Your Dark MoonKnight fics are my oxygen right now. They are incredible! If your taking requests could i request a #14💔 or #15💔 with a dark Moonknight system?
Monster (DARK! Moon Knight x Fem! Reader)
A/N: So there will be a part 2 to this, I didn't use any of the prompt words but they will be in part 2.
Word Count: 3.8K
WARNINGS: Dark themes; mentions of abuse (domestic, physical, mental),Marc being an absolute wreck of a person, unrequited love, Layla being ooc, Marc being a little ooc, 18 + MINORS DNI.
Summary: Marc has loved you for ten years, ever since he met you, Layla's best friend. But can you truly love the monster beneath the skin?
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marc has loved you for ten years.
Not that you ever knew.
You were Layla’s best friend and from the first moment he saw you he felt this instant connection that he had never felt before. It was unnerving how attached he had grown to you by time a year came and went, but he never realized what he was feeling was love until the day he came to ask you for help.
His mother had just died and he started to feel himself slipping, losing control and for once, he didn’t fight it. But he knew he couldn’t be Steven all the time, being Khonshu’s avatar was keeping him back from that and Steven had started growing suspicious. Leftovers from the night before being covered in mold and dust covering books that he had opened a few hours before. So he came to you, explained everything and asked that you housekeep for him while he was away. Now he knew it was a lot of information, you already knew about Khonshu and the suit, but everything else was new. When you went silent he felt this shame bubble inside him, it was familiar and dark as he already was berating himself for unloading all of this on you. He expected you to run away from him like the monster his mother always called him. Instead you took his war worn hand in yours and smiled at him and agreed, but that you had one condition.
That you became friends with Steven.
It was in that moment he knew just how deep in love he was with you, like the shit you read about in Greek tragedies or Arabic poems.
You met Steven eventually and became close. Marc watched like a fly on the wall as every laugh and smile towards him made Steven blush and smile. Every brush of your hand against his would send shivers down his spine. It was almost too good to be true.
But then he couldn’t hide himself any longer from Steven, the lines keeping them separated were blurred beyond recognition. Steven became aware of everything, Layla, Khonshu, Marc, even the fact that he, himself, was an alter. But everything turned out right in the end. Sure they were still working things out but there was one thing they had in common. You.
You still do housekeeping for them, three times a week. Marc pays you extra if you get groceries as well because often times than not both him and Steven forget that food is a necessity. Marc or Steven would often help you as you cleaned, although sometimes they would be counterproductive and create a mess while you were still there to keep you around for longer. Once the cleaning was done you tended to stick around, talk about your day and what you were planning this weekend. Even after the hell that had been Khonshu, divorcing Layla, and figuring himself out, you were still there. You would occasionally tell him a thing or two about Layla and what she had been getting into but he didn’t care. Layla was the past, he realized it was doomed from the start and there really had been no other way for it to turn out.
Today was Thursday, one of the days you came in to clean and make sure he was alright. He had gotten up early and put a pot of coffee on. He knew Steven liked tea better but today was his day with you. He showered and sprayed that good cologne sparingly on his skin, messed his hair in a sexy (but not trying) way, and got his best sweats on along with his tightest shirt, (gotta show off the goods) was how he thought of it. By the time everything was done he sat on the couch and waited. You usually were either a few minutes early or on time exactly. So when ten minutes passed by the time you said you’d be there he was a worried mess. His thoughts raced and Steven’s incessant anxious ramblings didn’t help.
“London can be dangerous, what if something happened?”
“What if someone took her?”
“Maybe she didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and now she’s a bloody wreck.”
Steven was good at coming up with different scenarios of horror, the one thought that shook Marc to his core however was What if she finally realized that I am a monster?
By twelve minutes he was getting his shoes on, no longer able to wait in the apartment wondering what happened to you as he opened the door and saw you. The sight of you immediately relieved the tension in his shoulders and that sinking gut feeling subsided. You smiled and waved as you made your way to him, seemingly nothing amiss.
“Hey Marc,” You greeted as you slid past him, “sorry I’m late I ran into Layla on the way here and got distracted.” Marc caught a whiff of your hair as you passed him, the sweet and slightly floral scent of apple blossoms brought a smile to his face unknowingly. He wondered if your kiss was as sweet. He was brought back to earth as he heard the dull thud of the brown grocery bag you carried hit the counter. He closed his door and shook away the romantic thoughts that clouded his mind.
“I was starting to get worried,” Marc said as he helped you unload the bag full of both vegan friendly and not so vegan friendly options and put them in their proper place. “What did Layla say?”
“Nothing much,” you responded as you put the brown paper bag away and began cleaning off the clutter that had gathered on the various counters, “she asked me if I wanted to go to the club with her Saturday.”
“Oh?” Marc tried not to sound too caught off guard by this. He remembers the club scene, the blinding lights, horrible music, the stench of alcohol, and the crowded dance floor with strangers grinding on each other. It wasn’t a place for a lady like you. “Whatcha say?”
“I told her sure,” You said, turning to face him with a smile, “I haven’t hung out with her in a while and who knows,” your smile turned mischievous, “I might get lucky.” you winked as you moved past Marc who had, at that point, become a statue. It took everything in him not to press you against the wall and confess right there in some sort of desperate plea to not go.
Maybe you will get lucky, Marc thought as he turned to watch you put away the books Steven had left out the night before, humming an aria he’s sure Steven had heard before, maybe you will get very lucky indeed.
Friday came and went and Saturday arrived. Marc had no trouble locating the club you and Layla would be attending. It’s one that he knew well, having been an occupant a time or two when he tried to fuck the feelings he had for you out. A brief time that had lead nowhere but to him looking for you.
He entered the club and it was just as he remembered, blinding lights, alcohol, and people with no inhibitions left in them. He decided to go to the crowded bar, get himself a beer while he stalked the dance floor from afar, trying to spot you.
He eventually did, he didn’t know why he expected to be able to think clearly when he spotted you. The multicolored lights reflecting off your hair, the dress that hugged you enough to leave him imagining, and the alcohol induced flush on your cheeks leaving your skin glowing. He knew that if he were to kiss your cheeks right now that they would be warm. His eyes traveled lower as his gaze fixated on the light sheen of sweat that covered you and made you glow. Marc had seen gods and goddesses, he’s seen beautiful places and horrible tragedies. But nothing could compare to you, you who was so full of life that it made him ache. His mind wondered if your body would glow like that in moonlight, how you would sound as he worshiped you like you deserved. Would you gasp or moan, what would they sound like as his war worn hands felt you, how would you feel? He already imagined kissing every curve and stretch mark that stretched across your skin like lightning, he had imagined it every night for almost ten years.
When he saw you approaching the bar he turned away, back to his beer. He tried his best to blend in with the crowd, even started talking to the person next to him.
“Marc?”
Shit
Marc looked up from his beer and met every man's worst nightmare.
His ex wife.
“Layla,” He greeted, for all things considered the marriage ended amicably, even after finding out he was part of the reason her father was killed and that he had hid this whole other life from her.
“You look well,” Layla pointed out, as she quickly flagged down one of the bartenders and asked for a cocktail of some kind, “I thought you hated clubs?”
“I was lonely,” He lied, “decided to try the club scene again.”
“And?”
“I hate it.” Layla laughed as she called out your name, ushering you over to her. He could see your eyes widen ever so slightly as you saw him.
“Marc?”
“Yup.”
“I thought you hated clubs?” you asked quizzically
“Still do.” Marc watched you sip from the glass you had before setting it back down at the bar.
“So why are you here?”
“Decided to try it again and see if it was any better.” you were about to respond when Layla told you she was headed to the restroom, you offered to join her but she declined. You stood there for a fraction of a beat after Layla left before you both said something.
“Do you wanna-”
“Why don’t we-”
You both laughed for a minute before Marc ushered you to go first.
“Maybe you’ll like the club a little more once you dance.”
“Are you offering?”
“A dance,” You said, reaching out your hand, “yes.” his half drank beer was long forgotten as he accepted your hand. It was soft against his own, and oddly a little cold, not that he minded. You led him to the floor as a new song began to play, not that he could really tell. Personal space became minimal as you both danced in time, his hands on your waist as your hips moved in time with the music. His hands never wandered although he desperately wanted them to, he was close enough to you that all he could hear, see, or smell was you. You invaded every sense, except for one, though he wasn’t sure if that was going to be a problem much longer as he drew you closer. He could feel the beating of your heart in time with him, and never for one moment did his gaze stray from you and the way you moved with him. Your eyes shimmering with the lights and a smile adorning your painted lips. It was all so tempting, you were tempting, you were the forbidden fruit hung on a low branch just begging to be eaten. All he had to do was bend down, that’s all, tilt his head and connect your lips with his own and he would finally know what temptation and hope tasted like.
“I’m going to go look for Layla!” You yelled, though even still Marc could barely hear you over the music. He didn’t even comprehend what you had said, still in a trance, until he could no longer feel the warmth and beating of your chest against his, and his hands no longer held your waist. In a matter of seconds he went from being surrounded by you to being alone on the floor. Marc groaned in frustration as he exited the dance floor himself, ignoring the others who invited him in. He had no intention of dancing with anyone but you.
He himself was about to enter the men’s restroom when he heard your voice carry into the hall.
“Layla I swear it’s not like that.”
“Maybe not for you,” he heard Layla say her voice quivering slightly, “but for Marc, most certainly.” Marc finally understood what was happening, he was about to leave the hall had it not been your voice responding to her.
“I don’t like Marc like that, he’s like a brother to me.” .
“In Alabama maybe.” He could hear the disdain in Layla’s voice. “He loves you, he’s loved you since he first met you. I’ve seen it, he used to whisper your name in his sleep, and when push came to shove he came to you when he needed help…not me, not his wife.” Marc heard the clacking of heels and sink turning on, muffling them a bit. “I suspected it for years but I didn’t want to believe it, I- I didn’t want to believe that all those years were nothing to him but repaying a debt that he owed. Not when they were everything to me.” Marc felt a heavy, painful weight on his chest, one that he was familiar with. It was the same one he had every time he looked at Layla during those years they had spent together. Guilt.
“Layla,” he heard your voice, soft and apologetic, “I’m not in love Marc.”
“No, you’re not,” Layla responded, “But you’re intrigued by him at least. That is as clear as day, you like the fact that he’s dangerous. You’ve always liked men like that, the type with full lips to kiss you and a sturdy boot to kick you with.”
Silence, nothing but Marc’s breathing and the bustling of the club going on to fill it. Not even the sink was running anymore and he was sure that any other woman still in there was keeping silent as well, wanting to see this play out.
“You’re drunk Layla,” You say, your voice eerily calm, “you don’t mean it, let me call us a taxi and get you home.”
“Oh I mean it,” Layla said, “I mean every word, I’ll get my own damn taxi homewrecker. Enjoy the club.” Marc entered the men’s restroom after hearing Layla walk towards the door, and as he waited for a suitable time to pass before exiting thoughts clouded his mind.
What did Layla mean by you’ve always been attracted to men like him? Layla should never have said that to you, who does she think she is? Layla liked him for the same reasons she claims you did. Are you crying, had Layla made you cry? The thought of your tear stained face was enough to make him absolutely violent, how dare she make you cry. His nails bit into his palm painfully, he was sure if he unclenched them tiny droplets of crimson dotting along crescent moons would be what he would see decorating his palm. But he didn’t care, he’s never cared about what happens to himself. But to you, oh gods, did he care about you.
Layla was going to pay for tonight, he promised himself, but right now he needs to comfort you. He needs to make sure you’re ok, because that is all that matters. Period.
Marc exits the bathroom to already find you in the hall, sure enough he could see unshed tears sparkle in your eyes as you stare at the empty space in front of you. He noticed your body language, you were hugging yourself and seemed to tense every now and then. Marc recognizes that look, those mannerisms and stance, he did the same thing for years before the marines. He takes off his coat and approaches slowly, before softly calling your name. You turned to face him, sharp eyes studying briefly before looking away.
“You wanna talk about it?” He asked, unsure of what else to say.
“You heard, then.” You say, “what Layla said.”
“We don’t need to,” he replied, coming to lean on the wall next to you, “if you don’t want to.” He knows it’s alright if you don’t, he’ll find out one way or another.
“It was a long time ago,” you said, “I was in this relationship and it wasn’t great. He only hit me once but once Layla saw the bruise on my cheek she almost killed him, she helped me leave him. She gave me a place to stay until I got back on my feet, I went to therapy, I honestly don’t know where I would be if it wasn’t for her.” the tear on your cheek was wiped away almost as fast as it appeared, “it took me years to get here, and her saying that I just-” a sob left you as you sank to the floor while Marc wasn’t far behind. He grabbed your hand and just held it, soon enough your head was leaning on his shoulder. You both didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there and looked like individual train wrecks.
After a few more minutes of silence you both hailed a taxi, Marc had insisted that you stayed at his for the night. That you shouldn’t be alone. When you got there neither of you bothered to turn on the lights, the only light filtering in through the window were street lights. But it didn’t matter, Marc lent you a pair of sweats to change into as well as a shirt. He let you have the bathroom first as he made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. He didn’t like the stuff but Steven certainly did, as well as you. Steven helped instruct him to make a proper cup of tea while you showered, by the time both teas were made you were out of the bathroom, your hair was still damp and hung around your bare face. His clothes suited you well, he thought, you really could be wearing a potato sack and still look like an angel sent from heaven to him. Marc handed you your cup before excusing himself to the bathroom, he took only ten minutes before he was out and dressed. You had already made a bed out of the couch.
“You can take the bed sweetheart.” He said as he made his way over to you, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“This is your flat though,” you replied, “I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s no intrusion,” He said, “please, take the bed or else I’ll carry you there myself.”
“I’d like to see you try Moon boy.” You dared, not thinking he would actually do it. A second passed before suddenly you were lifted from the couch and into Marc’s arms. A sharp yelp of surprise came from you as Marc chuckled lightly. He actually enjoyed your reaction far more than he thought he would. Your arms wound themselves around his neck as you held onto him for dear life. He carefully brought you to his bed and set you down gently onto the sheets. Tucking you in before you could protest.
“Told ya,” He said, his mouth tilting to that side grin of his.
“I guess you did,” you said breathlessly, eyes never leaving him.
People are braver in the dark, they do things they never would in the light of day. They dare to lie, cheat, and steal. But they also dare to do wonderful things, like write and dance and sing. But they also dare to love, which is the most dangerous thing of all.
Without realizing it his hands drifted to cradle your face gently, maybe it was how your eyes looked at that moment. So wide, holding so many unspoken words he knows you must be thinking. Or maybe it was your lips, opened slightly, inviting him to press his against them. Or perhaps, it was just you, everything about you. From every crooked toe on your feet to every stray hair on your head.
Before he could stop himself he felt himself dip down and capture your lips with his own. God was it intoxicating. You tasted divine, you tasted like something so holy he could only imagine that this is what heaven was like. He could taste the apple chapstick on your lips, along with the mint of his mouthwash. His thumb brushed gently over your cheek as he felt you return his kiss. And just as soon as it had begun it stopped, he pulled himself away. And unsure of what else to say, he only said one thing.
“Good night.”
He left the bed and went to the couch where he stared at the ceiling, you must have not known what to say either as you didn’t get up or say anything else.
Did he push it too far? Were you telling the truth when you said you were not in love with him? Was he reading everything wrong? Would it matter?
He didn’t know when he fell asleep, all he knows is when he woke up you were gone. There were no messages on his phone and you were gone, like he had dreamt last night up. The only reason that he knew he didn’t was that as he laid down on his bed he could still smell apple blossoms and the warmth your body emitted throughout the night lingered. Like smoke from a burnt out candle.
The days passed by and he was in torment. If he focused enough he could still feel the warmth of your cheek in his hands, and the soft press of your lips. He could even smell fucking apple blossoms. It was torture to have had you so close and so far. Marc had gotten a taste of paradise and everything he had ever wanted and hoped for, only to rip it away from himself and scare you off. Even Steven was of no help, he was in agony too. He was there in the mirror when he kissed you, while if Marc focused he could still feel you; Steven could not. To him it was he had been kissed by a ghost, a wisp of something you could never quite grasp.
In between the two men moping they slept, they had thought about sending you a message but didn’t. You were radio silent as well, but he didn’t blame you.
It wasn’t until Tuesday, the day that you usually came to clean did he hear from you again. The London rain had been pouring and Marc had fallen asleep, when he woke up half the day had gone by and your number was blowing up his phone. He immediately answered, wanting to hear your voice,
“Marc?” Your voice was trembling, something was wrong.
“What happened? Are you ok?” “It’s Layla-” you started, “Can I come over?”