York— it was near the end of summer when you were set to leave to help your cousin establish her bakery in Singapore. While your friends and family were excited for your new adventure abroad, you had run away, letting your feet guide you to an all too familiar apartment building before you collapsed on the steps. Your heart was filled with dread, splintering into two like an old tree bending to the howling winds of sorrow and heartbreak.

How foolish you were, you thought to yourself as you sobbed on the steps, your face buried in your hands as the tears continued to pour out of you. Your heart held no contempt for your cousin or the beautiful country of Singapore; you loved your cousin dearly and always wanted to visit her there, but living in Singapore for two years would mean leaving him behind.

Marc Spector, the man you loved for so many years. The man who didn’t even know you existed, the man who didn’t love you back.

He was beautiful, handsome. Dark brown eyes and curly black hair, strong brows and the whisper of a five o’clock shadow kissing his jaw and cheeks. A smooth voice with a bit of a drawl that you found comforting and uniquely Marc. Broad, wide shoulders and sun-kissed tan skin, it did not take long for you to fall in love with him.

Like scenes from an old film, you replayed your cherished memories of him in your mind. His nose scrunching when laughing at one of your jokes, his proud smile when you showed him your college degree, his gentle lips on your forehead as he comforted you after a rough night.

As much as you love him, shards of guilt tore through you. Deep down, you knew he was still reeling from his divorce, and that he still harbored feelings for his ex-wife. A few nights after the two of you had too much to drink, Marc would recount the memories he shared with her that were near and dear to his heart. Each time he mentioned her name, daggers were impaled through you. How could you let yourself fall for someone who only saw you as a friend and still had feelings for their first love?

You had set yourself for heartbreak, and you had no one to blame but yourself as you tried to pick up the pieces and forget your feelings for him. Perhaps living in Singapore for two years would be for the best. You would make yourself forget about him and the distance would ease the pain and remedy the inevitable heartbreak that was soon to follow.

Before you could draft a plan, a pair of dark boots appeared in front of you, followed by the sound of a familiar voice calling your name in concern.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What are you doing out here so late? What’s wrong?”

You pulled the sleeves of your shirt over your wrists as you hastily wiped your tears, using your sleeves as a makeshift tissue. “I’m fine, Jake. I just got lost in my head, please do not worry about me.”

Your lips quivered and your voice trembled as soon as you spoke, a sob threatening to escape from your throat as another wave of tears pricked the corners of your eyes. How silly of you to fall apart on the steps outside of his apartment building- have you no shame?

To your surprise, a thin cloth was offered to you, pulling you out of your thoughts before you could spiral into self-degradation and pity. Hesitantly, you looked up at him to find his brown eyes softening in empathy. When you didn’t accept the kerchief right away, he gently gestured it towards you again, urging you to take it.

With a quiet thank you, you accepted it, dabbing your eyes and steadying your breathing as you heard him take a seat on the steps beside you.

“Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head, but kept your gaze fixed on the cloth in your hands. Even though Marc and Jake shared the same face, Jake was different. You couldn’t bear to look at him— one look, and he would see right through you.

Instead of answering him, you observed the scene in front of you. Across the street, two lovers exchanged sweet words and loving promises. Down the sidewalk, children screamed as they chased each other down the block. Cars, buses, and taxis drove by in a blur with only their flickering tail lights indicating their passing presence. You thought back to the nights you spent with Marc, your arm linked with his as he walked you home after you finished your night classes at the university. He would listen as you vented about the assignments your professors piled on you in the middle of midterms and other projects with similar deadlines.

“We’re proud of you, you know,” Marc said once you finished crossing the street. “Going to school to get your degree. I went straight into the Marines after high school and was discharged after …”

His voice trailed off, but you caught the stony expression on his face and the darkness that clouded his eyes. Your heart began to ache.

“I’m proud of you, too,” you nudged him lightly. “You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here. I think that’s something worthy and important to celebrate.”

You grinned as you watched a smile form on his lips. How rare it was to see Marc smile, but how sweet it was to be the reason behind it.

After a moment, you answered him.

“I’m just sensitive, that’s all.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute as you both listened to the bustling sounds of the city. That was the thing about Jake Lockley– his actions spoke louder than words, and him sitting here with you, letting you cry and stain his handkerchief with your eyeliner and mascara was enough to pull you out of your downward spiral.

“That may be true,” Jake hummed from beside you, “but it’s okay to be sensitive. It means that you care and feel things deeply.”

Perhaps a little too deeply, you mused as you folded his handkerchief. It was your parents’ idea for you to live in the Lion City for two years as a way for you to not only apply what you learned in college to the real world, but to keep you away from Marc.

“You need to forget about him. Pining after him will do you no good,” your father lectured one evening after Marc dropped you off at home. “He does nothing but bring you heartache.”

“He is a good man, Papa,” you reasoned.

Your mother sighed as she pulled you onto the couch to sit between her and your father. “We never said he was a bad person, my child. But we don’t want to see you heartbroken over him. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you to fall in love with someone else.”

Suppose they have a point, you reckoned. All your life, you fantasized about falling hopelessly in love with someone and that they would reciprocate your feelings in return, but life is not as colorful and sweet as the romantic novels you read.

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you weren’t supposed to have feelings for?” You asked quietly.

Jake smiled softly, but you caught the pain in his voice as he spoke. “A long time ago, yes.”

You were not close friends with Jake, not to the same level as you were with Marc and Steven. With Jake, he was more private. Much like the cabbie that he was, it often felt like there was a window between the two of you. He was in the front seat, but you were in the back seat, only seeing rare glimpses of him through the window in between.

His brown eyes fell on yours, and he raised a curious, but amused, eyebrow at you. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, your cheeks growing warm. “I don’t know you as well as I know Marc and Steven, so it’s a little strange for me to picture you as a man who was madly in love. You are always so quiet.”

To your surprise, Jake laughed, and you could not help but laugh along with him as you noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. It was not often you heard him laugh, but it was a delightful sound that you wanted to hear again.

“You��re a funny girl,” he chuckled, but you were not offended by his words. “But you do have a point. How about this? I’ll promise to show more of myself when you return from Singapore?”

You smiled at him as he extended his gloved hand to you. “I’d like that very much.”

His smile was kind in return as he shook your hand. Then, he stood, gently helping you up from where you were seated on the dusty steps.

“It’s getting late, conejita (little bunny), let me drive you home before your parents worry about you.”

You could not help but chuckle at the nickname he had given you as you followed him, barely catching the fond smile on his face as he helped you down the steps. Your tears had dried by then, your heart a little bit lighter while he guided you to his car.

Like a true gentleman, he opened the door for you, making sure you had your seatbelt on before heading to the other side. Inside, everything was uniquely Jake with the smell of leather and his cologne, the seats spacious and free of clutter. As he turned on the engine, the comforting melody of a Spanish love ballad played from the speakers, and you slowly closed your eyes.

The first few nights in Singapore were rough. You were miserable and heartbroken as you absentmindedly helped your aunt, uncle, and cousin clean up the new shop. Concerned as they were, they insisted that you rest, convinced you were exhausted from the jet lag and adjustment to the new time change. Of course, you should have known better that they would contact your parents. Not wanting to keep secrets, they told them about your unrequited crush on “a handsome boy back home,” and that you were heartbroken that he could not tell you goodbye.

The first few months, you wrote various letters to Steven. From tourist postcards to long handwritten letters, you poured your thoughts, feelings, and emotions into the letters, hoping that your best friend would offer you some solace and healing to your heartache.

I have never fallen in love so deeply, not even when I was a teenager. Isn’t it childish? My parents were worried, and now my aunt, uncle, and cousin fear I may not be helpful in establishing their bakery because of my “broken heart.” Growing up, I wanted to fall in love like in the movies, but I never expected it to be this painful and tragic. You would think that a smart girl like me would have fallen in love with someone else. Instead, I fell for a man who is still in love with his first love. I might as well be reaching for the moon.

It would take weeks, sometimes a couple months before your letter would reach him. You would anxiously check the mail each day, hoping for comfort from him. When you finally received his letter, you excused yourself to the kitchen where you sat with your face covered in flour, your apron already painted in various colors from testing different icings as you unfolded his letter.

You are still young, and you will find love again. The first love is always so painful, but do not fret, love. Have you forgotten? We already built rockets to reach the moon. It is a matter of finding the one that gravity pulls you to.

You cherished each letter you wrote him. Even in today’s digital age, you and Steven preferred pen, wrinkled papers, and postage stamps. You would collect the most colorful and vibrant postcards to send to Steven so he could add it to his collection, and you could not help but smile when he sent a picture of all your postcards taped to Gus’ fish tank. It felt a bit old-fashioned to wait months for a letter overseas, but more intimate as you shared stories and memories with each other.

The first few months were a bit painful, but as it turned into a year, your heart did not ache as much as when you left New York. Your cousin’s bakery took off during the first year, and soared to higher heights in the second with lines trailing out the door, but you were quick on your feet to bring out all the delectable treats and desserts that the city loved. One eventful night, your cousin brought you with her college friends to the local bar to celebrate, and you forgot that Marc broke your heart as you both sang to your favorite songs until your lungs ached and your throat ran dry.

You stumbled into the kitchen that night with your cousin, the two of you giggling as your aunt and uncle merely laughed at how affectionate the two of you were with each other. You quickly ran to your room to pull out a pen, your body filled with warmth as you sat at your bedroom window with your cousin’s cat curled at your feet.

Oh Steven, I haven’t felt this happy since leaving New York. I just got back from the karaoke bar with my cousin, and although I might be a little tipsy, I’ve learnt so many things here in Singapore. The night is young, but rich with dreams, wishes, and hope as I write underneath a full moon. Come what may, my heart will be open to new possibilities and adventures, for I am not the same person as I was yesterday. And before I forget, don’t tell my parents that I will be coming home a few weeks early; I want to surprise them, and I want to surprise you with how much I have grown. I would like to think I am not the same college girl who left with a broken heart, because I will return as a hopeful young woman who still dares to dream.

Before you knew it, you were packing your things and ready to return home. Your aunt, uncle, and cousin embraced you tightly with tearful smiles as they dropped you off at the airport, and soon, you were flying through the clouds. Your heart fluttered in excitement at seeing your family and friends again, and for once, you were not too worried about facing him again. You remained hopeful as you reminded yourself of how far you’ve come as you carried your dreams with you.

But perhaps you spoke too soon.

You called Steven a few nights before to plan for your arrival. Steven promised that he would pick you up at the JFK airport, but as you made it down the escalator, your heart nearly stopped. Waiting at the bottom was Marc Spector, holding up a sign with your name and a bouquet of flowers. His face is partially hidden by the shadow of his cap, but you could see the growing smile on his face as you approached.

“I know you were expecting Steven,” he explains as you stop in front of him, “but he remembered he can’t drive, so I offered to step in-”

Your heart swells as you take him in. It has been two years since you saw him last. You did not keep in touch with Marc as closely as you did with Steven, but seeing him hold a sign with flowers for you, you suddenly feel like that college girl again.

Before he could finish his sentence, you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly.

“Thank you for coming for me,” you whisper. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Your heart skips a beat as he returns your embrace. With your head on his shoulder, you close your eyes. His arms are as strong as you remembered him, and the scent of his cologne brings you back to those nights he would pick you up after class to walk you home.

“It’s good to see you. We missed you.”

You ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as he pulls away. He looks down at you, and you could not help but smile at the warmth and softness in his brown eyes.

“I almost didn’t recognize you. You look different.”

“Different?”

Marc smiles softly. He smoothes a loose strand of your hair, and you pray in that moment that he did not feel the sudden heat rising to your cheeks from the contact.

“A good kind of different,” he answers, “you’re glowing.”

Butterflies flutter in your tummy at his words. It was true- you were a different woman now, and you were not the same college girl with an unrequited crush on her friend.

But in that moment, it seems all you could think about is his gentle smile. If you weren’t careful enough, you would slowly turn back into that lovesick girl.

Before you delve too deep into your thoughts, Marc smiles fondly at you again as he hands you the bouquet.

“Let me get your things, and then I can take you home.”

You smile at him as he gathers your belongings. As you follow him out of the terminal, your fingers absentmindedly trace the soft petals of the daffodils. They are a soft white and delicate between your fingertips, and you are already thinking about what vase to use and where to put it in your bedroom once you get home.

The ride home was quiet, and as much as you wanted to ask him about everything that you missed in the past two years, you were exhausted from your trip. It took some time, but Marc was able to persuade you to sleep, only lightly tapping your shoulder to wake you when he pulled up to your parents’ driveway. It was after dinner when you saw their silhouettes moving across the kitchen, and you could not wait to surprise them with your early arrival.

And surprised they were. Screams of joy and laughter echoed throughout the neighborhood as your family embraced you with overjoyed tears streaming down their cheeks. Much to your surprise, they were civil with Marc as he and your father helped bring your suitcases in, even offering that he could stay for some coffee before he politely declined. Whether he knew that your parents did not favor him as much compared to Steven, you didn’t know, but you were happy that he brought you home.

As he walks out the front door, you excuse yourself and call his name as you quickly follow after him.

“Thank you again for picking me up and taking me home,” you tell him as he turns around. “I wouldn’t have gotten here without you.”

He smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. “Anytime, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

You smile shyly. This wasn’t the first time he brought you home, and it reminded you of the nights he would pick you up or walk you home after class. Just like old times.

Your mind was reeling, your heart soaring as you placed the bouquet of daffodils on your desk. Despite your parent’s disapproval (and much to your dismay, too), all the feelings you thought you moved on from Marc quickly resurfaced after seeing him again. You did your best to not think about him too much while you were in Singapore, but seeing him smile at you and having him take you home, you could feel yourself falling for him all over again.

It took a couple weeks to adjust to being back in New York, but it was wonderful to be home. You told your parents everything about your time in Singapore and the success of your cousin’s business. Every now and then, you would call her, your aunt, and uncle to see how popular their bakery became since you left. In the background of your video calls, you would see your uncle tending to a customer in the front, or your aunt reloading a tray of green tea mochi in their display case. You missed the hustle and bustle of Singapore, but you were glad to be in the familiarity of the Big Apple with your friends and family again.

Steven met with you first after you settled back into your routine. It was a Thursday afternoon as the two of you sat in your living room and exchanged gifts. You beamed at all the stories and anecdotes he shared with you.

“That’s amazing!” You told him. The two of you were cross-legged on the floor as you poured him another cup of tea. “I just know the kids are going to love having you as a tour guide in the King Tut exhibit at the Smithsonian.”

Your best friend grinned, a soft red dusting his smiling cheeks. “You think so? I start on Monday. I’m so nervous! I don’t want to mess it up or bore them with all the details, but you know how much I love Ancient Egypt.”

“You’re going to do great. You make history sound so fascinating and entertaining.” You smiled reassuringly at him. “I missed hearing all your stories while I was in Singapore.”

“Well, that just means I have to do some more research for you to get you up to speed,” Steven countered, and the two of you laughed. “I’m so happy that you’re back and that I get to meet with you again. We missed you so much.”

Once again, your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Marc missing you. But you quickly dismissed the thought as soon as it came— you and Marc were friends beforehand, after all. You already spent two years away from him, surely you should have gotten a grip over your unrequited crush on a man who had no romantic feelings for you whatsoever.

Your face must have fallen. Before you caught yourself, you found Steven’s brown eyes washing over you with concern. “You know, love, Marc told me he missed you too. I know you didn’t keep in touch with him frequently like you did with me. Are you doing okay?”

You swallowed hard as the other shoe dropped. As much as you hated to admit, it was true. Compared to the handwritten letters and postcards you sent Steven, your communication with Marc paled in comparison. You reasoned with yourself that the distance would do you good, and the only times you shared any correspondence with him were through some texts and pictures you sent via email. Like Marc, you did not have much social media, and you preferred to keep your private life private. But in the texts you both shared, they were straight-forward. You knew Marc was not fond of communicating through texts, and it was difficult to keep track of when he fronted with the time differences between New York and Singapore. Naturally, he fell through the cracks.

It’s been a few weeks since you saw Marc, and the last time you spoke with him was when he took you home after picking you up at the airport. You weren’t avoiding him, but you also did not trust yourself around him. One look at him, and all the feelings you tried to repress would suddenly rush to the surface.

“Does he know?” You asked, your voice quiet and hesitant. “About my feelings for him?”

You watched as Steven’s eyes softened. Whether your best friend was telling the truth, or telling you what you needed to hear to avoid hurting you, you did not know.

“No, he doesn’t.”

You nodded, but kept your gaze on your mournful expression looking up at you through your reflection on the glossy surface. The mug grew cold in your hands, and you no longer felt the warmth and comfort of your favorite tea.

Sensing the change in demeanor, you heard Steven clear his throat and set his mug on the table. Pulling you out of your thoughts, you glanced over at him to see a sheepish smile on his lips, his curls slightly askew.

“If you don’t mind, can I practice my first tour with you? I have my speeches ready, and I think I need to get you caught up on what you missed.”

You vaguely felt the sting in your cheeks as you smiled at him and nodded. “I would love to hear it. Tell me everything.”

As Steven practiced his first speech and tour with you, thoughts of Marc began to fade away. All you could do was smile as you listened to your friend recite the great history of ancient civilizations over your favorite cup of tea. Your heart ached as the afternoon bled into the evening, but it was not as painful as it was before. Things were different now— you were different— as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, reminding yourself that you had to move on, for your sake.

The days went by slowly, and soon it was summer. You smiled as the sun shined longer and the nights grew shorter, painting the sky vibrant hues of golds, oranges, and reds like a sparkling fire. You did not see Steven as often once he started his museum tours, but you always smiled at his texts.

It was a Thursday morning when you were at home when you heard your phone chime from across the room. Expecting it to be Steven gushing about his latest tour to elementary school children, you picked up your phone without a second thought, only for your heart to stop. Marc.

You did not mean to ignore him, but your communication with him was limited in the months you returned. It was for the best, you reasoned with yourself. The distance would do you good, and for a while, you truly believed that you moved on from your unrequited crush on your friend. But just a simple text and call of his name brought you back to the sleepless nights of staining your pillow with tears.

The rushing sound of your beating heart echoed in your ears as your fingers over the text. You couldn’t ignore him forever. He was your friend first, your heartbreak second.

Which led you to wearing your favorite dress with your arm linked through his as the two of you walked through the busy town square of a night market. Much to your parents (and Steven’s) concern, you agreed to meet with him.

“I haven’t talked to him since I left for Singapore,” you argued with your parents over dinner. “He was my friend first. I can’t ignore him forever.”

And honestly, you couldn’t, even if you tried. Marc was too observant, and the last thing you wanted was for him to think he hurt you. Even if your heart was breaking.

“I’m sure the food was better back in Singapore, but I thought that I could bring a part of it to you.”

You laugh softly as Marc turns to you. Seeing there was an Asian street food market in town that weekend, Marc invited you to come along. It was a way for you two to catch up since you had yet to have a full and proper conversation with him since you returned home. It was casual enough, and surely, no harm could be done.

“It’s still home,” you assure him, and your heart swells as he smiles at you.

How could you hate him when he still brought you joy?

“I researched what I could, but I’ll need your opinion since you’re the expert,” he teases, and you laugh again. “There’s so many choices, it’s almost overwhelming. Where do I start?”

You look around at the different vendors, booths, and trucks around the square. Even at this hour, there are so many people trying new things and enjoying the night. There really is no place like home.

“I’ll show you one of my favorites,” you tell him. “Have you had mochi donuts before?”

“It will be my first time,” Marc smiles at you, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as he extends his arm to you. “Show me.”

With a pounding heart, you link your arm through his as you guide him to the booth. Thankfully the line was not long, and you had food to temporarily distract you from the emotions rising to the surface.

The conversation began to flow into a steady rhythm as the night continued on. Two years have passed since you last stood by his side, but tonight, the memories gathered in your mind as if it were only yesterday. You found yourself laughing over the shenanigans that Marc and Steven found themselves in while you were gone, and in return, you shared stories of creating recipes and painting the town red with your cousin and her friends on sleepless nights.

For a little while, you fooled yourself into thinking it was the two of you, just like old times.

You sit on a bench as the night draws to a close. With his jacket around your shoulders, it takes everything in you to not pull it closer towards yourself. It may not mean nothing to him, but it means everything to you.

Across the promenade, a local college band begins to play as the strings of their guitar tunes out the noise of your beating heart. If you listen long enough, you would not have to hear your heart ache.

After a moment, Marc takes a shaky breath beside you, his dark brows furrowed. “Can I ask you something?”

You turn to face him. “Anything.”

You watch as a soft smile spreads across his lips, but you know him long enough to know that it did not reach his eyes.

“You’ve been different since Singapore,” he begins, and you swallow hard, fearing his next words. “You’ve been distant. Things just aren’t the same or what it used to be. I need to know—”

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns to look at you. His brown eyes were dark, filled with emotion that he seldom showed.

“Was it something I did?” He asks, his voice shaking. “Have I hurt you?”

Marc Spector was many things— observant, perceptive— but a heartbreaker? A heartbreaker was not one of them, even if he held your broken one in the palm of his hands.

“No, Marc—” you swallow the growing ache in your chest as you reach for him. “Please don’t ever think that. You did nothing wrong.” Gently, you squeeze his hands to comfort him.

You could not lie to him. You could not hurt him, not when he was like this.

“Things may be different, but I haven’t changed. Not really.”

But you have, in your own way. You would like to believe you have changed and grown into a young woman, but as you smiled at him, you wondered how much you really changed when your heart fluttered at his smile.

“You seem more grown up,” he whispers softly as he smoothes a strand of your hair. “Don’t grow up so fast that you don’t need me, kid.”

You blink, ignoring the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes at his words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a comforting smile, he stretches his arm and places it around your shoulders to pull you close as his lips gently place a soft kiss on your forehead. Your heart skips a beat from his touch as the scent of his cologne envelopes you. It is so tempting to close your eyes and fall deeper into his embrace, but you fight against the heartstrings being tugged at your heart.

In the promenade, the band transitions to a softer, romantic song with a few slow strokes of an acoustic guitar. One by one, couples gather with their partners to sway and dance along. A soft smile graces your lips as you recognize the tune.

“This is one of my favorite Hozier songs,” you remark fondly as you remembered discovering his music for the first time. “Do you like his music—”

You look over at your friend, but stop. It was as if he was frozen in time, eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost.

“Marc?”

He did not answer. He remains frozen, paralyzed and rooted to the spot as if he was ensnared by invisible hands. You call out to him again as you grasp his hands in yours, trying to bring him back to reality.

Finally, his eyes meet yours, filled with nothing but pain and sorrow.

“This song—” he stammers, his voice hoarse. His gaze flickers between you and the band as the couples in the courtyard embrace one another to the lyrics. “This song was played at my wedding.”

Your heart sinks as you realize the significance. Layla.

“It was your song,” you breathe as the pain in your heart begins to splinter deep inside, tearing it in two. How insensitive of you to think that he was over his first love.

As if he was burned, Marc pulls away from you. He turns his head away, his voice low and trembling as he speaks.

“I’m sorry, kid, but please excuse me—”

Before you could say a word, he was already walking away, leaving you alone at the bench with his jacket around your shoulders.

Slowly, you pull your hands toward yourself. The tears that threatened you from before finally had the chance to fall, staining your cheeks with heartbreak and woe. Your heart twists as you watch the couples cradle each other as if they would fall apart without their touch. You were foolish to think that could be you and Marc one day. How could you fault him for still being in love with his first love when you still had feelings for him?

You should have said no, you scold yourself as you pull his jacket tighter around you, trying to comfort yourself with the lingering scent of his cologne and imagining that he was holding you in his arms. Tonight was a mistake, and you should have kept your distance from him. You should have listened to your parents and Steven’s words of caution, but here you were, crying alone on a bench.

Marc saw you as nothing more than a younger sister. He was never yours.

As you wipe the stray tears on your cheeks, you are pulled from your thoughts by a familiar handkerchief crossing your line of vision.

Stunned, you look up and find a pair of deep brown eyes washing over you in concern. He shares the same face, but you know the difference.

“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t spend her evening shedding tears, conejita.”

A dry laugh escapes your lips as you accept the handkerchief. As you brush away your tears, he takes a seat beside you and whistles a low tune.

“Marc,” you clear your throat, trying to control the wave of tears that threatened to spill over. “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be fine, he just needs some time,” Jake answers. He looks over at you with a sympathetic gaze. “I’m sorry he walked away.”

You shrug as you look down, your fingers twisting the ends of his handkerchief to numb the heartache. Even when it hurt, you could not find it in yourself to be upset with him.

You echo his words. “I’ll be fine.”

He clicks his tongue with a shake of his head.

“We can’t have that,” he reasons as he stands and offers his hand to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s end the night on a good note.”

You ponder his words as you look up at him. Jake shares the same face as your best friends, but is different in his own way. Steven’s eyes were bright and doe-eyed while Marc’s were darker with a storm of emotion, but Jake was different.

Looking at him now, they are deeper, but filled with a sense of warmth and familiarity that you could not explain. It bewilders you, but at the same time, it was as if you were greeting an old friend.

Yet, there is so much about Jake that you did not know. You try not to let your worries get the best of you, but you remain hesitant and guarded at his intentions. You prefer not to know, and you would rather delude yourself into hoping he was not aware of your unrequited feelings for Marc, too. It seems everyone knows how you feel about him except the man himself.

As if he read your mind, he reaches forward to caress your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that falls from your eyes.

“I promise I have no ill intentions, conejita,” he comforts you with a gentle smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “I don’t know you very well.”

He chuckles softly at you. “I promised I would show more of myself to you when you returned. Let me fulfill that promise.”

You remembered that night when he found you crying on the steps outside of his apartment before you left for Singapore. It felt so long ago, but it also felt as if it were yesterday.

With a sheepish smile, you accept his hand. “Lead the way.”

You allow him to guide you to the promenade with your hand in his. After a moment, he pulls you close with one of his hands settling on your back, the other holding yours as he begins to sway to the music. You follow his movements with one hand on his shoulder as the other was laced with his, keeping you connected to him.

You were not much of a dancer. For most of high school, you opted out of homecoming and only attended prom during your senior year, but even then, you were with friends. You never slow danced with anyone except your father whenever he played the old romantic love songs from his homeland in the kitchen on Saturday mornings.

An apology immediately falls from your lips as you accidentally step on his feet. “I’m so sorry—”

He tucks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look at him.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers. “Follow my movements. Pretend it’s just the two of us.”

Slowly, you nod, keeping your eyes on him as you follow his steps. Your cheeks feel warm from the contact, but you elect to ignore it. You could only imagine how you looked.

“When did you learn how to dance?” You ask him curiously. You did not want to say it, but you were surprised to see that he was a natural dancer.

“I’m a man of many hidden talents, and I am not one to reveal my secrets.”

You could not help but laugh at his answer as he grins playfully at you. He was always an enigma.

“Well, whoever taught you must have been a wonderful teacher,” you compliment him with a small and shy smile. “And whoever you danced with had a lucky partner.”

Jake laughs softly as he twirled you. Once you face him again, he smiles.

For the first time, you feel something foreign tug at your heartstrings. In the glimpses you have seen of Jake Lockley, you knew very little about him, but you knew enough to know he only revealed his true self to a select few.

Perhaps this time, you would finally meet the man in the front seat through the window in-between.

The ride home was quiet, but the silence was not suffocating. The city lights blurred past you as Jake hummed and whistled along to the Spanish melodies that played on the radio. Some songs you were familiar with from the playlists that Steven and Marc would often share with you. There were times when you asked them to teach you the language so you could better understand the songs they would sing, and in return, you shared the music from your family’s homeland. You did not recognize the songs that Jake played on the radio, but even in your limited understanding of the language, you found comfort in the harmonies.

Like a true gentleman, Jake walked you to your front door once he dropped you off at home. The lights were still on in the kitchen when you arrived, and you knew your parents were still awake and waiting for your return.

“Thank you for tonight,” you turn to him as you stop at your front door. “I had a good time with you and Marc.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Marc. There was so little he shared about his divorce with Layla, and from the little you knew about it, you knew he loved her deeply. The wound in his heart had yet to close and heal, much similar to yours.

Sensing your worry, Jake offers a reassuring smile.

“He’ll be alright,” he reassures you. “He just needs some time to himself, but I promise you he’ll be okay. Steven and I will look after him.”

You nod. You’ve seen Marc withdraw at times, but not like this. You could still see the fear on his face— he looked as if he had seen a ghost, and you wonder if he will be able to come back.

“Did you want to come inside? I made some mochi earlier that you could take home.”

He shakes his head, but still offers that comforting smile at you. “I’ll be alright, but thank you. Can you tell your parents I said hello?”

You smile weakly at him, feeling a bit comforted by his reassurance. “I will.”

As you watch him walk back to his car, your heart begins to ache, a dagger digging into your chest and you could barely breathe.

For a moment, he looked just like Marc. Slicked back dark hair, olive green jacket over his shoulders, and that soft, gentle smile.

There was a time when Marc would bring you home like this, right after your night classes. He would walk you to the front door, his jacket over your shoulders, a protective arm around you as it was already dark once the sun had set.

“Whenever you need me, you can call me,” he comforted you the first night you completed your night class. It was already fall with the days growing shorter and the nights growing darker, and you often called him to take you home since you felt unsafe walking across campus and waiting at the bus stop by yourself.

“You don’t need to take me home every Thursday because I’m scared of walking alone to the bus stop at night. I can call campus police for an escort,” you told him as he opened the car door for you.

Marc shook his head and took your bag from your shoulders as you stepped in. “The buses aren’t always reliable, and I need to make sure you’re home safe.”

You began to protest, but he smiled at you as he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“No one can hurt you when I’m around,” he whispered. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easy, kid.”

But you did not have to do anything for Marc to leave you. How could you lose someone you loved if they were never yours?

You ignore the ache in your heart as Jake drives away, disappearing into the darkness like a dying star in the night sky. With a deep breath, you force a smile and step inside to find your parents waiting for you in the living room, eager to hear everything about your date.

It went well, you lie. We are just friends, and my feelings for him have faded. I am no longer in love with him.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector, you repeat to yourself as you sit in your room, your fingers tracing the daffodil petals that you saved from the bouquet he had given you. You cherished the flowers he gifted you, but they have withered and died, their petals pressed into thin pieces you would have saved and kept near to your heart.

You remembered sitting in the field as a schoolgirl with flowers in your hand and giggling with your friends as you sang, he loves me, he loves me not.

You loved him, but he loves you not.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector, you whisper, dropping the petals into the wastebasket.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector.

Another petal falls, followed by the other.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector.

A tear falls from your eyes as you drop the last petal, your hand empty without any trace of him.

It was time to let him go.

#jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #steven grant x fem!reader #moon knight x fem!reader #moon knight imagine #jake lockley imagine #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #jake lockley x you #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #moon knight imagines #jake lockley imagines #steven grant imagines #marc spector imagines

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jakelcckley · 2 years

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kairiscorner · 8 months

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not me omw to make marc spector bots

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagines #character ai #c.ai #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagines

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vintagemulti · 2 years

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sunshine

pairings: steven grant x reader , talks of marc spector x reader

desc: steven grant, curer of shitty days.

warning: workplace harassment (nothing physical), marc being slightly murderous but it’s nothing if not deserved, swearing, angst / comfort, absolutely tooth rotting fluff

a/n: i literally needed to write something short, sweet and fluffy after the glass series ☠️ take this as part of that series or a stand alone, i don’t mind! bold / italics means marc is speaking, bold means khonshu is speaking - reader can hear neither

requested here

masterlist

if you said your day was shit, it wouldn’t been the greatest understatement of the twenty first century.

everything about your day, from waking up five minutes before your alarm to no steven or marc, the bus being late once again, your boss being an utter cunt - for lack of a better word - but there was no surprise there, no dinner… everything. everything was wrong about this day.

until you opened your front door.

the house was loud, music playing in one of the rooms, oven on and something that smelt delicious cooking. you could feel the tension release from your shoulders.

steven must have heard you come in, because he stuck his head around the kitchen wall, smiling when his eyes landed on you.

that smile. that fucking smile made you lose it. you couldn’t hold it in anymore, the hot tears falling down your face before you could even try to stop them, handbag landing with a thud next to you.

“oh, no, no,” steven rushed over to you. “darlin’, what’s wrong?”

words seemed to fail you, your lungs were too focused on getting sharp inhales between sobs. steven wrapped his arms around you, your senses immediately being overtaken by his cologne - not marc’s, his. that was another difference between your boys.

“it’s alright, baby, i’m here.” he whispered into the top of your head, hand rubbing circles on your lower back, pulling you towards the couch and setting you on his lap.

steven continued to whisper those reassuring nothings into your ear for a few minute, before your breathing was stable enough to form a sentence.

“shitty day.” you mumbled, repositioning yourself so you could look at him.

“how?” his hands came to your face, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ears and wiping the tears that continued to fall.

“boss,” you leaned into his touch. “keeps hounding me about this new project, and…”

“and?” he raised an eyebrow, and for a spilt second you saw the ghost of marc on his features.

“he keeps asking me out for a drink, and i’ve told him i’m unavailable, but he won’t seem to hear the word no.”

i’ll kill him.

yes, i’ll agree for once.

steven pulled you into his chest, eyeing the mirror behind him. “i’m sorry, darlin’. he’ll get what he deserves.”

normally you would inquire more, but the meaning behind the phrase seemed to pass by your tear fogged mind, bringing you comfort rather than questions.

“is marc here?” you mumbled into shirt.

he hummed a yes. “why?”

“just wonderin’.”

“you wanna talk to him?” steven has went back to tracing patterns on your back.

“i will, just not now,” you pulled him closer, if that was even possible. “don’t go, please.”

steven kissed the top of your hair. “i’m not going anywhere.”

before you could say anything else, the smoke alarm gave a long chirp, so loudly you thought the whole of london would hear it.

“ah, shite,” steven gently moved you off of him and walked into the kitchen, pressing the button off.

he opened the oven, more smoke coming out as he did so. “shit.”

you tried not to laugh. you really did. but you couldn’t stop the giggles, especially at the sight before you. he scowled, but his eyes gave him away - he was about to burst out laughing as well.

and he did, he laughed with you for at least a minute, standing in the kitchen holding the something-that-smelt-good from earlier.

he set it on the kitchen counter, pulling the over gloves off as well. rolling his eyes, steven elected to ignore marc’s simply hilarious comment about his cooking abilities, and walked back over to you.

although you had stopped laughing, the smile still resided on your lips. your lips, that steven came over to and kissed - a soft, gentle kiss, full of love.

pulling back, he took your face in his hands. “there’s that smile,” he praised, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“it’ll be chinese then, i take it?” you mumbled into his kiss.

“absolutely.”

—

the remains of your salt and pepper chicken sat on the table in front of you as you watched some soppy rom-com, although you weren’t really watching it.

sleep had almost overcome you, your eyelids were heaving and steven’s heartbeat was like a lullaby in your ear.

he looked down at you, smiling at the sight. “still having a shitty day?”

“a little,” you mumbled. “but it’s better with you.”

steven brought a hand to your head, running his fingers though your hair and massaging your scalp in a way that had you sure your brain was nothing but mush and goo, floating about in your skull.

go to bed, i’ll take the body when you’re both asleep.

steven nodded. “give him one for me, please.”

don’t worry buddy, i’ll give him plenty.

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mayfieldss · 11 months

Text

Not who we were - Marc Spector

Pairing: Marc Spector x Significant other!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, murder, blood, and a plot that doesn't make sense as it was written at 1am.

Summary: When you find out who Marc really is, he hopes you'll still love him despite it all.

"I've made some mistakes, no, I'm not gonna lie, I've seen the world fall apart right in front of my eyes. I'm a victim of myself in disguise" - Em Beihold

"This is gonna be hard to explain." Marc's hands, white-gloved within his suit, hold yours as he helps you to your feet.

"Marc?" Your voice comes uneven before you're tearing your hands from his, eyes wider than Marc had yet to ever see them.

"Yeah, it's me." It comes as a sigh, his suit falling away to reveal the man you know. "I know this looks crazy, and sure, I don't think there's anything else to call it, but you gotta trust that I didn't have a choice."

There's more than one dead body surrounding you, and with his words, you can't find yourself to be calm. You'd watched him kill each and every one, and you had nothing close to an idea why, and somehow that makes it worse.

"They're...all dead." There's a shake to your voice, and you take multiple involuntary steps backward, wishing only to get away from the scene and perhaps wake up from the nightmare at hand.

"I know, but—"

"You killed them." You can't let him speak. You don't want to hear an excuse for all you've witnessed, and yet Marc tries to finish his sentence still.

"Look, you know me. You know I wouldn't do this without reason. I've got a job to do here, and I'm not proud of it—" he continues though you don't hear the rest. It's too hard to process, and it's most definitely not the time to explain such things in depth, with the blood from strangers that lie before you seeping into your shoes. But he talks and he talks, Egyptian gods and the possible deaths of many others weighing against the man you love had he not complete this mission he's on. How he never intended you to get caught up in the mess he's made.

But you don't understand it, and you only hear the key points, or at least some of them. The rest you find yourself blocking out in favour of a small panic attack.

"Honey, look, I know it's a lot, but we gotta go, like now." Marc's got a hand on the small of your back, the other on your shoulder as he leads you away to what he would claim to be safety, and you don't know when he got this close to you.

"Marc, please don't touch me." Separating from him is hard, but you push him back, making your own way through the streets, though you don't know where you're headed. "I don't know what's going on, and your bullshit explanation has done nothing to plead your case, but I need to be as far from you as possible right now."

"I agree, you do, but I need you not to hate me first." Marc's right on your heels as you move, and somehow you find yourself still following his directions when he ushers you this way and that. When you reach a secluded ally you pause, turning back to face the man you thought you once knew.

"How long? How long have you been doing this?"

The look in Marc's eyes says enough, yet he answers you anyway. "Way before I met you." He sounds sad, down further than you've ever seen him as he continues. "When we met, I wanted to stop. And I tried, but there were some things I've had to wrap up, loose ends that I need to tie. But I wanted to get out, I did." Marc seems to pause, as if he can hear someone else, something else other than the quiet of the ally. His face contorts in what seems to be anger for no longer than a second, before his eyes are back on you, the soft and devastated expression taking over again.

"I thought I had you figured out." You can hear the disbelief in your voice, the sound of it enough to break a piece of Marc away. He's tough, and he's been through more than one person can bear, yet he finds this might be one of the worst feelings he's yet to encounter. He watches your eyes, scanning them for some sign of the love you'd once held for him and he finds it there, though he sees it fading.

"How can I ever believe a word you say?"

"I never lied, not outside of this, everything about us was real." He's sincere, and he hasn't felt this vulnerable in years, yet Marc can feel you slipping away. "Everything I kept from you was to keep you safe. I needed to keep you safe." He takes a step forward, placing his hands on your shoulders. They're bare and cold, the night air reaching out to your skin.

Marc had been through this before, and his methods had always been based around pushing people away, but there was something about you that made things different. And when Khonshu told him to let you go, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Now he might be losing you just like the god had wanted, though this time it's not under Marc's control.

"Please, I need you to trust me. I know how it looks, and I know how hard this will make things for us, for you, but I need you to trust me."

Your eyes are glassy, and you're looking right through him as if you don't know him at all. Yet you nod, the action pulling the weight from Marc's chest for now. He slides a hand down your arm, slipping his hand into your own as he leads you back through the streets to the place you'd once called home with him.

You're silent the whole way, and Marc doesn't make any attempts to force words from you. Instead, he walks with the silence, as if it's an old friend of yours and an enemy of his. The front door is old, the paint peeling and the doorknob creaking as Marc leads you inside, and somehow that's the first time he's noticed the deteriorating state of the place. It hadn't mattered before, when the structure of his relationship with you had been so strong, he didn't need anything else.

"Do you want some water? coffee?" He's acting like Steven, he thinks, but he's sure he's still in control here. He knows he is.

"I just need to sleep." You sound tired, and he believes you, watching as you shuffle to the bedroom, eyes blank as you move. He doesn't follow, setting up a bed on the couch for the night. He knows you well enough to expect you need space, and right now he's willing to give it. Had this just been a regular fight, Marc would have tucked himself into bed with you no matter your protests and pulled you in for a hug until you forgave him, at least for the night. He knows it's not right to do that now.

The couch isn't comfortable, but he doubts you're getting much better sleep than he is. Not after all you'd seen that day. He tries to drift off and an hour or three passes before he finds that he actually can. He has no dreams, no nightmares, and the peace is a relief. When he wakes the next morning it all comes back, a tidal wave of shame and concern overtaking him as he recalls the way you'd looked at him, spoken to him. You were a skeleton of the person he once held dear.

He moves quickly about the apartment when he wakes, making coffee as quietly as he can, and moving to the room he's supposed to share with you, peeking inside. It's dark, and the curtains are still drawn despite the late hour, but Marc sees it. His eyes find the empty bed, the broken lamp on the floor, fallen from the bedside table. The picture frame that holds Marc's favourite photo, you and him, together now seen through broken glass. It wasn't done by you, and at the sight of your shoes still beside the bed, he knows it's all wrong.

Marc had never cursed quite like he did then, the anger that harbours itself deep within him curling out into the open. He shouts to Khonshu, to Steven, and to whoever will listen as he wonders where you are, rushing out the door before any kind of protest or plan can be made. He knows what's happened, though he doesn't know how he slept through it, and he knows it's his fault.

You were seen with him last night, and he'd shown just how much he cared for you. That was the perfect advertisement for leverage. But by some form of luck, It's not hard to find you, or your kidnappers, and whilst Marc is seeing red beyond that of proper thought, he is capable of locking his eyes with yours, a silent communication, and a promise.

There's a knife to your throat, held by one man, and a gun pointed to your head by another, and Marc knows the killers just don't understand. Because what comes next is a violent, fast-paced frenzy. You don't know how he does it, but the second the knife falls from your throat, you're ducking down for cover and hoping that a gunshot won't ring out by your second captor. But it all goes by so fast, and when you do hear a bullet fire, you don't feel it pierce your skin. Your eyes lock on the shooter, ears ringing from the sound as you watch bullet after bullet fired at the man you love. You do still love Marc, despite it all, and perhaps that's why the scream that leaves you is so devastatingly loud.

Marc thinks you're hurt the second he hears it, heart-stopping for mere moments before he's finishing off the gunman and racing to your side with not a scratch in sight. Your eyes are wide and when he's within arms reach you're grasping at him, hands running over his armour as it falls away to reveal Marc himself, t-shirt and jeans in near the same condition as the day before.

"Hey, I need you to calm down for me." Marc's voice is steady, and you don't understand how he's still alive. "Are you hurt?"

Your brows furrow as you watch his features before your eyes drift back to his torso, where you swear the bullets hit him. "You were shot, like ten times."

His hands run over your arms, pushing you back from him so he can check you for wounds. "I had amour and a little help from someone more powerful than a pistol, you, however, did not. So, I need you to tell me, did they hurt you?"

All you can do is shake your head in response, eyes scanning his face with the worry that he holds for you all the same. You can't remember why you hated Marc before, and with all the violence that unfolded over the last 24 hours, you can't find yourself being bothered by it. So instead, you leap forward into him, a hug so tight that Marc gasps from the grip.

You find yourself crying, and the morning sunlight falls on the both of you, highlighting the tear stains that appear on Marc's shoulder. He's hardly holding it together himself, the touch enough to release all the tension in his bones. He squeezes you tight, your arms around his neck as he kneels on the harsh ground, enough to keep him steady.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

You don't respond, but you don't have to. He can feel you, and with every shaky breath you take, he knows he's forgiven. Somehow, somewhere deep inside you, you found it in yourself to do it. Forgive him for the lies, for the harm, and whilst the trust will take time to build back, he has your body clinging to his, your heartbeat in time with his own.

AN: i don't particularly like this fic, and it doesn't make much sense plotwise at all, but I haven't posted in so long, and it's all I have.

MARVEL TAGLIST: @mellowladyangel @5kyyy @avyannadawn

MOON KNIGHT TAGLIST: empty

MARC SPECTOR TAGLIST: empty

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ijustwant2write · 2 years

Text

Sleeping Buddies-Steven Grant x Reader

(GIF credit to @marveldaily)

Summary: Unbeknownst to Marc, Steven has a girlfriend. This girlfriend also doesn't know that Marc exists, as well as Steven's odd sleeping rituals.

Characters: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Just fluff and it's long

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did you really have to be that harsh on those guys?" Steven moaned as he sat up in bed, his body aching.

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you have preferred to be beaten to a pulp back there?" Marc snapped back.

"Alright, alright, I get it. I thought the suit was supposed to be all healing, why am I aching?"

"You slept in a weird position last night."

Steven just shook his head, slowly walking towards the cupboard with cereal in it. As he poured himself a bowl, he heard his phone ding, smiling when he saw who's name popped up.

"(Y/N)? Who's that? And why are you smiling so much?"

Steven ignored him, unlocking the phone and instantly tapping on the notification. He had two messages from her, both sweet, just like her.

'Good morning 😊 hope you're OK after what Donna said to you. That sounds terrible! Sometimes I wish I worked at that museum with you just so I could give her a piece of my mind! 😡 I can't wait to see you this weekend, I've really missed you xx'

Marc was really confused as he read the text. How did he not know about this woman? And how did Steven manage to even talk to a girl?

'Hi, are you OK? I tried to face time earlier but you didn't answer. Obviously it's fine if you're busy, but I'm guessing your sleep is messed up again. Maybe we can go to a doctor together about it? If you want that is, no pressure my love. Anyway, I hope you're sleeping well, I'll message you in the morning as usual. Sweet dreams xx'

"Steven, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I do, actually. Why do you sound surprised?"

"What does she look like?"

"None of your business! Besides, it's all messed up now, innit? Now you're in the picture, and how would she react to that? This relationship is still new, I don't want to ruin it."

"You've got to tell her at some point."

"I know but-"

Steven was interrupted when someone knocked on the door. He wasn't expecting anyone or anything to be delivered today. Maybe it was the postman that had a parcel for his neighbours who weren't in. Steven took the blue strip off the door, hiding his body behind the door, he was still in his pyjamas after all. However, his mouth dropped open when his girlfriend stood there.

"Holy shit, Steven."

"(Y/N), h-hi, what are you doing here?" he fully opened the door, forgetting how he looked.

"Sorry, I know I should have called or text before coming over. I just...I was starting to worry about you."

"You have to tell me how you picked up this girl."

"Worry? Why would you worry?"

"It's four in the afternoon. I was supposed to text you this morning and during work like I usually do but I was late today, and then I had to basically cover everyone else so I didn't have time. I've felt so bad."

"No, no sweetheart, why would you feel bad? I'm the one who's been sleeping all day."

"It's a good thing you're not at work today."

"You remembered my schedule?"

"You sent me a copy of your rota, just in case sleep gets the better of you."

"Steven, she's way out of your league."

Steven was slightly offended by Marc's words, but he knew it was true. He too had been shocked when (Y/N) started a conversation with him. She was gorgeous, and one of the best things about her was how caring she was. (Y/N) never asked too many questions about his sleep trouble, she just made sure she was able to help in some way. Even if that meant giving Steven his space and not staying over at each others places.

(Y/N) admitted (just to herself) it hurt that she couldn't lay in bed with Steven. They couldn't watch a film snuggled up on the sofa for fear Steven may fall asleep. Although it wasn't the most important thing, (Y/N) did want to sleep with Steven, as in, make love with one another. Not because she was horny, but because she loved him and she felt that sex was another layer of connection between a couple. However, (Y/N) wasn't going to risk pushing Steven away over sex, he meant so much to her.

"Can I come in?"

She had been at his before for dinner, multiple times, but that's when Steven cleared away the sand and hid his leg shackle under the bed. He totally forgot about that as he invited her in, eyes popping out of his head when he turned around after closing the door. It was too late, she had already seen it.

"Steven, what's this?" she asked, not sure how to take it.

"It's...it's for the sleep, I swear! I used to get up in the middle of the night, end up hurting myself. And, and the sand is to see if I have stepped out of bed. Oh, and this," he held up the crumpled blue tape in his hand,"I put this on the door so I can figure out if I've left the flat."

"You do all this because of your sleep habits?"

Shit, shit, shit, this was it. (Y/N) was going to think he was a freak, she didn't see how crazy he was. He could envision it now. She was going to rapidly pick up her things and scurry out of there, deleting his number and him out of her life forever. He couldn't lose her, she was the best thing in his life right now.

Steven was wary as she slowly approached him, he had no idea what she was going to do or what her reaction would be. (Y/N) looked upset, and he didn't know what that meant. She snaked her arms around his waist, cuddling him close as she rested her head on his chest.

"I'm so sorry Steven. You should have told me about this, I could have helped...somehow."

Steven was so relieved, instantly hugging her back. He didn't realise how much he needed a hug right now. (Y/N) rubbed circles on his back, soothing the tension away. How had he found someone so perfect?

"What? She's not running away? Steven, you've literally found the ideal woman. Either that or she's as crazy as you and me."

"So, you're not running away?" Steven squeaked out.

She squeezed him."No you donut. I'm staying, and I'm going to help. In future, just let me know when you need help, OK?"

"I will."

"So, I was thinking, since I'm here, maybe I could stay over?"

(Y/N) had just come out with it, she had been so nervous about asking. It was a sensitive subject, but she knew she had to just ask, otherwise it would never happen. The wait felt far too long as she saw Steven thinking about it. No, don't banc down now, see what he says!

"You're taking too long to answer buddy."

"Yeah, yeah why not? As long as you're OK with my...sleep habits."

(Y/N) grinned as soon as he agreed, and Steven couldn't ignore that. There was guilt creeping up. It was normal for couples to stay with one another, he kept avoiding that. He just hoped that Marc would take a break this evening and actually let him sleep. Now all he was worrying about was (Y/N) actually being here.

"Uh, I'm afraid the place is a bit messy, I haven't had much time to clean up. And I don't have any food for us."

"Oh, I mean, I can stay another night-"

"No, I didn't mean for you to go away! I, I was just, um, trying to cover myself, like, just explain why my life is such a mess."

She giggled."So dramatic. Why don't we just order a takeaway, and if you want we can tidy up the place whilst we wait?"

He nodded, surprised when he quickly pecked him on the lips. (Y/N) went to grab her phone, looking up where was best to order from. Steven quietly excused himself to the bathroom, letting out a breath as he locked the door. He had to calm down, he was going to have a heart attack otherwise.

"Steven."

Marc startled him, making Steven whip around to look in the mirror. Marc didn't look impressed.

"Would you stop stressing, you're going to start sweating."

"How can I not stress? You're here with me, (Y/N) has shown up, and we've never spent the night together."

"Never?"

"No!"

"She seems sweet, she's gorgeous too."

"Oi, don't look at her, alright? What if I do something wrong?"

"If she's stuck around after seeing the leg shackle, I think you can't do anymore wrong."

"Babe, you want the usual?" (Y/N) called.

"Yeah love, yeah that would be great. Thank you."

"Right, you're going to go out there and have a nice evening, simple as. I don't know why you're acting like this."

"Because I love her!"

Steven started to smirk."You haven't told each other yet, have you?"

"No, didn't want to scare her away."

"Again, I think she would have run after the restraints."

"Yeah, you're right. I've faced monsters and bad guys, this will be a piece of cake."

Marc politely nodded, not wanting to crush Steven's tiny bit of confidence. Steven was smiling to him, straightening out his top and tidying up his hair. He missed Marc shaking his head as Steven left the bathroom, seeing (Y/N) already starting the dishes he had left.

"You didn't have to do those." He said as he stood next to her.

"You look like you need some help babe. No offence."

Steven was hesitant, but he wrapped one arm around her waist, hesitantly kissing the side of her head. She knew he was still new to PDA, so this was very sweet of him. Leaning into his embrace, she almost squealed when he rested his head on top of hers. When he suggested drying up, (Y/N) told him to leave it, drying her own hands before guiding him to the sofa.

"Can I ask about the shackle? Like, how did you decide to use one?"

"I don't know really." they sat opposite each other, but their legs were tangled up, holding hands still."It just got really bad at one point, I was a danger to myself."

"That's terrible. So you've been going through this by yourself?"

He nodded.

"Well, I'm here now. I'm going to help you. Everyone deserves a good night sleep."

"Oh, sweetheart you don't have any of your things with you!"

(Y/N) glanced down at her clothes, almost smacking her hand over her face in stupidity."Ah, yeah, well, I wasn't really expecting to stay."

"You can borrow my stuff if you like."

"Is that OK?"

"Yeah. I'm sure I've got a spare toothbrush too, don't really fancy using the same one do you?"

"No, not really. Thank you babe." she leaned over to kiss him."Do you mind if I get changed into something comfier now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Uh, let me, let me find something for you."

Although he had offered his clothes, he had no idea what to give to her. A t-shirt was fine, maybe a jumper to throw over if she was cold, but what about the bottom half? He only had a spare pair of jogging bottoms, and though they would be huge in her, it was the best he could do. He couldn't deny he was excited to see her in his things, she was going to look so cute.

And once she emerged from the bathroom, he couldn't help but shyly smile at her."You look adorable."

(Y/N) flet herself blushing, he was too cute."If you say so babe. I'm glad you think that anyway."

Marc kept quiet as the couple spent time together, observing Steven's behaviour. He was still dorky and shy, but it was as if they had been together for years. Steven sometimes made bold moves, kissing her randomly, pulling her back into hugs, playing with her hair, they even fed each other; he hadn't seen him this confident before.

Steven did the washing up this time, glancing back at (Y/N) on the sofa, who had now picked up a book to flip through. He caught Marc staring at him in a nearby mirror.

"So, things are going well."

Steven didn't reply, not wanting to look crazy in front of his girlfriend.

"OK, I know you're not going to speak to me but I can feel your heart beating and it doesn't sound healthy. You're just sleeping beside each other, it's not like she's expecting you to have sex."

Steven fumbled with the plate he was holding, quickly recovering before throwing a smile at (Y/N).

"You've got a good one here, Steven. She's in love with you."

It felt weird to hear Marc being sentimental. Why was he being so supportive? Wouldn't he want (Y/N) out of the picture to make it easier for him? But that word, love, Steven wasn't sure if it was the right time. Especially after the things she had seen in his flat.

Steven heard her yawn, looking over his shoulder to see (Y/N) snuggling deeper into the oversized jumper. He remembered she had been at work all day, she hadn't had a day off yet. He wasn't tired, seeing as he slept all day, but he would pretend to be to let her sleep sooner.

"Tired?"

She lazily nodded as she rubbed her eyes."Sorry, long day."

"Don't apologise. We can get snuggled up if you want."

"Snuggled up? Really?"

"Aren't you wide awake?"

"Nah, I can nap. Or I could read for a bit whilst you sleep. I've got a night light I can use."

(Y/N) stood up, stretching as she spoke."Steven Grant, you are the most adorable and sweetest thing I have ever seen."

He blushed, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. (Y/N) kissed him again before going to brush her teeth, the pair sharing a shy smile before closing the door. Steven rushed to the bed, wondering how on Earth he was going to get rid of all the sand in more or less two minutes. He tried to scoop some up into a cereal bowl but there was too much. He froze when he heard the door open.

"What are you doing?"

"Um, I'm trying to get rid of the sand. For you."

Did this man have any faults? (Y/N) walked over, resting a hand on his back."You don't have to do that. If it helps you then we'll leave it."

"You sure? What if you forget and step in it?"

"It's just sand babe, I can brush it off."

"Thanks. That's really nice of you."

They settled into bed, both a bit sheepish about the ordeal. Why were they stressing? They were adults, two adults who were dating and simply sharing a bed. Nothing was going to happen. Well, Steven hoped nothing would happen, he didn't want to freak (Y/N) out.

He couldn't help but watch as she sat up in bed to take off the jumper, the t-shirt underneath riding up below her bra line. His head whipped away from her once she had taken it off, trying to think of something else. (Y/N) laid down, pulling the duvet up as she buried herself in it. Steven was also under the covers, but had picked up a book from the bedside table, as well as his glasses.

"I love your glasses. You should wear them more often."

Steven chuckled softly."I think I look a bit like a nerd."

"And that's a bad thing? It's cute, yet sophisticated and handsome at the same time."

"Thanks. Perhaps I will wear them more."

"You sure about staying up? I can stay awake for a bit."

"You're shattered love. I don't mind. This is how I spend my evenings anyway."

(Y/N) hesitated before speaking, looking up at Steven with her big eyes."Could we maybe cuddle up whilst you read? You can always push me off if you want."

"And why would I do that?"

(Y/N) shimmied up to him as Steven lowered himself. She rested her head on his chest, one arm draped over his stomach. Steven had an arm around her back, the other holding his book.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"Yeah. I might have to request sleeping like this every night."

"Would you want to stay over again?"

"Are you asking me to?"

"I think so."

"Don't feel forced Steven. I mean, I would love to spend more nights with you."

"Then that's settled then, innit?" he placed a kiss on her forehead, mbefore reaching down and kissing her lips."Goodnight love."

"Goodnight. Don't stay up too late."

Steven had been reading for a while, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles on her back. She was asleep in minutes. He had to pause his reading a few times to check she was actually breathing she was so quiet. Like always, he didn't feel tired at all, giving up on reading and instead stroking back (Y/N)'s hair.

He wanted to continue this relationship. He really did love her, he had to admit it. However, he didn't want to say it out loud in case he jinxed it. This whole situation with Marc was so complicated and crazy, he didn't know how to go about it.

"Relax, for one night."

Marc was right. He had to at least enjoy this night with her. Leaning over to the lamp, he turned it off, cautiously lying down with (Y/N). She stirred but didn't wake. She held him tighter, wrapping one leg over his. And he didn't panic, Steven embraced it, holding her close.

Steven felt like he had blinked and woken up, though he was used to feeling tired all the time. A smile instantly appeared on his face as (Y/N) woke. Her hair was messy, eyes puffy, yet she was still the most beautiful thing Steven had ever seen.

"Good morning." Steven whispered.

She propped herself up to properly see him."Morning. How did you sleep?"

She had just woken up and her first thought was him.

"Better, still not great though."

"That's still good though babe, better than having a terrible night sleep. And you didn't use the shackle."

"Oh, I totally forgot about that."

"See? There's some progress already."

She slid off him so they were laying side by side, facing each other.

"You're amazing, do you know that?" Steven gushed.

"What? Why?"

"Because, you just are. Someone else might have ran away when they saw what state I was in. But you stayed."

"Yeah, well that's because I-" (Y/N) stopped herself, she was easily going to say it. Oh well, might as well come out with it."Because I love you."

Steven's breath got caught in his throat. She said it. She just said it. She loved him. (Y/N) loved him. Marc could have laughed at Steven's expression, almost wanting to nudge him to say something back before she thought he didn't feel the same.

"I love you." Steven replied, taken back when she dove forward to kiss him.

Their kiss was passionate and long, though Steven kept his hands in a respectable place, and (Y/N) decided against straddling him, no matter how tempting it was. They were breathing heavier when they finally parted, lips feeling puffy, bodies feeling hot.

"I love you." Steven said again.

"I love you."

"It feels good to say that."

"Have you been wanting to say that for a while?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Me too."

They giggled together. They felt like teenagers.

(Y/N) gave him a peck on the lips before sitting up."Mind if I go have a shower?"

"Course."

As she stood, Steven's eyes widened. In the night she had taken off the joggers, leaving her in just his t-shirt, which had also somehow ridden up over her bum, showcasing the thong she had on. (Y/N) knew it had happened, she just didn't feel the need to fix it; and Steven didn't care if it was on purpose or an accident.

"If you don't join her in the shower, then I will."

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