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xcalciumx · 1 year ago

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Lost | Moon Knight System x Reader

Word Count | 4.5k

Summary | When you let a broken-hearted Steven into your apartment, you never thought that this would happen. They needed comfort, you wanted to give it to them - but somewhere in the midst of it all, ‘comfort’ became something much, much more. Something it shouldn’t have.

Just like The Casanovas said, how can something so wrong, feel so right?

(Mentions of cheating. Dabble of fluff, bucket of angst and a little bit of NSFW. <33)

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

It was pouring outside, the dim street lights a mere flicker in the darkness when you heard the knock at your door. The wooden spoon you’d been using to stir your dinner came to an abrupt halt, your eyebrows drawing together. You rested the spoon gently against the side of the pot, turning down the temperature on the stove before making your way towards your front door.

It’s late. The sleeping city outside offers nothing more than the barks of restless dogs and the coo’s of awakening owls. Your footsteps against the hardwood floor of the hallway are soft, toes buried deep in a pair of fuzzy socks you’d gotten for your birthday last year. The apartment is bathed in black, the only light coming from your small kitchen. It should have been comforting, cosy even - but all it did was remind you of how lonely you really were. The knocking at your door was an anomaly in your never-changing routine, a little bit of excitement for the day. After this, you would finish making your dinner, sit down to eat it in the lounge and then you would go to bed - only to wake up in the morning and rinse and repeat all over again.

London was supposed to be the change you needed. It was supposed to be all fun and adventure, relationships and new opportunities, but all it did was lock you in an office 24/7 and make you feel like more of a recluse than ever before.

You’d lived here for a couple of years now, but it never got easier. For you, at least. Your sister on the other hand, whom you’d moved into London with from the homely abode of your small family farm, had had a better time. She’d gotten a job that paid well, a small house in a quiet suburb, she’d made friends, taken risks and after a year (you really tried not to roll your eyes in jealousy) had landed herself a nice, handsome fiance who worshipped the very ground she walked on. But that didn’t matter, right? You still had individuality, didn’t you? Freedom? A chance to reroute your whole life and drag yourself from the inevitable dark pit you were stuck in…?

Okay, you were miserable. So what?

Talking of your sister, it came as a big surprise to find said fiance, Marc Spector, on the other side of your peephole. At least, you thought it was Marc Spector. Maybe it was Steven. Or the other one, Jake Lockley. To be honest, you still didn’t completely understand the whole altar thing. Your sister, in all her indifference, had never really bothered to explain it to you, but you supposed it wasn't really any of your business anyways. As long as she was happy and he (they?) were happy then who the hell cared.

You didn’t hesitate to unlock your door, swinging it open to come face to face with one seriously frazzled looking man.

“Hiya...”

The British accent and mumbled greeting was lost on you as you took in how he was standing, jacket sopping wet from the rain and hair flying around his head like a crazy scientist. He wouldn’t make eye contact, hunched in on himself, neck craned awkwardly downwards and foot tapping incessantly against the ground.

You blinked at him stupidly. What in the…

“Steven?” you questioned, stepping back to usher him inside. “The hell are you doing? Are you alright?”

You had met Steven enough times to be able to pick him from the accent. He was usually the one to appear at family gatherings and he’d been the first one your sister introduced you to when she started dating them. The downcast look haunting his face was concerning.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled as he shuffled over the threshold, coat leaving droplets of water across your floor. “Didn’t know where else to go.” You tilted your head but didn’t reply, closing the door shut behind him.

The both of you stood there in silence for a second, neither really knowing what to say. Finally, you found your voice.

“Let me take your coat, you look like you're one shiver away from catching a cold.” He stared wide-eyed at you but nodded mutely, handing you his drenched jacket hesitantly. You motioned for him to follow you as you made your way to your living room, chucking the coat carelessly into your laundry as you passed. As you got to the open space of your lounge, you quickly flicked on the light, embarrassed at how you seemed to be living in the darkness like a vampire. Steven didn’t say anything though and you relaxed a bit, snatching up your warm, fluffy blanket from the couch. When you turned, he was standing in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets and lips pulled into a frown. He looked rough.

You cleared your throat, holding out the blanket awkwardly. Steven’s eyes came up from where they had been locked on the floor, staring at the offering in your hands quizzically. When he didn’t come any closer, you chose to approach him, hands carefully wrapping the fabric over his trembling shoulders. With a nervous wince, you pushed the hair splayed over his forehead back, hoping it wasn’t too intrusive. He gave a tightlipped smile at you then, his hands softly grabbing the blanket that covered him. You almost missed the quiet thanks that left his lips.

“Yeah, right, um.” You fumbled over your words, eye darting towards where his shoes had trekked mud across the floor. You blew out a breath but didn’t comment. “Do you wanna take your shoes off and go sit on the couch or something? Um, I’ll get you something warm from the kitchen. Coffee? Tea? I could do hot chocolate? Um..”

Steven smiled at you again, this time a little more genuine. “Thank you, love. Tea would be good, if it’s not a bother. Ah,” he glanced back at where he had walked. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. You waved him off and motioned towards your small black couch. He was quick to take his shoes off, padding towards it. With a sigh, he dropped back into the pillows, hands instantly moving to run through his hair and head dropping forward.

Before you got stuck staring at him, you quickly made your way into the kitchen, switching on the kettle. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the bubbling red of your dinner.

“Shit,” you cursed, having forgotten about the food. It probably wasn’t edible anymore, if the burnt brown of it meant anything. You sulked as you turned the stove off and moved the pot off the fading heat. As you waited for the water to boil, you took a second to look at your reflection in the microwave, realising that, damn, you kinda looked like crap right now. It was probably a good thing Steven seemed a bit too out of it to notice, not that he would have said anything even if he did see your unruly state.

The kettle whistled and you scurried over, assessing the different boxes of tea you had spread along the wall. You loved the stuff, but you had no idea which one Steven would want. With pursed lips, you took a sachet of green tea from the previously unopened box; Steven did seem like a green tea kind of guy.

When you came back into the living room, he was sat hunched over, his head buried in his hands. You frowned at the sight, collapsing down onto the couch next to him. He looked up as you did, eyes glossy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Quietly, you passed him the cup.

“Thank you so much,” he murmured, blowing over the hot contents. He took a sip of the tea and a look of calm washed over his features, eyes closing momentarily before looking over to you. “How’d you know green tea was my favourite?” he joked weakly.

Your lips quirked upwards into a grin. “You just seem like a green tea kind of guy.”

Steven smiled at that, shaking his dark curls that were now beginning to dry.

WIth a thoughtful hum, you continued. “Personally, I can’t stand the stuff, by all means, take it home with you. Don’t tell my sister you got it from me though, she was the one who gave it to me in the first place.” With the cuppa clutched tightly between his hands, Steven paused. His mouth instantly curled into a frown. You watched it happen, hands fiddling together anxiously in your lap. “Steven,” you tried. “What happened? Why are you here?”

His eyes closed again, but this time they were clenched tightly as though he was in pain. His lips sealed shut.

“Steven,” you urged, but he just shook his head. You sighed. You didn’t want to push him, but when he showed up at your door in the middle of the night, soaked from head to toe and looking like death was on his heels, you couldn’t help but worry.

You went to speak again but stopped as something in the room changed. It was barely noticeable, like a spider winding a web in the corner of a room when you weren’t watching. But it was there. Whatever it was. Steven’s back straightened, and suddenly he was staring at you. His sad, brown eyes now narrowed and cold.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Steven caught her fuckin’ another man,” said Steven. Though it wasn’t Steven, was it? No, the accent wasn’t British and the words definitely weren’t ones that would pass the reserved lips of Steven Grant.

“Marc?” you asked.

He smiled wryly at you. “Try again.”

Your mouth opened and closed, “Jake?” Your eyebrows knit together, fingers clenching at your side. Unlike the other two, you had only met Jake on two occasions. The first time was at some random supermarket in the middle of the night. You’d been trying to fulfil your chocolate cravings when you’d bumped into Jake, mistakenly taking him for Steven. You’d eagerly embraced him (in your defence, your sister had told you about a promotion he got at work that he’d really been wanting - and by told, you mean complained - and you thought he deserved a little bit of recognition and congratulations for it) and you very soon found out that it was in fact not Steven, if the heavy drawl and suggestive comments were anything to go by. The second time, the odder encounter of the two, Jake had shown up to your apartment, drunk out of his mind and rambling about some old Egyptian bird or something like that. Needless to say, that one warranted a quick call to your sister to come pick him up...you weren’t too sure how he even knew your address anyways.

When you registered what he had just said, your eyes widened in surprise.

“She was cheating on you?” You shot at him in a scandalised whisper. He shrugged his large shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“And Steven caught her doing it?” you gasp.

“Sí.”

“Oh my god.” You squeak, nearly falling off the couch in surprise. “Oh my god,” you repeat.

“Careful, you look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” The dark haired man glared at the cup in his hands before taking a small sip. His face crumpled like paper. “¡Mierda! What is this shit? You got something better? Scotch, whiskey, a beer? Dios Mío, woman.”

You stared at him blankly, too stunned at the revelation that your sister would do something like that. Jake waved a hand at you.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god,” you said one last time, for good measure. “Yeah, yeah I’ll get you something else. I - I’m so sorry. Wow. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Can you tell Steven I’m sorry? That is just. Wow, I shouldn’t have pushed him about it. I, I just, wow.”

It was Jake's turn to stare at you blankly.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, sweetheart. I hardly liked the bitch anyways.” Your eyes widened even more (if that was possible) but you kept your mouth shut. That was your sister he was talking about… “Steven was being too much of a pussy to tell you what happened,” Jake stretched back onto the couch and grinned at you. “So about that drink?”

You shot up from the couch. Right, the drink. Surely you’d have something in the fridge. Before you could hurry away to the kitchen, Jake was suddenly tugging at your shirt.

“Wait, wait, hold up,” he grunted. You looked back in confusion but he was staring across the room at a mirror hanging on your wall. “Yeah, well why don’t you come out and deal with this shit then, puta? No, no, and you - you're the one who dragged our asses here.” Jake sneered, looking mightily affronted. “Ay? I’m not making her do anything! It’s her pleasure to do this, she - “ he paused before looking up at you expectantly. “You wanna help us, don't you, sweetheart?”

You glanced around in confusion but slowly nodded your head. “I guess?”

“You see? Oh for fucks - oh my god. I’m done. No, no, deal with it yourself. Dios mío, pequeño idiota estúpido.” Jake’s chocolate eyes met yours and he smiled sarcastically. “I’ll see you around, beautiful.”

Like a switch being flipped, Jake’s body tensed up and his cold brown eyes turned to molten lava.

The hand that had been gripping at your shirt dropped and a scowl appeared on his lips.

“You don’t have to run after Jake and Steven like a fucken’ maid, y’know.” You didn’t reply, mind-boggled. The angry brunette in front of you stood up, shrugging off the blanket that had been covering him and started pacing across the carpeted floor of your lounge. You watched it happen in shock, not knowing what had just transpired.

Before you could ask, Marc (or at least you assumed it was Marc) started muttering to himself.

You sat back down, hoping it would ground you a little.

“Uh, Marc?” You asked. He didn’t reply, still walking around like a man possessed. “Marc,” you called again, worry evident in your voice. When he still refused to stop, you sucked in a deep breath, mustering up what little firmness you owned. “Marc!”

He stopped and his wild eyes met yours. “Sorry…sorry.”

Your lips parted slightly. So it was him. “Sit down, Marc,” you requested softly. To your surprise, he actually listened, slumping back down onto the sofa. “I’m sorry,” you started, not really sure what to say to him at this moment.

He stared at you for a second before glancing away.

“It’s whatever. It’s not your fault.”

You pursed your lips. “It’s still my sister who did that. And, y’know, I’m sorry for making you mad. I really was just trying to help.”

Marc looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Mad? No, no I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at them. At her. At - at me.” Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape.

“If you need something…I mean, I'm no expert in relationships but I reckon you’re feeling pretty bummed right now.”

Marc scoffed. “Bummed? My fiance was having sex with another man. I think I’m a bit more than bummed.”

You lowered your head. “You're right. Sorry.”

Across from you, Marc huffed. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t treat you like this after you let us into your home. Just -” Marc groaned, like trying to speak about his feelings was the most difficult task he’d ever been given. “I just loved her, y’know?”

You smiled sadly at him. “From what she told me, she loved you too. Loves you.”

“Yeah? Well if she loved us so much, she wouldn’t have felt the need to fuck someone else.” his full lips tugged down. “I mean, shit, sometimes it felt like she didn’t even like Jake and I. Feels like she was just with us ‘cause she wanted Steven. And even then, she took advantage of him because he was too much of a dumb, in-love idiot to know better.”

You wanted to argue this - say something that would make him feel better, but truthfully you couldn’t. Your sister didn’t talk about them much, but when she did, it was always; Steven that and Steven this. And, more often than not, it was her complaining about something he had done. Hell, one time she had rang you up to whinge about an apparently ‘awful’ date he’d taken her on to a museum.

Honestly, you thought she was just lucky to have someone take her anywhere.

It wasn’t that your sister was a bad person (though that was questionable after what you’d just found out), she was just a little bit spoiled with the riches of life. She got what she wanted. She got who she wanted. And clearly, she took it for granted. But even then, it was beyond you how she could do something like that to a man who, from what you had bore witness to, would give her the world. You didn’t know them very well, but from Steven’s kindness, to Marc’s dry humour and even Jake’s unparalleled charm, they seemed, to be honest, not short of the perfect fiance.

Maybe you were a little jealous.

You said instead, not quite sure how to properly respond to Marc’s heartfelt confession, “So, no marriage then?” You worried that it might have been a tad insensitive.

Marc cracked a sad, small smile. “No, I don't think so.”

“That’s probably a good thing. Let me tell you, she probably would have been the biggest bridezilla to walk this earth.” Your attempt to lighten the mood didn’t go unnoticed.

“You know, one time she got pissed at me because I didn’t fluff the pillows for her after getting out of bed.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you at Marc’s unexpected words.

“Sorry, what?”

He continued in a reminiscent tone, “She said that if Steven were there, he’d have fluffed the pillows, fixed the blankets and gotten her a cup of coffee.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “I told her she could do all of that herself and threw a pillow at her face.”

Your face scrunched as you tried not to laugh again.

“Maybe it is my fault she cheated on us,” he said blandly, head dropping back against the couch as his eyes met yours. A giggle escaped your lips and you instantly clapped a hand over your mouth. “You think me being cheated on is funny?” he asked. You quickly shook your head.

“No, no I’m sorry, Marc. It’s not funny at all. Promise.”

Marc shook his head, “Was just teasin’.”

The smile stays on his lips but his eyes drop, a hefty sigh moving his chest. When he looks at you again, he reminds you of a little boy. Lost. In need of comfort. He reminds you of yourself.

“You know, maybe Steven met the wrong sister first.”

His cheeks raise for a second as he smiles tightly at you. For a second his words don't register, but when they do, a hue of red rushes to your cheeks.

“Thanks, Marc,” you say gently. “I really am sorry about what happened.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know.”

And as you sit there watching him, his dark ruffled hair and full pink lips, something painful gnaws at your stomach. Maybe Steven did meet the wrong sister first. You stand up, toes sinking into the plush carpet below.

“I know I don’t have to, but let me get you something to drink anyways.”

“Marc,” you gasped as his large hands slid around your waist, pulling you deeper onto him with every thrust of his hips. “Oh, fuck.”

The softness of your bedsheets sink against your clawed grip, the wooden frame of your bed scratching up against the wall with every movement from the man on top of you.

He was everywhere. Everything. Touching, biting, kissing, loving.

It was enough to make tears well up in your eyes. Enough to make you turn your head and conceal a quiet sob into the pillow beside you. It was enough and it was nothing all at the same time.

How did you get here? With your legs sprawled over Marc’s strong, muscular shoulders and his warm, soft body pressed tightly against you. How did you find yourself reaching a high you’d never felt, his name falling off your lips in hurried gasps for breath and whispered sobs of ecstasy?

He wasn’t yours. He never was.

But still, as you came, clutched tight to his body, lips pressed close to one another, just for a second, it felt like he was. Like he could’ve been.

And shit, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt like hell.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered into the skin of your neck, teeth pulling at whatever they could find. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck. Yeah.”

He sighed, his hands clenched into fists, breaths unhurried and heavy against you.

This could be paradise.

You wished it was paradise.

But fuck, all you could think about was how you were the worst sister in the world.

You shouldn’t have let this happen. You shouldn’t have been so weak. When Steven showed up at your door close to tears, his large frame shivering and his eyes so wide and sad, and when Jake took control of the body for a split second, with his dry wit and crude grins and when Marc, sweet, rageful Marc, had tried to make things less awkward, had tried to act like the woman he loved didn’t just shatter his heart…you should have done what any good sister-in-law would do, you should have offered him a spot on the couch until he could sort things out and go back home. You should have comforted him, given him a shoulder to cry on, called your sister and bitten her head off for being the most ungrateful woman in the world. You should have, but you didn’t.

You shouldn’t have given him that beer. Or the one after that. Or the four that followed. A grieving man and a shit ton of alcohol was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

“You really gonna make me drink alone?” Marc asked, lips upturned in an inviting smirk.

And how could you say no when he looked at you like that? “Yeah, alright, just a couple. I think we both need it after tonight.”

It was more than ‘just a couple.’

You shouldn’t have let him touch you like he did, shouldn’t have convinced yourself you were just being a good friend. You shouldn’t have been so weak and drunk and - and stupid.

But it was too late for regrets now.

The feeling of a hand cupping your cheek dragged you out from your inner turmoil. Marc was staring at you, his dewey brown eyes fixed squarely on yours. The crinkle on his forehead told you he was confused, an expression that reminded you more of Steven than anything else. You hadn’t even noticed him fixing up the blankets around you, or putting on his briefs. It had to have been the middle of the night by now, early morning even. The last few hours had been a haze…a sweaty, passionate, pink haze.

As your eyes roved over Marc's face, a sudden guilt churned in your stomach. You tried to rationalise it, he had come onto you, not the other way around. But you knew that it was as much your fault as it was his. You were both drunk. He was trying to forget about his fiance’s infidelity and you…

What did you want, really, in your drunkenness?

The question scared you. It scared you so much that you ground your teeth and refused to dwell on it any longer.

“You should get some rest, Marc,” you whispered gently, eyes looking everywhere but him. He mumbled something under his breath before burrowing himself down into the white sheets of your bed, his dark locks a mess. His back rippled with muscles as he got himself comfortable and you forced yourself not to look.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

You didn’t want to know if Marc was still tipsy, or if over the last few hours, he’d come out of the drunken fog like you had. You didn’t want to know, because if Marc really had been intoxicated the whole time - if he had been so out of it, that he could barely register who he was fucking, then that meant he didn’t mean anything he had said, or did. And that stung, just a little bit more than it should’ve - you were, after all, just his fiance's sister.

It didn’t matter now anyways, he was out cold.

When you heard his soft snores start to fill the room, you slinked out of bed, your feet carrying you through your apartment. The chill of the late Autumn weather had you wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

In the bathroom, all you could do was stare. The person looking back at you with the tousled hair and red marks left a sour taste in your mouth. Marc was your sisters fiance for fucks sake. It didn’t matter if she’d cheated on him, that didn’t give you the right to just - to just, what. Fuck him? Use him to fulfil your own lonely, desperate desires?

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Loneliness. A longing for something, or someone.

You liked Marc, you liked Steven - hell you even liked Jake for what little you knew of him, but they were due to be wed to your sister in a couple of months. Did this not make you some sort of homewrecker? Sure, your sister had done it to him first but…but.

But nothing. You didn’t know what to think. All these feelings bubbling to the surface were too much.

The tears caught you by surprise. What had you done? Your sister would hate you. Marc would wake up in the morning and hate you. Steven probably hated you for sleeping with Marc. You hated you right now.

You couldn’t look at yourself any longer, couldn’t stand to think about this for another second.

You left the bathroom and headed for the couch, the place where this whole mess had started, curling yourself around your deserted blanket. You clenched your eyes shut, begging for the quiet solitude of sleep. There was too much on your mind, and…

…And god it was wrong, but the feel of his hands on you kept you awake till the first rays of morning light shone through the windows of your small apartment.

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