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silvernight-m · 6 hours ago

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Frustrated Steven? cute

Self-loathing stubborn goat Marc? Amazing

Voice of reason Jake? HOT

Marc holds out his hand toward your dress. “You’re going to be Steven’s wife. I guess I just want to apologize that sometimes, it has to be me in the body. I’ll try to keep myself away as much as I can. You do look gorgeous. You look like a dream I had once, actually. Um, never mind.” He shakes his head. “My point is-“

Eeeeeeeeeee HE IS KILLING MEEEEE

Marc nods, his hands finding their way to his hips again, like this was a construction job that was finished. He was surveying the work, approving it. Job done.

Something about this made me laugh so hard! He is such a dad😂

Also always having the resting judgemental face😂😂😂Rally your writings give me life!

steven grant & marc spector- marry me

Summary: You’re marrying Steven. You think Marc doesn’t like you. Understanding ensues. (fem reader wears wedding dress, romance but not even a kiss in this one, lots of angsty feelings, Marc doesn’t love himself, ~2.3k)

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“Look, mate, I only need you to do this one thing, yeah? Just sign the marriage license,” Steven says. “I don’t legally exist and you know how dodgy Jake gets.”

Steven adjusts his bow-tie, dark purple with subtle gold stars. He has on his black tuxedo, making sure things are just right for his wedding to you in, checks watch, 30 minutes.

The beautiful old barn in the countryside where you’d wanted to get married is perfect. You’d kept it small, only about 20 people. You’re getting ready in the room next door.

A warm afternoon breeze rolls in through the window, carrying the scent of the flowers from outside and the faint smell of fresh hay. It’s idyllic. You’d made everything perfect. Not just the wedding, but Steven’s entire life.

In the mirror, Marc folds his arms and frowns. “You can forge it.”

Steven makes a face. “I’ll not be doing that, thank you very much. Not taking chances with her. Technically, she’s marrying Marc Spector.”

“Like hell she is,” Marc spits out.

Steven exhales, his shoulders slumping. “Marc-“

“Forget it,” Marc cuts him off. “I’ll sign the damn license. Just, call me when it’s over.”

“No, wait, hold on,” Steven says into the mirror.

But Marc’s gone. Steven’d seen less and less of him the closer it got to the wedding.

At first, Steven thought it was because of Layla. It was such a shame that things hadn’t worked out. They’d tried, but things kept getting more and more jumbled. In the end, it was better to be friends. Steven was happy with that. He’d thought Marc was too.

Konshu had them on assignment in America when Steven’d met you. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from falling for you, and to his complete surprise, you’d felt the same.

Marc spent weeks going on and on about what a bad idea it was, but at some point, Jake had a talk with him. Marc’d left Steven alone about it since then.

Still, Steven knew something was wrong. Maybe Marc didn’t like the idea of being tied down. Maybe he was scared. Maybe you weren’t his type. It could be a million things, but Marc wouldn’t talk about any of them. Stubborn old goat.

Frustrated, Steven pulls his bow-tie.

“Hey, let me do it,” Jake says from the mirror.

“It’s fucking crooked. No matter how I tie it,” Steven says, exasperated.

“Give me the hands,” Jake says calmly.

Steven blinks hard, surprised by how upset he is. Jake ties the bow-tie calmly, perfect the first time.

“Marc needs to talk to her,” Jake says.

“That’s exactly what neither of them want. Marc’s always been weird about her and she thinks he’s completely indifferent to her, or worse, he hates her. It makes her feel bad. I won’t let her feel like that, not today,” Steven says. “He’ll just say something mean and I’d have to punch him in the face and then I’d have to get married with a bloody nose.”

“Honorable. But wrong. Just put them in a room together. For all our sakes,” Jake says, disappearing again.

*****

The first thing Marc does is take off Steven’s bow-tie. It strangled him.

He didn’t want to ruin Steven’s big day by existing at all, but once Steven dug his heels in there was no changing his mind. He’d insisted on Marc talking to you.

So, Marc knocks on the door of your dressing room. He has 25 minutes to say some bullshit to smooth things over. Problem is, he has no idea what to say. He’s never been smooth or romantic or lovable in any way, not to his mind.

“Marc?” you say through the door, your voice quiet.

Early on, Steven, Marc, and Jake had started using separate knocks, so you’d know who was on the other side of the door. You don’t need them anymore. You can tell them apart on sight.

Today, though, Marc defaulted back to the earlier habit.

Back to more than a year ago when Steven had told you the truth. When Marc had introduced himself. And he’d messed it up, right at the beginning.

You open the door, just your head peaking out. He can see the edge of your white dress.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, concerned.

“No.” He lifts his hand to brush it though his hair, but then remembers how much time Steven put into making sure every curl was just how you liked it. Marc drops his hand. “Can we talk?”

You bite your bottom lip. “Well, you’re not really supposed to see me.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not the groom.” Marc sighs.

A sad, pained look crosses your face and Marc wants to jump out a window. Bitterness wells up his throat, burning like stomach acid.

You step back, letting him in, the door swinging open.

And…

You look…

God you look beautiful.

But all that comes out of Marc’s mouth is, “nice dress.”

Fucking idiot.

“Thanks,” you mumble, your eyes not lifting from the ground.

Marc pulls the door shut. He runs a hand over his face.

“I don’t want to mess up your wedding or anything,” he says.

You shift your weight, still not meeting his eyes. “What do you want, Marc?”

“You’re Steven’s, obviously. I would never do anything to jeopardize that,” he says, talking without thinking. There’s a little niggle at the back of his mind, Steven trying to come through. Marc shuts him out. “You’re rightfully his.”

Finally, your face lifts again. Beautiful of course, but confused. “What does that mean?”

“Yeah, what is your point?” you ask. You don’t seem angry, to Marc’s surprise. You seem curious.

He exhales loudly. “I’m sorry I give you a hard time.”

A little frown pulls between your eyebrows. Your head tilts a fraction, empathetically. “Marc, you give yourself a hard time. You always do.”

You take a step closer to him and he knows he should step back. But you smell so good.

“Will you just accept my apology?” His words come out short and gruff.

Your mouth screws up toward one side of your face as you think. Marc thinks it’s maybe the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“No,” you say, “apology not accepted.”

Marc unbuttons the tux jacket, rests his hands on his hips. “Fine. I know I’m an asshole. I’m trying to say you don’t ever have to see me again. Maybe you’ll like it better that way.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” you argue with him, “but I do think you’d like it better if I weren’t around.”

His arms drop back down. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. I know you’ve always thought it,” you say, turning away.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” Marc says softly.

He hears the tiniest sniffle. He takes the handkerchief out of Steven’s pocket and hands it to you over your shoulder. You yank it out of his hand with surprising force, which shouldn’t make him smile, but it does.

After a few seconds, your voice is steady again. “Why don’t you like me?”

His heart stops. Of course you’d think that. He’d done everything he could to make sure you did.

It hurts like hell to hear the truth, though.

When it comes to fighting evil or doing things that would destroy a normal body, Marc never hesitates to jump in. He’ll heal.

If he gets this wrong, though, he knows he won’t ever get over it.

He’s used to feeling afraid. Honestly, he’s afraid of everything. You deserve his bravery.

“Sweetheart,” he says again. He gently, just barely, rests his hand on your bare shoulder. You gasp like it’s a splash of cold water, but you don’t pull away. “I do like you. I always have.”

When you don’t turn around, Marc lets the weight of his hand drop his hand down. His hand naturally follows the soft curve of your shoulder, down your arm. It makes his mouth run dry.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us,” Marc says. “You don’t even realize how important you are to Jake and me.”

That catches your attention. “Actually, Jake and I talk a lot. It’s you, Marc. You’re the one who-“ you shrug, looking away from him again.

Marc takes a half-step to the side, catching your gaze. “I know. But you have to understand, I don’t have any right to your time or attention.” He lays his hand on his chest. “I haven’t earned any of the good things you bring into Steven’s life. You’d never choose to marry me. You’re marrying him.”

“I can’t marry Steven without committing myself to you and Jake too, in a way. That’s how it works. It’s the only way this works. If you don’t want to talk to me, I’m not sure this wedding should even happen,” you say, frustrated.

Marc’s jaw goes rigid.

“I didn’t choose to be a miserable bastard,” Marc says, his voice almost at a yell. As soon as the words are out of his mouth he hears how delusional they sound.

“You choose to be miserable every second of every day.” Your voice raises slightly before you catch yourself and lower it. Your heart hurts. Not at all what you’d wanted to feel on your wedding day. “Whatever, Marc. Fine. I accept your stupid apology and I guess I’ll see you never.”

You roll your eyes, but not before Marc sees the fresh tears in them. You turn away, wiping the corners with the purple and gold handkerchief.

“Let me,” he says. “Your makeup’ll smear.”

He takes the handkerchief, with a gentleness you didn’t think he had, and dabs at your lower lash line. You end up just looking him straight in his beautiful, brown eyes.

You know those eyes so well. You love them so much. Even with Marc looking out of them, you feel a pull. You try to see beyond that, though.

The physical part of your relationship with Steven has always been tricky. It had taken practice to respect the body that 3 men shared. That when Marc or Jake was around, you didn’t have the right to wrap your arms around them or snuggle on the couch.

And suddenly, you understand what Marc’s saying.

That you’re familiar to him, but not his. The question is, would he want you to be?

Marc tucks the slightly crumpled handkerchief back into Steven’s pocket. He shoves it in all wrinkled and lumpy. You smile, take it back out to fold it neatly and make it look nice again.

“You said you like me. Well, I like you too,” you say, trying to be as clear as you can. “I think we got off to a bad start.”

Marc closes his eyes for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to come off like such a jerk. You know, usually I give a woman a week or two to figure that out,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.

“No, it was my fault. I was way too familiar with you because I just assumed we’d be super close. I ignored your signals to take things slowly. I’m sorry too,” you say.

Marc nods, his hands finding their way to his hips again, like this was a construction job that was finished. He was surveying the work, approving it. Job done.

“Wait,” you say, having an instinct that Marc was trying to wrap things up.

He looks at you suspiciously. For once though, you’re not offended. You know he’s not doing it to be mean. He just has resting judgmental face.

You look at the clock on the wall. Only ten minutes until the ceremony.

You smile at Marc, feel dumb about it and stop.

His face turns amused. “What is it? Spit it out.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, brushing your hands down the skirt of your dress. “You know how usually, a bride’s father walks her down the aisle?”

“I’ve heard of that one,” Marc says sarcastically.

It almost makes you laugh. Like he can sense it, Marc’s shoulders visibly relax.

“Well, since my dad’s performing the wedding ceremony, I was going to walk down the aisle alone,” you say. “But maybe you could walk me down.”

Your face feels hot. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked. It was too much, too soon.

“I’d be honored,” Marc says solemnly. His gaze drifts for a second, a familiar look. “And Steven’s on board. He’s delighted, he says.”

You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “Really? Thank you, Marc.”

“No, I’m the one thanking you,” Marc says, clearing his throat around the emotion you hear in his voice. “I have a hard time accepting the way I am. I think I was taking it out on you. I didn’t really believe you could accept me, Steven, and Jake. You’re smart and funny. So beautiful. You seem too good to be true, but you’re not. You’re just as great as you seem.”

You have a hard time breathing for a second.

“Wow, that’s really nice of you,” you say, feeling like this is a first date or something, which is a very odd feeling considering you’re getting married in a few minutes. Before you start crying again and ruin your makeup, you squeeze his arm with your hand, grinning. “Maybe you could make that your speech at the reception. How great I am.”

Marc laughs. “Sure thing. Right after I explain to all your confused guests why you British husband sounds like this.”

He glances at his watch.

“Show time,” he says with a smile.

Marc holds out his arm with a dramatic flourish and you take it happily, glad that this is the first day of the rest of your lives, in more ways than one.

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#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #Rally ❤️

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silvernight-m · 2 days ago

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I love this sm😭someone makes this into a fic pls!!!

Scenes from a marriage: The curious incident of the bug in the night time

Moon Knight Blooper Reel

#moon knight #marc spector

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silvernight-m · 5 days ago

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Moon Knight Sketchbook

Just some sketches of Marc, Steven, and Layla I did last month. When my art block is really ramping up, the best thing is to put down the iPad and take out the pens and sketchbook. Something about not being able to erase and having no undo button does wonders for letting me draw something without worrying if it's perfect :)

#moon knight #fanart #marc spector #steven grant #moon boys #layla el faouly #mr. knight #scarlet scarab #marvel #marvel rivals #art rec

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silvernight-m · 6 days ago

Note

Something weird for you 💚

Hahahaahaha Fen! I LOVE YOU!😂

#fen 💛#birb Rydal #lowkey wanna tag mushi

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silvernight-m · 9 days ago

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I don't know this anon but after an unsuccessful bang cutting and crying, I completely understand them and happy this fic is here

Can I request Steven trying to make reader feel better after they had cut their bangs too short? I just trimmed my own bangs, and they didn't turn out how I wanted. Some gentle encouragement from Steven would be lovely.

Aww of course! <3 I bet your hair looks amazing!

Kiss It Better

Steven Grant x gn!Reader • Rating: mature pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Steven cheers you up after you cut your hair and it doesn't look like you wanted it to.

Warnings: Kisses, fluff, pet names, tickling, overuse of italics, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 493

“It’s really not that bad love, I think it looks cute!” Steven smiles kindly and rubs your shoulders while you’re slumped on the sofa.

“You could cut them super short like to your forehea-” Marc’s cut short by Steven.

“Mate, you’re not helping.”

“I am.”

You snort, looking at them and smiling.

“See?” Marc says internally.

Steven tuts, but it’s good-natured. “You’ve made Marc gloat now, love.”

You chuckle, “You two are always bickering.”

“Only half of the time.” He smiles and strokes your cheek. “It’s really, really nice. I think you did a great job.”

You give him a disbelieving look.

He gives you the puppy eyes. “You look like an angel.”

That makes you laugh again.

“Or maybe… a sexy angel?” He raises his eyebrows a little at you, purposefully being a little over the top to cheer you up.

“So this is what does it for you?” You gesture to your hair and he nods.

“Absolutely.”

“You’re so silly.”

“I’m being one hundred percent honest, cross my heart and hope to die.” He holds up his hands.

“I don’t believe you.”

He opens his mouth to object, but you continue before he gets the chance.

“I think you’re biased.”

“Biased?” He looks insulted. “How?”

“You love me. And you’re too nice. You’d say anything to make me feel better.”

He huffs, again another over the top action to amuse you. “I am not too nice. I’d tell you if you looked like shit.”

You laugh kindly, “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“Okay then,” you smile, calling his bluff. “Say I look like shit now?”

“Nope.”

“See-”

“No, no ‘see’,” he tickles you lightly until you squeal and flinch away slightly. “Don’t twist my words, I said, ‘I’d tell you if you looked like shit’, because I’m honest. But you don't, so I'm not going to lie and say that you do.”

“Flawless logic.” You tease and lightning fast he grabs one wrist in his warm hand to keep you from wriggling away and going to tickle you again with the other.

You yelp and giggle, “No, no, no, I’m sorry.”

He pauses, his hand in midair. “I don’t want to hear ‘I’m sorry’, I want to hear, ‘Yes, Steven how I cut my hair is amazing and I look lovely.’”

You pause and he tuts again, this time not stopping when you try to squirm away. He pins you down onto the sofa under his body weight and tickles your side mercilessly.

“Stop, stop!” You snort, your body tense as you try to escape his onslaught.

He does, smiling happily, but stays on top of you, keeping most of his full weight off of you with his forearm.

“Admit you look beautiful.” He nods at the end of the sentence triumphantly.

“I look beautiful.” You mumble.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that?”

“I look beautiful.” You say, clearer this time.

“Good. Because you are.” He leans down and kisses you softly.

Thank you for reading!

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#steven grant #moon knight #fen 💛

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silvernight-m · 11 days ago

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I SEE IT ANA I SEE IT!!!😂😂😂😂

Oscar and Pedro 💖

Buy me a coffee! • Linktree • Open Commisions

I couldn’t help myself into drawing them 🤍 They healed my heart like you wouldn't believe it.

Alter B&W version under the cut

#oscar Isaac #Pedro Pascal #art rec #ana 💓

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silvernight-m · 11 days ago

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a spoonful of sugar

summary: marc's not very good at taking his medicine.

(I was the worst at drinking this stuff as a kid so I need validation)

cw: fluff, sickfic, marc is a little baby

You knew it was coming. Even as he flapped his hand and rolled his eyes and laughed allergies, baby, you knew. When it was eight in the morning and your early bird boyfriend hadn't even stirred, you knew. That rumbling cough wasn't an annual pollen allergy.

There was a pot of tea on the stove before he woke. You'd prepped the supplies - tissues, a damp towel, some anti-inflammatory, and were in the middle of making food when his croaky voice broke the silence. You knelt by his bed and pulled the blankets away from his sweaty face.

"Help," he rasped, "I'm -cough- dying..."

The desperate display of obvious dramatics made you grin. He was always such a tough guy; scoffing at band-aids and ice packs. It was tempting to tease but his puppy eyes were too much.

"Come on, big guy, let's get some food in you." You gently pulled the covers down to help him up, but he harrumphed and yanked them right back.

"Sod off," came Steven's weary voice from under the comforter. "Marc's being a toff and making me deal with the sore throat." A pitiful sniffle and a hacking cough erupted from his broad shoulders. The blankets shuddered as Steven raked in a breath.

"Marc, come on," you cooed, rubbing his back. "Leave poor Steven alone. I've got some stuff for you, you'll feel better."

A pause, then some grumbling as he sat up. "Poor Steven? Wha' bou' me?"

His whining was choked up by the pressure in his throat. You could see the blockage in his sinuses as he struggled to keep his eyes open. A whistling sigh left his lips. He was definitely sick. Deliriously, Marc dragged a hand through his wild, sweaty hair. He reminded you of a scruffy ragdoll cat dragged in from the rain.

With a fussy Marc in tow, you fixed a cup of herbal tea and some food. So far he just seemed congested but he needed some food to handle the medicine. He miserably blew at the steaming mug, swaying on his feet. You held him against you sympathetically. He greedily drank in the attention, sniffing louder to earn a few forehead kisses.

Marc didn't get sick very often. He was pretty good at eating well, getting sleep when he could, and exercising regularly. Usually he could sleep it off and be totally fine. Every once in a while though, he'd get kicked on his ass for a while.

The kitchen island had every box of decongestant and cough syrup you could find splayed out in a heap. You weren't sure which one he preferred, so you'd let him pick. Not one of them seemed to be opened.

He had finished half of the tea, grimacing after every sip. Marc much preferred coffee, said his beseeching glance at the coffeemaker.

"Caffeine won't help," you chided gently, standing in front of the alluring machine. He sent you a sour look and folded his arms, shivering at another wracking cough. You reminded yourself to be gentle - Marc didn't like feeling weak.

Letting him go about grabbing water and wolfing down more toast, you examined the available medicines.

He'd need some ibuprofen, and probably a decongestant. You'd give it to him now so he could take a hot shower while you changed the sheets. Airing out the flat would clear the germy air well enough.

Marc approached you warily, eyeing the pharmaceutical stash you had amassed.

"Whassat?" he asked hoarsely, ducking his chin against your neck. Petting his cheek absently, you continued your perusing.

"We need to get you some meds, honey. Do want the grape stuff or no flavor? Haven't got anything better, looks like."

You felt his lips frown against your skin. "I'll just take a shower, don't neeb all tha' stuff." he coughed again, wincing at the blockage in his nose. His breath was hot. You frowned, pressing your palm against his head.

"You're feverish, Marc, you need something more than a shower. You can take one after." Filling a glass with water, you handed him a tablet and nodded. "Take that."

Muttering, he knocked it back and slugged down the water. Sliding behind you, he made his way towards the bathroom but you tugged his sleeve back.

"Hang on, one more." You slowly measured out a dose of decongestant. The garish red syrup glug-glugged quietly, an acrid smell of medicinal berry coating your nose. Blegh, you winced. It was baffling how nobody had thought to make it a tasteless pill. Drinking ounces of disgusting syrup was your least favorite way to knock out a cold.

Turning, you carefully handed Marc the little cup. "Drink that and another glass of water, then you can shower. I'll address the sheets."

You made sure to adjust the thermostat on your way to the bedroom. Once his fever dropped he'd want some warmth to sleep in. The window let in a cooling breeze, washing away the stuffy scent of sick. London's quiet din rumbled outside, providing a soundtrack for your relaxed cleaning.

Bundling the sheets and towels into your arms, you made your way to the washroom. You paused.

Marc was hunched over the counter, glaring at something.

"Marc?"

A flicker of embarrassment, then he curled his body away and grumbled a response. Frowning, you tossed the sheets in the hamper and crossed to him.

"What've you been doing? I gave that to you a while ago."

He nodded, still scowling at the viscous berry medicine. A pause. you tilted your head.

"...You okay?"

Marc didn't respond. That little serving of medicine continued to endure his baleful wrath, practically trembling on the countertop. The spell was broken by an enormous sneeze. Marc reeled from the sound, shaking the fuzz from his head.

"I think you've intimidated it enough," you joked softly, rubbing his shoulder. "But really, honey, you need to drink that."

A familiar pair of wide brown eyes blinked sorrowfully at you. "But...it tastes foul," Steven whined, sticking his lip out for emphasis. You raised your eyebrow and poked his side.

"Spector, stop shoving off to Steven. You're the one who wanted to sleep with a window open in November, you gotta suffer the consequences."

A moment of twitching and he was back, bleary and disgruntled. Ears pink with Steven's admission, Marc hedged away from you again and tried to escape to the bathroom. His clumsy feet shuffled along the creaky baseboards. You let him have his way for a moment, but soon enough was enough.

"Marc, you've literally drunk the most disgusting alcohol ever without a second thought."

He looked at you reproachfully, trying to work Steven's angle of adorable petulance. His grumpy frown did make your heart fawn, but the wracking cough and guttural sneeze overran the knee-jerk reaction.

Irritated that his tactics weren't working, Marc slumped onto your shoulder. Chuckling, you rubbed his back, rocking him side to side. His hands were insistent, tugging you backwards. You realized, almost too late, that he was trying to angle himself closer to an escape path.

"Spector-"

Before you could grab him, he had disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

You sighed. At least he was showering.

The laundry was done, and the apartment sufficiently sanitized by the time Marc reappeared, damp hair curling around his ears. He looked a little brighter. His eyes were clear and his cheeks a healthier ruddiness rather than feverish.

And, just like before, the little cup of syrup lay sitting on the counter for him. He was visibly bothered when you hadn't forgotten.

"Meds," you said firmly when he moved in for a kiss. The comment offended him, and he tried to peck you anyway. You put a hand over his mouth and pushed gently, handing him the cup.

"I don't wan' to," he rasped, lip curling. "It tastes like lighter fluid - cough - and I don't feel better anyway."

"How would you know, you haven't taken it?"

Marc huffed, dramatically folding his arms and turning his nose up.

"Marc."

Your tone made him duck his head. It was funny to watch him squirm; his reluctance almost reminded you of Steven. Usually he would bite the bullet and do anything that made him uncomfortable with nothing but a shrug. Hell, you'd seen him clean Steven's sick off the toilet after a night out with less of a reaction.

Sympathizing a little bit, you poured a glass of orange juice and slid it over.

"If you drink the medicine really fast, you can wash it down with juice."

Marc grumbled, still wrinkling his nose.

"Does that work?"

"Hmmm no," he huffed, folding his arms tighter. "I thin' you should gib me a kiss 'cause you're bein' meab," he garbled, voice strangled around the congestion. You bit down a laugh, trying to seem sincere.

"You can't even talk, Marc, I am not gonna kiss you."

The admission made his head snap up, eyes terrified. You worked this new angle, putting your hands up and backing away. "I don't want your germs."

He protested quietly, hands reaching out.

"Hug?"

"Meds."

"But-"

"No buts," you said, tone gentle again, "come on. Just a second. It'll take like two seconds and then you can drink some juice and go lay down. Yes, I'll lay with you," you acquiesced at his narrowed gaze.

He was stubbornly refused. "Marc," you sighed, dragging a hand over your face. "You'd be done with this by now if you just drank it."

"I don' like it," he bit out. Unbelievable. You stared at each other for a moment, disdainfully scowling at the situation.

"You know what, fine," you griped, taking the cup in your hand. "Pick a number between one and five."

He blinked, but relented. "F...four," he wheezed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. You held up four fingers.

"I will give you four kisses if you drink this."

He brightened. "snfff- wait, I meant fibe."

You leaned forward and nudged his nose. He tried to grab you for a kiss but you ducked back, taking the opportunity to grab his jaw gently. Eyes hazy and loving, he smiled at you.

"Open," you said softly, tapping his lips and winking.

Marc obeyed, clearly expecting a kiss. Instead, you gently tipped the medicine to his lips. Marc yelped at the sharp taste. He fussed and balked, struggling not to choke. You shushed him, tipping the cup until it had all dribbled past his lips.

"Drink it quick, honey, there you go, all done-" You shoved him the glass of juice, coaxing him to finish the dose. Marc spluttered and gagged, wincing at the taste. Eyes watering, he glared at you.

"Tha' was rude," he pouted. You cuddled him up and kissed his forehead.

"Yeah, but now you can go snuggle into bed." This outcome placated him greatly, nuzzling into your shoulder as you situated the bed. Marc jabbed your side insistently and you paused to give him a kiss.

Wrinkling your nose, you nodded. "Wow. Yeah, I can taste that. It's pretty shit."

He threw his hands up, rolling his eyes as you giggled. "Sorry for torturing you," you teased, peppering his cheek with light kisses.

"Fuggin' waterboarded me with that," he grouched, supressing a grin at your doting affection.

The blankets, still warm from the dryer, were tucked high around his drowsy face. You lay as close as you could, draping your arm over his side. Marc snuffled and coughed for a few moments but was asleep soon, breath puffing hot against your neck. You monitored him for a while, hands gently stroking his hair before succumbing to your own nap.

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silvernight-m · 12 days ago

Text

THANK YOU RALLYYYYY🧡

Yeah, I believe Marc would joke about his trauma bitterly just to shove it away as a healing and coping mechanism. They have been together enough that reader is also picking up on it.

And he is a dream man for being a simp and beating your game for you so you won't go look for spoilers🥹

Chapter 2 :

𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ¤

● Marc Spector x GamerGirl!Reader ● Rating : E

➤ Main MasterList :

➤ Writing MasterList :

✦ Character AI Bot Based On This Chapter ✦

✦ Steven's Chapter : Fair Play

✦ Jake's Chapter : Coming Soon...

─┉┈˚*･༓ ☾ ༓･*˚┈┉─

✦ Summary : You've got your hands on a new video game and been hyperfixating over it. Moonboys aren't taking it well at how they've been neglected.

✦ Tags : Established relationship and reader has moved in with them, but reader doesn't know about their knightly duties (or does she!?)

Marc's POV, Grumpy puppy Marc, Gaming, itty-bitty angst where Marc is insecure a bit about the relationship, He calls reader baby/sweetheart, Fluff, Smut

✦ Smut Warnings : Slightly sub Marc, Oral Sex m!receiving, p in v, overstimulation, sex on the couch

✦ Word Count : 3,533

➻ Note : This was purely inspired by @melodygatesauthor headcanon on moon boys with a gamer partner.

➻ Note : Happy Birthday to Marc Spector ♡ It was fate I post the 2nd chapter on his birthday!

➻ Note : Comments and Reblogs are appreciated ♡

─┉┈˚*･༓ ☾ ༓･*˚┈┉─

It was so natural for him that the first thing he called for and remembered was *you* rather than his alters or the weight of his doomed life. He looked for you instead of pieces of himself. Instead of the comfort of Steven and Jake.

He squinted, trying to shield his eyes from the faint light coming from the living area, his hand swiped over the mattress, searching for your warm body, and instead finding only cool sheets beneath him. Lifting his head, curls sprawled all across his forehead, curtaining over his eyes, he tried to blink himself back to the awake world.

It was dark outside. Probably late evening.

And yep. You weren’t there in bed with him.

And of course he couldn’t stop himself from pouting and grumpily groaning as his face fell on the blankets, inhaling your scent and letting himself smirk to the faint smell of your mixed essences.

Marc tried to remember how he reached home, nose bent over the crinkles of the blanket. He remembered how tired he was. How much he missed you. How much his bones ached from fighting injustice. And how much he ached from being away from you for a few days.

He sighed to the familiar sound of clicking as he turned his head, inhaling sharply from freeing his nose.

You were sitting there on the couch, furiously tapping on the controller with your thumbs. He fought against the loud groan that came with moving his stiff limbs.

How long had he been sleeping?

He remembered it was around afternoon that he got home while you were struggling with the key to get inside the flat.

Did he give you the chance to say you missed him, or was it only him breathing out the words onto your lips and just picking you up in his arms to crush his mouth on you?

He didn't dwell on it much but simply shrugged his bare shoulders, hands pushing back his curls as his feet carried him to the couch. To you.

A scoff left his lips, his irritation only heightening when you didn't look up at him. He walked towards you with slow sleepy steps, his bare feet padding against the cool floor. When he reached you, he loomed over you, his arms crossed as his eyes gleamed in the dim glow of the screen. "Baby?"

"Good morning." Your sweet voice was quiet and soft like it was actually early in the morning instead of the Khonshu-ing hours of the night.

He fell on the couch with a huff, lifting up your arm to place his head on his favorite pillow, your thighs. You giggled down at his little growl before your face hardened, your attention snapping back to the tv.

"You came to play instead of waking me up." He wasn't scolding or chiding. And of course, you didn't hear the disappointment in his tone, his lips pressed tightly together.

Now that you didn’t have to be careful of not waking him up, completely drowned in your game, you made a disapproving sound between a hard gasp and a huff to the *Defeated* glaring at you in an angry red on the screen.

Despite his weariness of sleeping for so long and waking up late and groggy, Marc chuckled as his head bounced on your thigh while you tapped your foot in agitation.

"How many times?" Marc's voice was husky and deep, nuzzling his cheek to your thigh. The scratch of his stubble rough on your bare thigh that got a giggle and soft wiggle to get away from him. But his strong hand was quick to grip your thigh, stopping you from moving it away from under his head. His fingers digging to the supple flesh of your inner thigh.

"I don't know. It's one of those hard boss fights." You explained, your shoulders slumping, leaning back on the couch as your grip on the controller tightened. You pressed the button to start at the last checkpoint once again.

The warmth and softness of your thigh were lulling him back to sleep as he fought to keep his eyes open as your character got into the fight again. "Who's that?" He mumbled against your skin, the hand draped down the couch rising, pointing at the enemy and landing back on his stomach with a soft smack.

"Your mom!" You said through clenched teeth, trying hard to parry the attacks and dodge in time, oblivious to the way you winced away from his head like the boss attacked you instead of the character.

"Ha, Ha. Very funny." Marc sat up, his eyes sharpening as he held his hand out for the controller.

Your eyes flicked between his open palm and the tv before yielding and giving up the controller, the *Defeated* casting its red glow over both of you.

"Now, watch and learn, sweetheart." He mumbled under his breath, his fingers skillfully maneuvering the controller as he rewound the battle. "Should be easy enough."

As the battle began, Marc's fingers moved with precision and of course, experience, since he was the one introducing you to this game. He quickly dodged the enemy's attacks, countering with quick slashes of his weapon.

He could feel how you observed the way he combined the clicks on the controller, the character moving easier than it did while you were playing, your gaze traveling between his hands and the screen.

His brows furrowed, his lips pursed into a thin line. Marc moved the character with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, taking down the boss with calculated moves. He obviously had memorized this boss fight since it was one of the hardest, and his chest swelled with pride when he took the bastard down.

"MARC! YOU DID IT!" You cheered in a screeching squeal, hopping on the couch and throwing your arms around his neck as he gave a smug smirk to the tv, his arm coming to wrap around your waist. If this was how happy you got upon defeating a fictional bad guy, he couldn't imagine the way you would cheer for him when he sent the real world's bad guys to jail.

"Of course I did it. Don't ever doubt my gaming skills. It’s Steven who can't hold the controller." Marc looked down at you with a teasing gleam in his eyes when you pouted, ready to defend his alter.

"Hey! He is learning well! And he will be better than either of us soon." You removed your arms from his body and crossed them over your chest. The tantalizing sight of your cleavage didn't go unnoticed by him.

He hummed in his throat when your gaze went to the controller in his hand. He was quick to pull it away the moment you lunged at it.

"Nuh-huh." Was the sound coming from deep in his chest when his free hand hooked around your waist again, the controller placed on the coffee table to grip your hand with his.

His gaze darkened as slowly as he leaned in pleadingly for a kiss. As slow as the guide of his hand to place yours over the hot semi-hardness between his thighs.

The needy low moan Marc let out was tempting you to just push him against the couch and climb on him.

"Someone's trying to get a reward or something?" You murmured when you cupped his chin to push his head up, his eyes hungry and hooded, wet lips parted in longing of having yours against his again.

"No. I just missed you." His hands rubbed up and down on your thighs, the soft flesh warming under his palms.

"And where were you?" Your brow went up when he tried to lean in to kiss you, lips turning down grumpily with a huff.

"I had to go check on my uncle's, uh, farm, whatever! Let me–" He grumbled in annoyance when your hand pressed his head back against the couch, an impatient moan heavy in his chest from how deliciously your core was radiating its warmth to his clothed cock, the weight not enough. He needed more. More of your body, more of your kisses and touches. He needed you, he needed to stop thinking.

It wasn't a good time to *think*. To start confessing about the nature of his job. That, he wasn't attending some farm of some uncle that he never had. That actually he was some sort of vigilante hero, saving people. Being an ancient Egyptian god's Avatar. The guilt of not being able to be honest with you settled in his chest in contrast to the fire growing in his groin.

They will come clean. They had decided long before. Steven and Jake were on board with telling you everything on this year's anniversary. Which was so close now. They had everything planned out.

The date night. The exact time and place he will come clean.

Soon you would know everything about them and everything would be better.

Or worse...

What if you decided that you were done?! That you were putting up with them enough, tending to three different men living in one body was insane. And now that you would know they were some kind of vigilante...

Maybe you would leave them...

Maybe that would be the last straw...

"Hey," your soft voice and soft lips on his with a sweet peck brought him back from his thoughts, his hazy gaze clearing when you had picked up on his overthinking. "Jake sent me a text and explained that there were some issues and you would be late. I didn't mind." The drag of your thumbs over his cheek soothed the turmoil in his head. "I missed you too, Marc." His eyes closed to the gentle way your lips smacked over his one, two, three times.

"So you agree I deserve a reward?" His playful words made you giggle, the twinkle in your eyes making the weight lift slowly from his heart.

"Reward for what? I was going to google how to defeat that thing eventually. You just saved me time." You shrugged, lashes prettily fluttering and getting his heart to flutter the same.

"Hm." He hummed, hands starting to glide over your thighs and pulling you snuggly over his lap, fingertips grazing the skin beneath your t-shirt. Not yours. His. "Wasn’t that the same boss you reached when I left home?" He didn't let you protest, the grip of his hands slightly increasing. He knew how stubborn you were to figure out any obstacles in your games because you hated spoilers. "How long have you been trying to get past this level?"

You sighed, pouting at him and leaning your forehead against his. "Okay, fine. Thank you for helping me." You murmured, his brain nearly stopped working from how he was sharing your hot breath. He wanted to kiss you. Devour you. Tear the clothes off your body and have his mouth on every inch of you.

"No. First tell me how long you've tried to defeat him." His voice was a deep husky rumble in his chest.

"Marc!" You giggled at how his breathing had picked up and his heart beat under your hand when you pulled away. "Stop being a brat. You want your reward," Sliding down his body to sit between his legs on the floor, you gazed up at his blown out dark eyes. "Let me reward you then." You cooed up at him, hand brushing against his bulge and massaging his thighs over his sweatpants. Soft fabric and his hotness under your palm had your attention, watching him hardening further into your touch.

Marc's strained groan brought you out of your haze before you could drool just from the gentle twitches of his cock. His shaky hands had cupped your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to the crown of your head as he pushed a cushion under your knees.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at his thoughtfulness of your comfort while he barely could remember how to breathe from need.

And it was so sweet how he tried to compose himself, a whiny breath leaving his half open mouth when you nuzzled into his erection, his hips bucking up needily when you pressed his body back to the couch.

"I missed you." You mumbled into the hardness in his sweatpants. Feeling his cock twitch against your nose and cheek, your hands caressed the skin above his hips, that slutty waist of his, where the elastic of the sweatpants felt itchy now that he wanted to get rid of them.

"Please..." Marc bit on his lip, your teasing touches making his head spin and fog with desperation as you mouthed at the dampened fabric where the tip of his cock was smearing precum, the friction maddening and not enough.

You really wanted to giggle at the giddy eagerness of his movements when he lifted his hips. When you finally hooked your fingers under the waistband and pulled down the offending garment. Or when his sigh of relief turned into a strangled moan once you eagerly licked up his length.

"Oh, god..." The noises Marc made when you traced the veiny underside of his cock with your tongue made your thighs squeeze on the sweet ache that was steadily increasing, making you need the girth in your mouth inside of you instead.

The thought of that delicious stretch made you moan around him, his hips thrusting up into your mouth with a desperate sob of your name when you sucked on the tip of his cock.

"Stop..." He breathed out, his thighs trembling under your splayed fingers. "Plea–please..." Marc sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling when you showed mercy.

"What happened?" You cooed up at him, tracing a pattern over his thighs. "Out of practice?" Your hand inched closer to his painfully hard cock again, giggling at how it jumped. "Gonna come this easily?"

He frowned down at your teasing, a cute grumpy pout on his panting lips. "No."

"Hm, you sure?"

Marc's brows furrowed up, his breath hitching and the muscles of his abdomen straining under your wandering fingertips. "Don't." The whimper in his chest died in his throat when his hips bucked up on their own accord when your fingers ran down his happy trail, so close to where your saliva was cooling on his twitching cock.

He was trying his damn best not to just let go of the cushions in his tight grips and fist your hair and pull your mouth back on himself till he came. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to even out his breathing.

Later. Coming in your mouth.

Now, he needed to be inside you. Too feel you flutter and squeeze his cock deeper.

You smiled up at his desperate state, "What do you want?" You purred, moving your hand to his clenched fists over the cushion beside him. His fingers immediately wrapped around yours, his eyes opening with a soft pleading gaze.

You would give everything to him when he was looking at you like that, his brown eyes dark and hooded, cheeks tinted with the heat under his skin.

"Marc," You squeezed his hand gently, your free hand coming to trace his cheekbone, his head immediately tilting into your soft caress. "If you don't want my mouth, tell me what you want."

You knew what he wanted exactly. You wanted it too. Craved and needed it too. You were burning from inside out to have him in any way he'd ask of you.

You watched him gulp, his throat working against his stubbornness. "Ride me." He mumbled into your palm, lips grazing your wrist and around your fingers in a set of soft kisses.

You had half a mind to tease him and ask him to repeat himself louder. But you knew those two words came from a place of desperation.

That was the deal with Marc. He wouldn't ask for anything and everything you gave him made him feel undeserving of it. Which made you usually work on him and edge him till he cried for more and felt better at receiving pleasure.

Now though, it was a different story as you both had missed each other so much to care about playing around. He was at the verge of crying anyway as you stood up from the ground, kicking the cushion under you away after your soaked panties fell on it.

Marc let out a sob, his hands quick to grip your hips to guide you as you straddled his hips. The further you sank on his length, the further his hands grazed up under your shirt, greedily touching, groping and squeezing your breasts.

By the time you bottomed out, you both were a moaning mess, impatient for more.

His lips were on you the instant he yanked his shirt off of your body, crying into your mouth as he lifted your hips and let you sink down. His chest hurt from the heady sparks of pleasure in his body, at the way your hips rose and met his rapidly in a wet slap of skin on skin while he desperately tried to thrust up into you and match your rhythm.

"Yes...just like that..." He let your head tilt back, his arms around your body as he pushed his face between your breasts in a trail of hot kisses down your neck when pleasure was making you arch your back. "Oh god..." He groaned your name into your chest, the vibration going right to your core and making your walls tighten around him, making him sob.

"Shit!" Marc moaned breathily when your fingers gripped his unruly curls and exposed his neck to your mouth and teeth, paralyzing him with how you were grinding and bouncing on him for your own pleasure. By the time your lips found his again, he had forgotten how to kiss you back or how to battle your tongue in his mouth.

He was nearing the edge faster than he had thought and the thought of coming before you was the only thing that held his consciousness together and not letting him slip into the bliss he was so close to tasting.

"Please, baby..." He whimpered hotly into your mouth, one hand leaving your hips to rub at your stiffened clit and making you cry. "Come with me... I– I can't hold on much longer..."

The pressure of his thumb and the motion of it, the stretch of his cock and the deep thrusts of his hips coupled with the desperation in him was enough to topple you over the edge, your screams of pleasure helping him follow after you, coming inside of you.

"Damn." Marc panted into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin with kisses lovingly, his vision clearing slowly and recovering from the blissful black out.

"Damn indeed." You whispered, rubbing his back as you both shivered in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

And after some moments, you felt his lips stop, pouting into your skin.

"Wait," He started, his gaze going around the living room and how the early morning sunlight was seeping into the flat and how your hair and skin shined beautifully above him. "It's morning?!"

"I said good morning to you." You leaned back slightly, watching him with a smile.

"It’s morning? And you woke up early to play?" Your smile faded at his statement, lips agape in shock of what to say. Your brain was too slow to lie just like the slow way of his cock going soft inside of you.

"YOU PLAYED ALL NIGHT?" Marc asked despite knowing the answer from the sheepish smile on your lips, his frown deepening when he held your chin while you giggled.

"Sorry." You murmured with your lips puckered out. It shouldn't have made his heart thud softer, but it does and it makes him sigh in frustration.

"Baby, we talked about this." He cupped your cheeks in his hands. "That you will sleep at night–"

"I know. But today is Saturday." Your hands mirrored his, fingertips caressing his cheekbones.

He raised a dark brow. "Is it?"

"Yep." You smooched the tip of his nose with a giggle.

"Alright then." Marc's arms wrapped around you securely holding you against him and he got up from the couch. "Up we go to bed."

"I don't feel sleepy!" You protested with a playful pout. "Besides, you slept the whole afternoon and night. How can you sleep again!?"

"Who said anything about sleeping?" His smirk said it all. Either you were going to sleep or he would fuck and exhaust you into sleeping.

And neither option sounded bad.

─┉┈˚*･༓ ☾ ༓･*˚┈┉─

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silvernight-m · 12 days ago

Text

Marc was born to be a desperate needy man!🙂‍↕️

Thank you🧡