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lokisloverisnthere · 4 days ago

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Hey so this was a dangerous post. I almost went into diabetic shock from how sweet ts was. Be more carful next time!!

No but I’m so in love with this!!

Especially with how well Jake is portrayed. The want to communicate the disaster that is him and the things that have effected him so badly. And yet, not truly having to!.? Having someone to just.. understand and love him anyways!?

ILL DIE HOW ABOUT THAT!? WHAT IF I JUST DIE? 😭😭

That Leaves You

pairing: Jake Lockley x afab!Reader

summary: You just had an IUD inserted and the man you least expected is the one comforting you.

warnings: hurt and comfort, mentions of pain after an IUD insertion, vague mentions of the moon boy's childhood

word count: 1.5k

notes: This was originally based on a Reedsy prompt (as well as self-indulgence after getting an IUD) and it kind of just took on a mind of its own. Written in less than a day and barely edited, sorry for the quality ahead of time.

Available to read on AO3

Limping out of your procedure, you anticipated Steven's gentle and caring face to greet you in the front lobby. You smiled at the thought of him holding some chocolates and a little balloon that read "I U Did it!" If not Steven, then it would be Marc with his signature frown, this time scrunched with worry for your well-being. He'd place an arm around your waist and whisper to you about a nice heating pad and some takeout from your favorite restaurant.

Never in your wildest days did you expect the cabbie.

Jake leaned on a column, scratching an itch under his flat cap as you both locked eyes. His sly smile dug under your skin, rooting you in place, daring you to question his presence. You were about to do just that when another jolt of pain shot through your abdomen, doubling you over. The smile dropped, and he rushed to your side.

"I don't need help," you gasped, thighs clenching tightly as you rode out the cramps.

"Yeah, sure. Uh-huh." He lifted your arm and encircled it around his shoulders while holding firmly onto your waist. "I'm not letting you drag yourself to the car like this." The short walk out of the hospital stretched on for an eternity. Each baby step brought with it a new wave of cramps that left you a whimpering mess. Through the pain, you swore you felt him rubbing soothing circles into your side.

"Is it supposed to hurt this much? Or is there a doctor I need to talk to?" he asked with a flat tone.

You gulped, dreading the thought of Jake giving your gynecologist one his "talks", and quickly responded, "It's supposed to hurt. Thank god for pain meds, or you'd be carrying me out of here."

Waiting outside at the curb was his freshly washed white limo. If Jake knew how to do one thing, it was arrive in style. He opened the back passenger door and guided you to the seat, taking extra care while buckling you in, like you were made of porcelain.

"What are you doing here?" you asked as he hopped behind the wheel. The gaping space between you both only punctuated the surrealness of talking to him after months of radio silence.

"Steven told me you might not want to take the subway back home. Now I see why," he explained, while buckling in and eyeing you through the rear view mirror. "Since he can't drive, and I don't trust Marc with my baby—"

"—That leaves you."

He nodded slowly. "That leaves me."

That was the perfect time to say thank you, tell him how considerate he was. A small part of you wished this was the opportunity to tell him he was a good third boyfriend. Instead you elected to stare out of the window as the limo's engine purred to life.

"I got you some snacks." He gestured to a console next to you. Shocked, you popped it open to reveal a large assortment of chocolates, crisps, and… were those home grown American Cheetos? "If there's something else you want, we can stop by a store on the way back." You eyed him carefully. Food was forbidden in the limo. He was either oblivious to your suspicions or completely ignored them. Knowing him, it was the latter, making you all the more curious.

You ripped open a caramel Cadbury bar and sunk your teeth into the gooey treat. It didn't dull the pain in your stomach, but the sweetness melting on your tongue brought a relieving reminder that it might be the last you feel for years to come. When remembering who bought you the chocolate, your face stung with the threat of tears and your words left you before you could suck them back in. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"What, you think I don't care about you?" he chuckled, taking his gaze off the road for a beat to look at you through the mirror. "You wound me, cariño."

And you had. Through the mirth, a deep rejection brimmed in his tone and his eyes. But you trudged on, determined to speak your truth.

"I just thought, after what happened, you didn't want anything to do with me." An errant tear slid down your cheek and splashed onto the plastic wrapper.

After ample warning from Steven and Marc about their third headmate, you met Jake for the first time in the dead of night. You caught him climbing through the window after a mission with the mischievous grin of a teenage boy sneaking home from a house party. You offered him a warm hello and a cup of coffee. His sharp eyes held your gaze, and with a toothy grin he said, "How could I ever say no to a belleza like you?" As you prepared the espresso machine, he buttered you up with more cutesy nicknames, and you knew right then and there your heart was his to do as he pleased.

Many nights played out the same. It was a calming routine to sit on the kitchen counter as the coffee brewed, and the two of you chatted about happenings around the city. Banter led to flirting. Flirting led to confiding in each other with hushed tones meant only for the darkness. You told him how you worried about Marc, and he in kind imparted a few morsels about a childhood you'd never wish upon your worst enemy.

It all led up to that fated night. You started feeling gluttonous. Coffee and conversation wasn't enough. Steven's remarks of being a "package deal" ran through your head. From your seat on the counter, you reached out and cupped Jake's cheek, wanting to pull him closer and make your intentions clear. What happened after flashed by so quickly you barely registered the pain of his vice-like grip on your wrist or his frantic glare.

"Don't do that," he hissed through a forced smile. There was no time to reply before he melted into the softer features of Steven. And that was it. No more late night rendezvous, no more Spanish pet names. No more Jake. You would stay up until the witching hour to catch a glimpse of him. But somehow he always managed to wait until your heavy-lidded eyes and drooping head gave in to sleep. You'd wake up the next morning next to Marc, bittersweet to see his face but no traces of that sly smirk you'd come to love.

Seeing him for the first time after months of lonely nights uncorked a despair deep within you, and you couldn't hold back your sobs. You heard his seat buckle unclasp and the car door opening once more. A second later, he was sitting next to you in the back. He grasped your free hand in his, and fixed you with vulnerable stare so unfamiliar to you.

"I'm sorry. I've just missed you so much," you cried between hiccups and sniffles.

"Don't be sorry. What happened that night? You didn't do anything wrong," he muttered while shaking his head. You both focused on how he traced circles over your palm with his thumb. It took a long tentative moment for him to say any more. "I shouldn't have left you in the dark all this time."

"I just want to know why."

"It's not that I don't want it, don't want you touchin' me like that. It's just—" his jaw muscles clenched, like they couldn't figure out the right words. He didn't need to, because he'd already explained all those months ago. That the last time a woman had brought her hand to his face, it wasn't an act of love.

You gently squeezed his fingers in understanding. "You take the lead next time."

He studied your soft smile for a beat before sighing. "Quierda." He pressed his lips to the pulse point of your wrist before settling your hand under his jaw. "No merezco un amor como el tuyo."

You sat in a content silence, enjoying the warmth of his freshly shaved skin. As much as you wanted to add your other hand, to cup his face fully and slowly pull him in for a kiss, you knew better now. It could be years before he ever reached that level of comfort. You didn't care.

You got your Jake back.

A fresh assault on your abdomen ripped a gasp from you. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing out a new stream of tears.

"Aye, mierda. Don't you go keelin' over on me, cariño." He kissed your wrist once more before rushing back into the driver seat. "Marc might just throw us off a building if I don't bring you home in one piece."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," you muttered between gritted teeth. The pain urged your body into the horizontal position. But you refused to rest your shoes on the polished leather seats, no matter how awkwardly it left you twisted. That was another big no-no with Jake's cars.

"Go on, put your feet up." His voice lazily floated back to you.

"You sure?"

You eyes met in the mirror and he flashed you the smirk that you missed so dearly. "How could I ever say no to a belleza like you?"

Spanish Translation:

No merezco un amor como el tuyo. — I don't deserve love like yours.

banner by @cafekitsune

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lokisloverisnthere · 4 days ago

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lokisloverisnthere · 9 days ago

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Here’s my heart, just take it. TAKE IT 😭💔

(Loved this sm I actually rolled around in bed kicking my feet then transitioned into crying in the fetal position)

Tomb Buster

Steven Grant x gn!reader, hints of Marc Spector gn!reader

Summary:

You returned from a trip abroad and are trying to get the spare key back to the apartment from Steven. However, you are unable to catch either of the boys due to their busy schedule, and you start to wonder if they are ignoring you.

Themes and warnings: Neighbors, Neighbors to lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hints of abuse, not beta-read, no use of y/n, gender-neutral reader (If I missed any warnings pls, let me know, and I'll add!)

Made for Moon Knight-cember Day 17/18: Rainy Day and/or VHS tape

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Notes: First fic on my new writer's blog! I probably won't post very often, but I thought it would be nice to have a spot for my fics on Tumblr! Also, the first time I tried to specifically stay gender neutral with the reader, if I missed any pronouns, feel free to let me know!

It had been a few days since you returned from the trip abroad, and you still couldn’t catch Steven to get the spare key back to your apartment. His schedule was often the opposite of yours, and every time, you just continued to miss each other by mere minutes to and from the system’s various jobs. The responses to your texts to meet up the past few days were from Marc. They were short and avoidant, unlike the flirty, flowery texts Steven would send you featuring selfies with the plants he had watered for that day.

One night, Steven initiated a late-night video chat, trying to cheer you up after a difficult night with your parents and co-workers. Then you realized the neighbor across the hall might have liked you more than you thought. His tired smile while he lay in bed at 2 in the morning, the freshly showered curls he brushed out of his face while he consoled you and let you vent about your issues made you realize you liked him back just as much. He told you about his boss, Donna, while you told him about your equally horrible boss while you’re stationed across the pond for work. Towards the end of your trip, you were starting to miss your home away from home more than you enjoyed being in your hometown, and it desperately showed in another Facetime call.

Marc started fronting the last few nights before you flew home, and the conversations were short. There were no selfies with your plants. He would just text, “Watering is done.” or “This cat’s shits are the worst thing I ever smelled.” Steven didn’t front as much, but his presence was still there. He even added googly eyes to the potted plants just to make you smile and laugh. Marc had sent you a phone with the caption, “I guess Steven snuck in when I thought I was asleep.” By the time you boarded your flight back to London, you were yearning to talk to Steven again, but it didn’t seem like you had that connection with Mark.

It was a rainy day, and you had just taken some of your propagated spider plants and potted them in some small terracotta pots when you checked your phone once again to see when you could meet up with Steven or Marc to get your spare key back. Nothing. You sat on the couch, placed the little spider plants on the coffee table, and leaned your elbows on your knees, your hand holding your chin as you huffed out a sigh, looking aimlessly around your apartment. If they weren’t interested, they would at least give you your key back, right? Hell, even just slide it under your door and never speak to you again. That was an option, too, right? Why are the boys stalling?

You reached to the sheet of googly eyes left by Steven and placed two eyes on each side of the plants’ pots. You couldn’t help but chuckle, and you decided to take it to the next level by reaching to grab a Sharpie to draw mouths to accompany each pair of eyes. On one side of the pot, a sad face with a tear, the other a smiley face. You did that with two of the pots, turning the sad faces towards you. You study them and pull out your phone, taking a picture of the tragic little spider plants, turn the pots, and repeat with the other side. Feeling mischievous and opening the texts, scrolling down to find their number, you attach the picture of the sad pots with the caption: “The plants miss you.” and hit send, waiting for his reaction.

After a few hours of sound sleep, you gradually become aware of a faint buzzing sound. As you start to stir and open your eyes, you realize your phone is on the table next to you, vibrating with incoming messages. You stretch your arms and legs, feeling your cat's weight on your chest and the warmth of its fur against your skin. Slowly, you sit up on the couch, blinking and yawning before picking up your phone. You squint at the screen, adjusting to the brightness, and see that two new texts are waiting for you. Your heart skips a beat as you realize they're from Steven, the person you've been waiting to hear back from. As you unlock your phone, your cat moves to the opposite end of the couch and curls up, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden movement.

“We should turn those plants' frowns upside down! -S” sent the text at 6:00 pm.

“???”- Was the last text sent at 9:00 pm.

The clock on the wall showed 9:52 PM, and you let out a deep sigh. You walked up to the window and glanced outside, only to see that it was pitch black and raining heavily. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, as you knew that you had probably missed meeting up with the boys again. You knew that Marc often picked up late-night shifts, but he never told you what he did.

With a tiny sliver of hope, you slide your phone into your pocket and pick up the two plants you had meant to give Steven. You stepped into some comfy slippers, went to his apartment across the hall, and knocked on the door, hoping he was home.

“Just a moment!” Steven calls, and you smile, feeling your heart start to race. After weeks of texting back and forth, you finally get to see him in person. After hearing several locks hurriedly being undone, Steven swings the door open to greet you, “Evenin’ Looking to get your spare key back?” breathing heavily, messy, damp curls in his face with an awkward smile and wrinkled brow. “Oh, you brought plants over?” he looked down at the two small plants with sad faces facing him.

“To be fair, they missed you. Look at them!” You try and smile. “I thought you might like them. A little extra thank you for caring for my cat and plants..”

“Oh. Oh! Thank you!” Steven said wide-eyed, “You can come on in if you like. I think Marc left your key by the fridge.” he gestured, letting you inside.

You step inside and kick your slippers off, looking around in awe at the sheer number of books. You could tell he had a lot of books from the video chats, but the amount of books covering the bookcases and every surface in his flat was beyond your imagination, “Wow… you have your books, I have my plants.”

“I’m not bothering you boys or anything, am I?” you ask distantly. Despite the clutter, the flat just had this cozy feel, like you’d want to sit on a couch and curl up with Steven, blankets, tea, and a book.

“Ahhh yeah. Usually, I do a lot of reading when I can’t sleep.” Steven confessed sheepishly, rubbing his neck, “Would you like a cuppa or anything?” He asked from his tiny kitchen, already grabbing two cups from the cupboard.

“Yeah, sure,” you say, studying the makeshift furniture before you. A wooden top balancing upon half an end table and a sawhorse, with a small desk lamp on the left side, formed the kitchen table. Papers, maps, dirty dishes, and a magnifying glass lay on the table with other small tchotchkes. You walked past it to take in the rest of Marc and Steven’s flat, realizing it probably wasn’t the safest, sturdiest place for his first two plants.

“No. No!” Steven said quickly, “Not sure what Marc was doing before, but judging from the wet hair, probably a shower or somethin’.” Steven suggested offhandly as he put the kettle on.

Steven comes after you and grabs the plants from you, not noticing the hat or gloves. “Sorry about the mess. I’d blame Marc, but he’s always nagging at me to clean. Just never thought we’d have company.” He scurries around as if trying to find a spot to put them. Eventually, he settles, puts the plants on a small coffee table, and rushes to clear the couch of cardboard boxes before gesturing for you to sit down.

You walk further into the flat to see his desk against the skylight. It was still just as cluttered as the makeshift table, but at least the desk didn’t look like it would break with adding a plant or two, but space would have to be made for them. You shuffled around, and your foot bumped into something wet, a newsboy hat and leather gloves tucked under the desk, presumably damp from the rain.

You sit down on the worn leather couch and smile at him, moving one of the open boxes into your lap, just happy he was shifting all this stuff around to make space for you in the apartment, “It’s no problem, really. I was the one that just knocked on your door, no warning.”

“To be fair, Marc should’ve spent the last little bit sorting the place out instead of doing whatever he was doin'. Taking a shower, maybe; everything feels a little damp’,” Steven murmured as he sat on the couch. “ I-I was hoping you would come over, though,” he said, interlocking his own fingers together, not sure what to do with them, before just setting them down on his thighs.

“It’s fine. Really.” you try to reassure Steven, scooting closer to him on the couch, holding the box to your chest. “My apartment was totally deep-cleaned before I left. It’s usually not that clean, a little more cluttered.”

“Oh, yeah? Feel a bit better ‘bout this then.” Steven gestured to his organized chaos of the hastily moved boxes around the both of you.

You move a bit closer to him again under the guise of setting the box by your feet, “How was the flight? Still got any jet lag?” he quietly asks as you set the box down, and a well-worn VHS cover catches your eye, not even recognizing he was trying to make small talk.

You lean forward and pick the VHS up, “What's this relic of the past doing here?” I flip it over and read the title out loud, trying to tease him light-heartedly. “Tomb Buster? Huh. What sort of Off-brand Indiana Jones, B- movie, is this?” you chuckle, holding it up to Steven to show him without looking at the cover.

Steven froze like you had just found something extremely private and personal. “Well…uh-um-” his mouth open and shut, repeatedly struggling to find the words to say. Your brow furrows in confusion, wondering why the movie created such a reaction. He looks at his reflection on the TV in shock.

You turn the VHS tape around and look at the cover more closely. Moving your thumb, you quietly read the wording at the bottom of the VHS tape, “When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear?”

Steven darted nervously from the TV fearfully back to you, and he gulped audibly, speaking in a bit of a shaky voice “It’s one of Marc’s all-time favorite movies as a kid. It’s important to him, and he says he’s offended you called it ‘off-brand Indiana Jones.’”

“Oh.” You look back at the TV but don’t see what Steven sees. You spy the VHS player next to the Blu-ray, both covered in a thin layer of dust. “Have you ever seen it?” you ponder curiously.

Steven heaves a heavy sigh and takes the VHS tape from your hands, his warm fingers lingering on top of your own before placing the tape aside, “No. I haven’t.” he confessed quietly, looking up at you with sorrowful eyes. “Don’t think I’ll live up to my namesake.”

“Steven?” your hands reach out to grasp his again, feeling them tremble slightly. You rub the back of his hands with your thumbs, hoping to ease his anxiety.

“I’m not- I’m just something that Marc made up,” he whispered, ashamed, looking down at the VHS tape, “I found out when I saw- the movie poster one day. In his childhood bedroom.” He seemed to zone out for a moment, but when the kettle started whistling, it was like he had jumped out of his skin. He got up without a word, walking quickly to the stove as if thankful for the out in the conversation.

Steven sniffed as he grabbed a tin of tea bags from the cupboard trying to change the subject, “English Breakfast? Chamomile? I have lots. Take your pic.”

You felt awful as you stared down at the VHS tape. Dr. Steven Grant looked back at you as if judging you harshly. The plants' faces that felt comical mimicked the sadness of the heavy topic in the air. It never crossed your mind to ask who was the original and who was the alter. Part of you assumed it was Steven because you saw him the most between the two boys.

You slowly get up from the couch, follow him into the kitchen, and boldly wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. Steven freezes again, avoiding your gaze, “Chai. I don’t care which one of you is original.” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder as he slowly prepares his tea. You sighed, your breath on his neck making his hair stand on end, your lips almost brushing against his neck. “Our texts, the late-night Facetime, they were real, right? I always looked forward to your texts. There was something real between us, right?”

Steven nodded as he reached out to pick up the chai tea packet and tore it open. He then dunked the tea bag into the water for you. You tried to catch his gaze as you leaned against the counter to gauge his reaction. He seemed lost in thought, rocking against the countertop and staring straight into space. Finally, he looked at you and began pouring out his emotions. "But I'm not real!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. "How could you be happy with us? Marc said you'd be daft to care about someone as bonkers as us. He doesn't know why I told you about us in the first place. He thinks we should keep our distance..."

“Steven! Marc!” you exclaim, trying to break his downward spiral, physically turning him into you, your hands grabbing his arms, almost wanting to shake some sense into him “I don’t care! I do care! I mean-”

His lips crash on yours, and before you know it, your hands find his curls, still a little wet from earlier, and he’s leaning against you, his hands on either side of you on the counter. As your cheeks touch, you can feel the tears that spilled down his, dampening your own. As you feel him suck your lower lip, he moves his hands to your hips. After a second, he pulls back, his face tinted with blush, apologizing profusely, “Sorry-I-shouldn’t have- I never- Not like this-”

“It’s okay. It’s more than okay.” I smile, caressing his cheek before kissing him again softly, trying to convey how much you care while your lips move against his.

“We should have a sit-down, yeah?” Steven asked quietly after a minute. You grabbed your mugs and moved back to the couch to sit. Steven takes a bit sip of his tea before setting it down on the coffee table. “I didn’t realize I was created to help Marc until very recently-” he began, and you reached out and rested your hand over his. “The way I found out wasn’t ideal. It was actually pretty traumatic.” He looked over at his reflection on the TV, pausing the conversation as your heart raced.

“Is Marc saying something?” you question

“It’s like we can see and hear each other in reflections sometimes. I don’t know how it works, but it does.” Steven comments, still looking at the black TV screen, before turning to meet your gaze again, “You know we have D.I.D, but I never told you why-”

“Oh Steven, it’s okay, I don’t need to…,” you try to say, squeezing his hand as you set my mug of tea down by the VHS tape. Steven’s guard came down with a small sigh of relief. “Steven, you or Marc can tell me when you’re ready. It doesn’t need to be tonight. We can just hang out or something.”

“Thank you.” Steven smiled earnestly. He looked back down at Tomb Busters and grabbed the tape, “Marc says we need to watch this ‘cinematic masterpiece’ before we trash talk it.”

He looked at the back of the VHS, reading the synopsis. “Here, you’ll find archaeologist Grant up to his neck in danger and -spiders- up to his kneecaps in crawling arachnids. Steven hates spiders!!” he hums and nods in agreement. “He hates Nazis, too, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep those goose-stepping goons from obtaining the mystical statue of Coyolxauhqui.”

“Sounds like Indiana, but he hates snakes.”

It takes a minute to set it up, but Tomb Buster is playing on the TV as you snuggle into Steven under a blanket. It was almost like Marc and Steven were watching the movie with you. Steven repeated Marc’s commentary as the film went on, and much to your enjoyment, Marc even confessed that the movie was indeed a lot cheesier now that he was watching it as an adult. You were surprised Marc didn’t front to watch it himself, but it seemed like he wanted Steven to have some sort of positive experience with his namesake on the tv.

It was easy to pick up on some of the mannerisms that belonged to both the Steven on screen, and the Steven that gradually shifted to holding you as the movie continued. You would give his hand a slight squeeze or kiss his cheek when something was recognized, hoping it wasn’t too much of a challenging experience to see Marc’s muse for Steven on screen, but if it was, he never lot on. The movie concluded with a hint of a sequel, but after a quick internet search, you find the sequel never made it past the writer’s room.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a Bee. My name is Steven with a V.” Steven sighed, disappointed when the movie finished. “I thought I came up with that.”

“When did you say that?” you ask, looking up at him.

“A while ago.” he spoke, gazing at you tenderly, “Watching Dr. Grant was odd, but it wasn’t as weird as I thought it would be. Thank you for watching it with us.”

You smile at him and sit up, glancing at the clock on your phone. It was nearly midnight. “Do you have work in the morning?” I asked quietly

Steven shrugs it off, “Yeah, but I don’t sleep much, remember? I’d Facetime you until 2 am at least.”

“I remember. Seeing you lay in bed, I couldn’t help but think your chest would make a good pillow.” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat up at the confession, “and I was right.”

Steven's face flushed with a tinge of pink as he leaned forward and whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. "Can I kiss you again?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. You nodded, leaning towards him, but he suddenly shifted his position, reaching for the spider plants nearby and hiding their googly-eyed expressions. "Don't need the spider plants watching us, do we?" he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You couldn't help but laugh at his comment, burying your head in his neck before your lips met again in another slow, passionate kiss. Steven seemed a little unsure of what to do with his hands, but he eventually rested them on your hips, his fingers trailing up and down your sides in a soft caress.

As you leaned your head against Steven's, you whispered breathlessly, "Maybe I don't need that spare key back after all."

You could feel his chest rumble with a soft chuckle as he responded, "Nah." He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as your lips met once more, the world around you fading away as Steven held you in a sweet embrace.

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lokisloverisnthere · 9 days ago

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Anddd there goes my heart. Flopping limply along the ground. There it is.

Fire piece of work ya got here. Had to repost 🙏🏽💔😭

Next Month

1.5k / Steven Grant x f!reader / 18+

Summary: Your period arrives—a painful reminder of another lost month, another lost chance after trying so hard. Thankfully, you find strength and comfort in your loving husband, Steven. Warnings: period after ttc, emotional hurt/comfort A/N: I wrote this at 4 am after my cramps woke me up. Trying to conceive is hard. My heart goes out to all of you who are going through this too. It'll all work out somehow. It just has to. 🤍

The day had started out like any other—with a hint of hope, one that you’d barely dared to grasp, that maybe, just maybe, this time things would be different.

But as you sat on the toilet that morning, staring at the too-familiar streak of red, the hope slipped away from your grasp, and the weight of disappointment settled on your chest like a stone.

Another month. Another failed attempt.

You’d been trying with Steven for what felt like forever, and each time your period arrived, it felt like a cruel reminder that something was broken. Maybe in you. Maybe in fate. It gnawed at your heart, an overwhelming ache that mirrored the physical pain already coursing through your body.

The cramps were relentless today, twisting in your abdomen, spreading to your legs, to your back, as if punishing you for even thinking that this month might be different. You clutched the counter, willing the pain to subside, but it lingered. Sharp, biting.

The blood, the cramps, the emotional toll—it was all too much. And yet, somehow, you had to go to work, put on a professional face, smile, and be polite, even though every part of you wanted to scream and break down.

The hours dragged by in a haze of discomfort and forced pleasantries, you felt nauseous, no change of position in your chair offered any relief, every trip to the bathroom caused you to tear up, and Steven’s sweet text messages pierced your heart.

By the time you got home, your nerves were raw, your body and mind too exhausted to keep up the pretense any longer. Your muscles ached, your heart heavier than it had ever been, and a pit of dread sat deep in your stomach. You’d thought about calling Steven, but what would you say? “It didn’t happen again.” It wasn’t fair to keep burdening him with your fears.

He was so hopeful, so full of love.

But as you stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot you weren’t even sure you had the energy to eat from, something in you broke. The spoon clattered against the side of the pot, your hands trembling, and suddenly, hot tears streamed down your face.

The sobs came out of nowhere, jagged and painful, and you leaned forward, bracing yourself against the counter, shaking with the force of your grief.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

The hope, the crushing disappointment, the anger, the heartache—it was demoralizing. Why couldn’t your body do what it was supposed to? Why? Why couldn’t you give Steven the one thing you both wanted so desperately?

You didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear the soft sound of Steven’s keys dropping into the dish by the door. You were too lost in your sorrow, the ache that felt like it was swallowing you whole.

“Love,” Steven’s voice, gentle and concerned, cut through the storm of your sobs. His hand was warm on your back, but you flinched, too raw to be touched just yet. “Oh, love, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t ask if it was your period. He didn’t need to. You’d gone through this cycle enough times together for him to know. He moved around you, his face soft with concern, his dark eyes wide and gentle as he stepped closer.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand, but more kept falling. “I’m so sorry, Steven. I’m–” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The words lodged in your throat, thick and bitter.

Steven was there before you could crumble any further, his arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt like safety, like home. He didn’t squeeze too tightly, knowing how fragile you felt, but he held you close enough to ground you, to remind you that you weren’t alone.

“Hey, hey, shh,” he whispered, his voice a soft balm against the wound in your heart. His words were warm, like the honey you often stirred into tea, the kind that coats your soul when you need it most. “You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart. Not to me. Never for this.”

But you felt like you had to.

The weight of every missed chance, every negative test, hung heavy around your entire being, and in this moment, it seemed unbearable. The tears kept coming, no matter how much you tried to stop them, and you buried your face in his chest, your shoulders shaking as you let it all out.

Every negative test, every pregnancy announcement from friends, every piece of baby clothing you’d already picked out, every article you’d read about fertility, every night you’d cried yourself to sleep—every piece of heartbreak you’d been holding inside—it all came pouring out in his arms.

Steven held you, his hands moving in slow circles on your back, wishing he could soak up your pain, wishing he could carry more of the burden for you. “It’ll be alright,” he murmured. “It will, love. I know it’s hard, and I know it hurts. I’m sad, too, but we’ll get through this. Together. We always do.”

His words were soft, tender, and you could feel the love in every syllable. He wasn’t frustrated or disappointed, not in you. That much was clear. He wasn’t angry that things hadn’t worked out again. He was here, holding you through the storm like he always did, trying his best to calm your racing thoughts.

“But what if…what if we can’t?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled back just enough to look at him through wet lashes. “What if something’s wrong with me, Steven? What if it never happens? Time is ticking and I—what if I can’t have a baby? It’s not fair and I’m so sick of this. What is wrong with me?”

His brow furrowed, his hands coming up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away your tears. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly, his voice so full of certainty that it made you ache. “Nothing. And even if—if—it doesn’t happen the way we want, we’ll still have each other, yeah? We’ll find our way. I promise. I married you because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You. Not the possibility of a baby. You.”

You shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. “But I want to have a baby with you,” you whispered. “I want a little toddler running around, with your smile and curious eyes, telling me stories about Egypt before they can even pronounce the words. I want a child who grows into someone who makes the world a better place just by existing in it, just like you do. The world needs more of you, Steven, and I—I want that for us. A child to love. A family.”

“Sweetie, I want all that too.” Steven’s gaze softened, his eyes full of unshakable love. “Whenever I imagine it, I see a bright little girl with a big smile and beautiful eyes just like yours, tugging on my sleeve and asking a million questions about everything. I’m sure my heart would explode from cuteness. And there’s nothing I’d love more than to see you being the incredible mum I know you’ll be.”

His hands cradled your face as he spoke, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “But that doesn’t mean I’m missing something now. You already give me everything I could ever need. Every day.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “I know it’ll all work out somehow. And until then we just keep trying and being happy that we have each other, yeah? All I care about is you, love. I’m with you, no matter what. Always.”

His words sank deep into your chest, and though the pain didn’t vanish, the edge of it softened just a little. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, the words barely making it past the lump in your throat.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, his lips brushing softly against your ear in a kiss so gentle it sent a shiver through you, making your heart ache in the sweetest way. “It’ll be okay. I can feel it. Next month—next month will be our time.”

A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips as you looked at him, your eyes meeting his. Despite everything, his optimism was contagious, and for a moment, the weight on your shoulders felt lighter.

You smiled at him, and in his eyes, you saw a glimmer of the future you both so desperately wanted.

-----

Moon Knight Masterlist / AO3

147 notes · View notes

lokisloverisnthere · 9 days ago

Note

Tore me apart then put me back together. 10/10 would read again

maybe a lil hurt comfort with marc✨✨

Thank you for sending in a marc request, I’ve been wanting to write for him since sooo long! 😭💙 Going with a GN reader since you didn't specify anything! Hope you like it!

Pairings: Marc Spector x GN!Reader (established relationship), Hints of Steve Grant x GN!Reader (unestablished), a Jake Lockely cameo as well.

Summary: Marc receives his first ever birthday gift.

Warnings: Talks of Marc's past and Abuse, Death of a sibling, Abuse from a parent (fuck wendy spector), Canon typical violence, Cursing, Angst, Fluff, Marc is a sad babyboy but he loves you a lot, Tears, I added Steven and Jake too because i just can't leave them out, assume you are a marketing head, i do not live in london so i dont know the places that well. thats all, i think!

Translation: ‘no tienes remedio’ basically means that 'you are hopeless'

[ divider by @uzmacchiato ]

March 9th, 2026, Your first date with Marc Spector.

It was nothing special, just a little stroll by Hyde park and some lunch at a local Arabian restaurant. But it was enough and it was simple, just like you and Marc. You met him through a dating app, which was funny because he had put in 'Army' in his bio and his profile picture was of him on a beach, his hands stuffed in his pockets and no smile on the face but oh, he was beautiful. Sad and intense looking, but beautiful, nonetheless. It looked like he had no interest to be on the app, as he did not put any efforts into his account and yet, you swiped right.

It was an odd pair, you two. You were a simple marketing head of a corporate meanwhile he was a militant, an army man. And in spite of that, a steady conversation followed between the two of you. He was inconsistent and would often not reply, on days at a time, but something about him had captivated you. 4 weeks later, he asked you out on a real date- the one on 9th March. He'd warned you that he's off putting and wanted to take everything slow right from the beginning, that he'd just come out of a divorce and he wanted to simply test the waters because his friends had asked him to.

And when you saw him for the first time, you had to take a pause. He was strikingly handsome, had a smooth voice that wrapped around you like a warm hug, his kind yet short smile had taken over your heart immediately. He told you right away that he was actually a Marine and a mercenary, tension coiled tightly into his shoulders as he braced for you to kick him out. But you'd simply shrugged and asked him if he enjoyed the work he did. He shook his head in disagreement and you let the topic go with a simple, "That's what's important." That was the day Marc Spector felt a spark in his veins for the first time since he met Layla all those years ago.

Soon enough, you'd realised that Marc was…different. Stoic at first, a perpetual dent in between his eyebrows from creasing them too much, his voice had a slight rasp, probably from not talking too much, and yet, it had a soft and gentle cadence, especially whenever he was talking to you. He's a very handsome man, something that people across all age groups would agree-with curls as jet black as the sky at night, a shy and crooked smile that gave way to dimples if he smiled freely. His eyelashes were so long and curly, a beautiful nose that suited him perfectly and big, brown eyes that shone like molten pools of honey when the light hit them just right.

Yet as shiny as his eyes were, there was always an underlying sense of sadness in them, a quirk of pain and hesitance in his smile, like he’s never smiled heartily before in his entire life, his strong body held a deep tension in the muscles, like he was taking every step carefully, as if there were nails and spikes under his feet that would prick him any time.

But beneath all this, was a man with a heart as tender as a dandelion, a child like wonder flashed in his eyes every time you touched him oh-so-gently, like he’s never been touched like that before. So you made sure that you'd treat him like he was something precious, being there for him as a soft place to land. But still, he preferred to keep somethings to himself.

One day, you were waiting for him at your favourite cafe in Bedford Gardens for your weekly date. He'd finally finished off a 'job' and was back home, arranging a date for you two on the weekend. You'd been waiting for him under the cafe's awning, protecting yourself from the unpredictable London rain, eager eyes scouring the streets for the sight of your grumpy but handsome boyfriend.

5 minutes passed. Then 15. Then 25. And then 30. He didn't turn up. You frowned as you felt the familiar sting of tears, hands shakily pressing on his contact number as you tried to call him, your free hand tugging your coat closer as you shivered from the cold winds, leg tapping against the concrete and teeth biting at your cracked lips when suddenly, the phone was received. You let out a shaky breath.

"Oh my god, Marc, where are you? I've been waiting here for the past 30 minutes-"

"Hello?"

You paused. Was that an accent? You pulled your phone back to frown at the screen. You had dialed the correct number. Then who was this man?

"I'm sorry, who's this?"

"You called me first, lady. I should be askin' you that", the man on the other end scoffed, his British accent thick.

"You- hold on a minute. This is my boyfriend's phone. I don't understand what's happening?", you murmured in confusion, a hand bunching the coat tightly.

The man didn't speak for a beat and then, "Boyfriend? W-what's your name?"

You made a face before reluctantly giving him your name.

"Bollocks. I-I'm sorry, love. I- shit. Um", the man panicked.

"Who is this? And why do you have Marc's phone? You tell me right now or I'm going to report-"

"Whoa, okay! Please, relax. I-uh. I know Marc. He's...he's my brother? Where are you right now?", he scrambled to calm you down, his voice unsure but honest at the same time.

You raised an eyebrow. "Brother? Marc never told me about a brother."

The line was silent before the man stuttered over his words again, "W-Why don't you swing by the address I text you, huh? I swear I know him. I'm not a fraud. I promise, I'll tell you everything", the man sounded way too unsure for you to believe him.

And yet, you stupidly went to the address. If you get kidnapped or killed today, Marc is going to lose his mind. In the three months that you spent with him, you quickly realised that he'd blame himself for every shortcoming, and even tried to distance himself from you to 'protect you' but you'd have none of it. But today if something happened to you, you weren't sure if he'd take kindly to you willingly putting yourself at risk.

On that day, three months into the relationship, you found out that Marc's 'brother' was actually his alter, Steven. Where Marc was mysterious and reserved, Steven was an open book. He was soft, polite and sassy, and he wasted no time to tell you truth as he was tired of hiding and lying, before Marc rudely interrupted the conversation, spiraling at the thought of you pushing him away.

"No! No. I-", he swallowed thickly, his eyes misty with unshed tears, hands hovering over yours as his turmoil was becoming more intense. “You weren’t supposed to see that. I know I lied but-“, he squeezed his eyes shut, as if he was in immense pain. “It’s okay if you wanna leave. I understand”, he managed to choke out.

You simply cradled his face into your hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead, as if you were trying to quieten his thoughts, “I’m not going anywhere, Marc. I got you.”

And from there, he slowly started to open up. He laughed freely, he let Steven take control often, who quickly became your close friend and favourite person in the whole world because he built Legos and geeked out about mythology with you.

Marc even started touching you often, his strong arms would hesitantly, but willingly, wrap around you, his nose pressed into your hair while you made breakfast or cuddled on the couch. It was slow, but it was progress. And each progress put a smile on your face, your heart beating faster everytime he joked with you or let you love on him.

Even Steven had started teasing him, his own affections for you bleeding into his words, as Marc and him waxed poems about you in their shared headspace. Steven was enamored with you, and Marc didn’t even do anything to stop it because he simply chalked it to you being a guardian angel for them. Your gentle touch and even gentler words had created a soft cocoon for them. One where they could be themselves without being afraid of their own demons. Except, there was still one thing that you didn’t know about Marc.

His birthday.

You didn’t ask him at first. Not even 4 months into the relationship, assuming that birthdays were just not important for him or that it had already passed. Hell, you even knew Steven’s birthday—2nd April, the day he was formed. But not Marc’s. And what partner didn’t know their better half’s birthday? So one day, while finishing a puzzle with Steven, you decided to bite the bullet.

“Steven, when is Marc’s birthday?”

Steven bit his lip, his curls flopped onto his forehead as he hunched over a table, focusing on finding the part of the puzzle that the piece fit into. “9th of March- ooh, this one goes here”, he absentmindedly replied, deft hands pressing the puzzle piece with all the care in the world.

You furrowed your brows. The date was way too familiar. Fingers dropping the puzzle piece you had, you quickly took out your phone, opening the calendar app and scrolled back up to March, the 9th day marked in blue. It said: first date <3 and you froze.

Marc’s birthday was on the same day as your first date. He had spent his birthday with you this whole time and you had no idea. The thought was so sudden, that you let out an involuntary gasp, making Steven flinch as he looked at you in concern.

“You alright, love?”, his hands hovered around, debating on whether he should come over and bring you in an embrace.

You looked up in disbelief. “He…he celebrated his birthday with me and he didn’t even tell me”, your voice broke off in a whisper towards the end, eyes looking down at the screen again. It was quiet for a moment, no words escaping from any of your lips before Marc’s low voice rang out in the still room.

“I don’t like to celebrate my birthday.”

Your head snapped up, wide eyes meeting Marc’s dull ones, his eyebrows set into a deep frown again as his hands kept rubbing against the fabric of his jeans on his thighs. He looked way too restless, and that sent a pang of hurt in your chest.

“Oh”, was all you had said, the distance between you two felt like a cliff, his voice far away and distant and his gaze avoiding yours at all costs.

“Mate, don’t be like this. Look at their face”, Steven murmured sadly from the headspace, making Marc clench his hands into fists.

“Not even a small cake? Or a cupcake?”, you offered softly, eyes looking at Marc wirh all the hope in the world. He almost melted into a puddle, then and there.

“Say yes-”

“No", he shot it down quickly, a thumb pressing into the middle of his palm soothingly. "Sorry, babe”, Marc ignored Steven and gave you a tight lipped smile, one that made him look even more uncomfortable.

“No tienes remedio, Marc", Jake chuckled mockingly, causing Marc to jump.

"Oi! Where have you been?!", Steven cursed. He didn’t answer. Jake hadn’t shown up for a week, which is why the boys were shocked to hear him all of a sudden. You didn’t know about him either, because he refused to meet you. For reasons unknown.

You gave Marc a tight lipped smile and nodded in understanding. Of course you'd respect his wishes, but what were you going to do when your anniversary was on the same day as his birthday? And even though he hadn't told you the reason why, you wanted to make him feel special. Because he deserved nothing but the best in the world.

March 8th, 2027.

It was finally here. The day you were dreading, and excited for, at the same time. Tomorrow, you’d not only celebrate a year with Marc, but he’d celebrate his birthday as well. His second birthday with you. The one that you weren’t allowed to celebrate.

You’d tried talking to Steven about it. He’d told you clearly that it wasn’t his story to tell and that Marc had told him to ‘zip it’. What Steven had mentioned, that it was very difficult for Marc to even eat a cake, that’s how bad the memories were. So he’d stopped. After he turned 13, he’d never celebrated a single one. Steven did, he got himself vegan cupcakes on April 2nd but he’d also celebrated it alone since he didn’t meet Marc until a few years ago.

Your heart hurt for your boys. They deserved to be celebrated. They deserved to be showered with love and gifts on their special day. The thought was too painful—them, sitting alone on a day where they’re supposed to have the spotlight on them. Marc either withering away on a mission and Steven munching on his cupcakes alone, in his empty loft filled with books and sand rings.

You couldn’t handle it.

So you decided to be as sneaky as you could be, and went to shop for gifts. 2 gifts for the 2 birthdays that you spent with Marc, to make up for the lost time. You’d do the same for Steven in April.

And then you remembered, Marc was a Chicago Bulls fan.

Whenever he’d have some time off, he would watch the matches on the TV and he offhandedly mentioned that he’s never been to a single game in person, because of his job and his less than stellar life. So there you were, planted in front of your laptop on a mission: Secure the tickets to the next Bulls game.

You, surprisingly, were able to snag them. The next game was on the 15th, so you immediately got to booking those plane tickets in advance. Once that was done, you ordered some Bulls merch online, signing it under your office address to make sure the boys didn’t find out about it.

The next thing you did was visit the closest Disney store to buy a BB-8 figurine. He’d never admit it, but you’ve seen him fawn over those Lego sets and the BB-8 figurines every single time. He’d never call himself a nerd, but you knew, Steven did too, that Marc Spector was a big nerd. And he had a particularly soft spot for BB-8- the cute droid from the sequel movies. (Not to forget his distaste for the droid’s owner, Poe Dameron, because he looked way too similar to the boys. Steven loved it.)

With the gifts secured, you packed them up neatly and stashed them into your apartment, making a note to keep the boys away from your home as much as possible, to keep the surprise intact.

You just hoped that Marc would like this.

March 9th, 2027.

It was 11:30 pm. You were restlessly waiting for the clock to strike 12. The gifts were carefully smuggled into the boys' apartment, tucked inside your bag safely while you used all of your acting abilities to be as nonchalant and unassuming as possible.

You and Marc were currently cuddled up together on the couch, watching The Holiday, your suggestion. He was slouch by the arm of the couch, your body sprawled across the soft cushions, head laid on his soft, t-shirt covered pecs, a hand loosely draped across his stomach, his hand drew random shapes on your shoulder. The flat was wrapped in quiet warmth, the smell of a vanilla candle wafting in through the space, Steven happily indulging in the movie from the headspace, Jake was surprisingly non verbal, but Marc could feel him and his vigilance.

It was peaceful, it was gentle, it was yours.

Your eyes kept drifting towards the digital clock on the TV unit, waiting eagerly for the clock to strike 12 so that you could make a new memory with, and for, Marc.

The clock displayed 12 just as Amanda visited Graham's cottage, and your eyes zeroed into the digits before pausing the movie. You sat up, causing Marc to look at you in confusion. "You okay?"

Giving him a tentative smile, you carefully grabbed his hands in yours, Marc's thumb rubbed over the back of your hand as the dent reappeared in between his eyebrows.

"Happy 1 year, Marc", you shyly replied, head tilted to the side to observe his expression.

Marc’s mouth fell open in realisation, eyes momentarily checking the time before his face relaxed, a smile tugged at his lips, making his dimples pop out. Your heart soared at the sight.

“Awww”, Steven cooed. Jake scoffed.

“Happy 1 year, baby”, Marc replied in that low tone of his, hands cupping your face to bring you closer before pressing kisses to your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, and your lips eventually.

You kissed him back gently before pulling away, drawing a slight whine from his mouth. “Give me a moment?”, you giggled against his lips, hands massaging his curls, making him groan in content before he reluctantly let you go, watching your pajama clad form disappear towards the bed with a dopey look on his face.

“Ugh, you are so whipped, Spector”, Jake teased, accent cracking through his husky voice, causing Marc to roll his eyes and Steven to ‘tsk’ in irritation.

Marc straightened up as he saw you walk back, except your hands were full with a medium sized box now, one that was covered neatly with wrapping paper.

“Oh! Gifts!”, Steven said cheerfully while Marc furrowed his brows.

“What’s this, babe?”, he folded a leg by the knee while the other leg was off the couch, his arm resting against the couch’s back rest and eyes following you closely.

You had a nervous look on your face, hands fiddling with the box as you dropped down on the couch facing him, the box now resting between the two of you like a ticking bomb, your throat dry all of a sudden. You didn’t know how he’d react to this and that scared you more than you’d like to admit. All you wanted was to make him happy and not uncomfortable.

“Open it?”, it came out as a question, your voice shaky with hesitance and fragility.

Marc simply looked at you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek lovingly before deft hands took off the wrapping paper on the box, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to figure out what was inside.

He finally took the lid off, his face slack with realisation and shock as he processed what was inside in the box—A Chicago Bulls jersey and hat, along with a BB-8 figurine for their desk.

His mouth fell open, hands hovering above the box, unsure of what to do next as he felt intense emotion overcome him.

“Marc, you’ve…you’ve dreamed of owning a jersey for so long..”, Steven whispered in awe.

Marc was trying to blink away the tears by harshly blinking his eyes. He tried to open his mouth and say something, anything to you, but the thick lump lodged against his throat had rendered him speechless. He felt his vision blur, rudely interrupting his admiration for the gift and you, who was still perched in front of him with your hands nervously wringing each other.

This might’ve been the first ever gift that Marc Spector had received from anybody. He had dreamed of getting a Bulls jersey since he saw their game on the TV when he was 8 years old. Now he had a jersey, a hat and one of his favorite characters from pop culture in his hands. He was so overwhelmed with emotions, that he wasn’t sure what to do or how to react.

“Marc?”, you whispered, leaning closer to check on him as your eyebrows scrunched up in worry. He looked up then, his eyes bloodshot and full of tears, hands clutching the lid of the box tightly to ground himself, a stray curl resting on his forehead.

He looked beautiful, like always. But oh so sad, that you felt your heart splinter.

“Y-you don’t like it?”, you asked in a small voice, your vision slowly turning blurry as well. That snapped him out of his daze, eyes darting from the gifts to your face in disbelief.

“W-why?”, he croaked out. As if he couldn’t understand why would someone willingly buy him gifts. What had he done to deserve it? What had he done to deserve you, even?

Your face scrunched up, as if you were offended by the question before you relaxed it, sniffling softly. Your hands raised to cradle his damp face tenderly, like he was something precious, your doe eyes looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. His heart thundered against his chest as you sweetly whispered only 3 words: “Happy birthday, Marc.”

Marc froze.

Steven gasped in the headspace, “Oh my gods.” And Jake looked at you with something unreadable yet tender.

Marc didn’t know what to do. He was torn between sobbing his lungs out and crying himself to sleep, tackling you in a hug or running away until this feeling was gone. Because how was he supposed to react to the way you had so subtly and innocently arranged all this for him, while unknowingly making his birthday a happy memory? So he settled for softly running his hand over the jersey's fabric, soaking in how it felt against his skin, eyes drinking in the colours of the red bull in the center hungrily, tracing the lettering over and over again.

This was the first ever birthday where he was safe, loved for and protected. His first ever birthday where there were no broken glasses or the whacks of leather against skin. His first ever birthday where he wasn’t sitting in front of the cake with tears streaming down his face, the candles melting into the cake as his father half heartedly sang for him while being distracted by his mother’s drunken ramblings, abuses and shouts that caused Marc’s little body to shake with fear.

This time, there was no cake. No party hats. No balloons. Just you, your beautiful soul, and your thoughtful gifts.

He couldn’t hold it in. One sob left his mouth, the other followed closely, his shoulders shaking violently as gasps and cries of pain left his lips, his face wet with tears that pooled into your palms, hands dropping the shirt before settling onto your waist, desperate to ground himself.

Your eyes widened in alarm, hands falling down to his broad shoulders before he lunged into your arms, head falling to your chest as your hands smoothed across the expanse of his back, bringing him closer to your warmth. His tears soaked your chest and shirt but you didn’t care, his cries caused your heart to break into a million pieces. You didn’t say a word until he let it all out, just pressed kisses to his curls, holding him steadily like a mountain, and rocking your bodies to distract him.

After a while he calmed down, pulling away from you slightly, his cheeks red from all the crying and something akin to embarrassment as his hands fell down to the hem of your shirt, thumbs rubbing against the fabric to soothe himself. You pushed his curls back from his forehead, him leaning into your touch like a cat. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, they were trained on the gifts absently, as if he was trying to recollect something.

“I-”, he cleared his throat, swallowing thickly after. “I’ve not received gifts or celebrated my birthday in a long time. Because-”, he paused abruptly again, eyes shut tightly as he recollected his memories.

You frowned, a hand cradling his cheek again. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about this, baby”, your voice sounded like honey to his ears.

He shook his head in disagreement, glassy eyes looking up at you for a moment before they drifted away. “No. You deserve to know this. You-you’ve already done so much for me- for us.”

You brushed a thumb across his soft cheek, catching a stray tear that had fallen off.

“I-I had a brother. Younger brother”, he began and your eyes widened as he said that. Marc had a brother?

“His name was Randall”, his voice cracked at the name, as if simply uttering it was causing him pain. “One day…we were playing n-near this cave. It was raining and we went inside, not knowing how long or cramped it was. T-The rain started pouring harder. And before we knew it, the inside was full of water”, a whimper left Marc’s mouth. You felt your heart thump loudly.

“H-he was too small, couldn’t swim against the strong currents. Too small. The water went over his head. I-I tried so hard to-to save him but-I couldn’t I-“, Marc sniffled loudly, soft cries interrupting his narration as his hands bunched up your shirt again. “I called for help. I yelled so much, I tried so hard to pull him away. Bu-but it was too late. It was too late. They p-”, another sob cut him off.

You were frozen with fear and emotions for your Marc and those two little boys. Eyes stinging with tears, you held his face in both of your hands, diligently wiping away the tears.

“They pulled out his dead body next”, Marc whimpered tiredly. Steven was crying. Jake had gone silent, his jaw clenched in anger towards that evil woman that was their mother.

You felt like someone had thrown ice cold water on you. Your eyes wide and heart racing as you tried to process his words. Now you understood where his guilt came from.

“After that, my mom was never the same. She blamed me for-for his death. And she—”, he took a moment to swallow, pressing his mouth into your palm before tightly closing his eyes. “She would hit me. Often. She started drinking. Never looked at me and whenever she did, it was either to blame me or-or hit me. Dad would do nothing. He didn’t-didn’t put a stop to it. She wouldn’t even wish me a happy birthday. And then I enlisted in the Marines. Life was too fucked up to even think about taking a nap. That’s why I’ve not celebrated one since I was 13.”

The words were heavy in your palm, he had whispered them with so much sorrow, that it sent a sharp pang of sadness and hurt throughout your body. Your mouth felt dry, words lost as you looked at him helplessly, like you weren’t sure how to take his pain and trauma away. All you wanted to do, was to wrap up that little boy and his brother in your arms and protect them. From the rain, from the water, the cave and from their mother.

You sniffled, shuffling closer to press your forehead to his, a hand buried in the curls at the back of his head to soothe him. “You were just a kid, baby. It’s not your fault. You deserved to be protected, too. I’m so sorry, Marc”, your soothing words washed over him like a warm spring breeze. His eyes closing in relief as his nose brushed against yours, steady tears gliding down his cheeks like raindrops on a window.

“Your mother- if I can even call her that- was wrong. You did everything to save Randall. You were, are, so brave and I’m so, so proud of you”, you kissed all over his face as you said that, his shoulders dropping as he felt the tension leave his body. He looked at your damp face for a moment, your attentive hands brushing his curls while a gentle smile played on your lips.

"You've turned my birthday into something memorable. I'll never forget this day. You’ve changed my life and I love it. A lot", he murmured, voice hoarse with all the crying. Your eyes twinkled with excitement and joy, a wet smile spreading on your face.

"I have one more thing for you", you sheepishly added, making him furrow his eyebrows in hesitance, the thought of you spending your hard earned money over someone like him made him restless.

"You already got me so much-"

"Shush", you put a finger to his lips, "Just sit back and accept the gifts, Spector." He blinked dumbly before sitting back down.

“Mate, shut up before I take over”, Steven quipped. Marc growled in half hearted irritation.

You pulled up your phone, quickly opening the gallery app to find the screenshot of the tickets and handed him the phone. Marc took it carefully, as if it was something precious, his eyebrows creasing once again as he sniffled and looked at screen.

And for the third time, Marc froze. His eyes widened and mouth fell open in surprise. He looked like a deer in headlights. “Holy fuck”, Steven muttered in the headspace, Jake following with a “Damn”.

“You’re kidding. Babe, are you serious?!”, Marc replied incredulously, his wide like a child on Christmas morning, voice still low and slightly hoarse, but you could hear the excitement still.

Your lips split into a big smile, heart squeezing with love for this beautiful man in front of you. “You like it?”

"Like it?! I love it", Marc laughed in disbelief, his eyes tearing up again as he looked at the tickets closely. Tickets that were bought for him, to see his favourite team play right in front of him. He looked up at you, then at the tickets, then at the gifts in the box, a red tinge taking over his face as he came down from the excitement.

"You didn't have to do all this. I don't know what I did to deserve it", you tried to correct him before he gently stopped you, "But, thank you. I-It means a lot to me. I'll cherish this forever. My first, and the best gifts, I'll ever receive", he gave you a shy smile. One that made his dimples pop out and eyes crinkle. Your favourite smile.

You returned it with a sweet smile of your own. One that made his heart race. Marc put your phone and the box aside, bringing you closer to him in a bone crushing hug, his arms wrapped around you snugly and head buried in your hair, a content sigh leaving his mouth as he felt your arms snake around him, your face buried into his neck, soft lips brushing against his heated skin. It felt like he was pouring all of his love and gratitude into the hug, years and years of suppressed desire to let himself be loved on seemed to have melted away.

He felt a relaxed breeze pass through his bones, as if his body also knew, that this was healing. "I love you. So much", he murmured into your hair, lips pressing a lingering kiss to the strands before laying his head back, eyes closed in relief.

You simply smiled against his throat, your hands brushing over his back in slow strokes, voice coated with something tender and sticky as you whispered, "I love you too, Marc. Always."

And you would. You'd make sure that Marc Spector was loved, cared, protected and spoiled for, always and forever.

AN: oh my goddd i hope you liked this! its my first ever request and i was so nervous to write it + its my first fic for the moon boys 🥹i hope i did well! please like and reblog <3

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