How would the moon boys deal with a reader who instead of going on like a hunger strike refused to sleep?
How it Feels
Dark Moon Knight System (Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Marc Spector) x Reader
Minors, do not interact
Author’s Note: This one leans more Steven and Jake heavy, with mentions of Marc. Hope you enjoy <3
Type: Request
Description: In the wake of a failed escape attempt, you are kept in Marc's storage unit while accommodations are installed in your old room. Never one to give up, you try to assert yourself thorough a bit of controlled self depreciation.
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They were staring again, looking you over with that calculating gaze you so dreaded in the anticipation of their sporadic visits to your makeshift prison. The steel walls of the storage unit coupled with the few amenities gave you no relief from their incessant attention and wayward attempts at affection. But that night, instead of pestering you with romantic sentiments, they simply stared. Their eyes remained focused and pointed directly at you as you laid on your small cot with a rather thick book in your hands.
It was one Steven had given you for the week to keep your mind occupied with something other than the modified hand-held radio from Jake and the card deck from Marc. Admittedly it was a nice change of pace, but you had read it approximately five times in the span of the past seven days. It was that book along with the packets of instant coffee, and an immense amount of spite that kept you awake and in pursuit of your objective.
“So, you haven’t been sleeping.”
Looking up from your book, you kept your face placid. “I’ve been sleeping fine.”
“Wasn’t a question.” Jake chuckled, leaning back against the wall; even laying half-way on the cold ground, he radiated a disdainful sense of control. “You look like hell swallowed you whole.”
“Oh, Jake.” You feigned a loving smile. “You know I love it when you flirt with me like that.”
His right eye twitched, barely noticeable. “We’re serious, so cut the shit.” Taking in a deep breath, he stood upright, taking a seat at the end of your cot. “How much have you slept in the past week?”
“Why the hell does that matter?” Returning your attention to your book, you prayed for the subject to be dropped entirely.
He was silent for a moment, looking unusually still; something the lot of them did when one of the others wanted to get a word in.
“Well, I think what Jake is trying to get at,” Steven started, “is that you look unwell, love. Especially after…well, you know.” Exhaling quickly through his nose, he scooted a few inches closer to you. “We think it might be because you aren’t sleeping.”
Setting your book down for a moment, you could feel the reserves of your short quips coming to an end. “What do you mean? I’m the epitome of rest and relaxation.”
The sigh of frustration Steven gave was almost enough to strain your weakening heart. But none of them broached the topic for the rest of the evening.
They only left when you half-assured them you would try to sleep after you finished the chapter you had been trying to focus on for the past hour.
In your fifth week of captivity, your suddenly not-so-subtle campaign for freedom after an audacious escape, was starting to give way to exhaustion and a surplus of physical weakness. At all hours of the day, you struggled to simply keep your head upright, to keep your vision from blurring when you stood for more than ten seconds. The very integrity of your body had deteriorated drastically, leaving you in physical shambles.
Your strides towards total sleep deprivation had its imperfections. There were occasional slip ups where you nodded off for an hour or two at a time, but you remained steadfast in your pursuit for the most part. If you deteriorated enough perhaps they would finally give in to your will for a change and set you free. But the three of them were nothing if not incredibly hard-headed and set in having whatever they pleased.
You had little doubt the end of your sleep strike was anywhere in sight.
“You’ve been reading that book for a week now, love. I think it’s time you had something new!” Steven presented you with a small bag as they entered the storage unit the next evening, a giddy smile spread clear across his face. “Saw this in the late night bookstore and thought I’d pick it up for our perfect angel.”
“Thanks…” Looking at him once more you noted the fresh cup of coffee he held in his hands. “It's a little late to be having caffeine.”
“Mm, yes.” He nodded, drumming his fingers against the paper cup. “Wanted to make sure we stayed awake for our visit. Can’t be falling asleep during our visits…Want a sip?”
“Do you really even have to ask?” Leaning forward, you grabbed the cup, ignoring how your arms trembled due to the effort.
“You know, your room is looking quite splendid, especially after your little, erm, accident a few weeks ago. I imagine when Jake and I add the finishing touches it’ll be right as rain and you’ll be back home with us in no time.”
“This is sweet.” You said after draining the cup without much thought. “I’m talking, really fucking sweet, even for you.”
Setting the cup down you laid back out on your cot, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion and nausea wash over you.
Steven kept talking, never breaking his nearly melodic cadence. “I think you’ll like it quite a bit when you see all the work we’ve done. And after talking to the others, they agreed to let you keep your window, so it won’t be boarded up like Marc suggested.”
Your hands, newly clammy, gripped your bedding as you steeled yourself through another wave of illness.
“Steven…” You could barely gather the words to describe your agony, “what the hell was in that?!” Between feeling like you were about to heave and pass out, you could see Steven fixing you with an observant eye. “Steven!”
“It’s alright, love. You’re alright.” Slowly he walked forward, pulling you by the forearms into a sitting position. “It’s just something to help you calm down for the…transition.”
He continued to speak, his voice droning on and eventually fading along with the bouts of queasiness.
“See, I know it must have felt dreadful at first, but now all you have to do is relax and let the medicine do its work.”
Without asking, Steven slid one arm under the bend of your knees, and the other at your back for support as he carried you out of the unit.
“Look at how quiet you are…I quite like you like this, I must admit.” Tilting his head down, he pressed a stubbly kiss to the top of your head. “Trust us. We’ve made home all the better for you; now you’ll never want to be apart from us again…”
[5:50 pm] Spider-man!Mark slips through his apartment bedroom window. His mind clouded after sending you off at the airport this morning. Who would he go to if he ever needed his web shooters to be fixed or to nag him for breaking it again? He already missed you so much that he almost passed a neatly placed box sitting on his desk.
He blinks before picking at the attached note.
One last fix-up for my friendly neighborhood spider-man. Try to be careful with this please. -y/n
The last statement emits a small chuckle, practically hearing the annoyed tone behind it.
He doesn’t waste time opening the box to find a pair of black glasses. He notes the stylistic choice, thick rims and metal nose bridge before sliding them on when a beef goes off. A computerized voice followed.
Initializing sub-system...
“Wha-?”
A growing whirring sound by his ear catches him off guard and the glasses emit a red flash. It scanned dove this body - a computerized image of his spider-man suit rapidly displayed.
Sub-routine active...
Assumingly, it featured multitudes of advanced designs of his suit, but just as he could comprehend further what was happening, it reverts back into the len. The previously bulky glasses adjusted itself to sit firmly on his face.
The whirring stops. Still dumbfound, he remained still in anticipation.
Awakening protocols... y/n protocols activated.
Mark stiffens, unable to recall whether what he heard was right.
“What’s... going on?” he wonders aloud and, as if on command, a familiar voice chimes in.
“Hey Mark.”
No way. “y/n?”
“Yours truly.”
(Fun Note: this is based on the spiderman comics and movies. Tony Stark's Glasses are sunglasses designed by Tony Stark and operated as a portable supercomputer. They enable the user to interact with both artificial intelligence interfaces. They were gifted to Peter Parker.)
"[F]or me a love story is a love story. I don't care what the genders are if it's powerful enough. And I don't think love should be a gender-bound operation. It's probably one of the few things in life that rises above all those kinds of oppositions—black and white, male and female, homosexual and heterosexual. When people fall in love they experience the same kind of tremors, fears, a rush of blood to the head."
— Jeanette Winterson, "Jeanette Winterson: Trust me. I'm telling you stories" (an interview with Jeanette Winterson by Mark Marvel), Interview 20.10 (Oct. 1990)
