also according to michael collins when the three of them were discussing what neil armstrong should say when he first stepped on the moon, collins suggested armstrong say “Oh, my God, what is that thing?” and then scream and cut out his mic.
have now made the rest of the discord cry about this little boy who had multi-coloured ducks sewn onto a tunic that he loved so much he wore it to a Very Important Event because he was EIGHT and have you SEEN my DUCKS
sorry no i’m not done i’m gonna make you all cry some more i’m bringing you down with me
there was once a little boy.
he is born disabled. his body hurts, and he can’t walk properly the way the other children do. he doesn’t understand why. he’s a little boy. but he plays with wooden boats and pulls toys on a string.
somebody makes him a tunic. they sew ducks onto it in red and green and yellow and blue. the bright colours of a child.
the little boy is eight years old, and he’s going to be king now. there’s a big ceremony about it. he doesn’t really fully understand what’s going on, because he’s eight, but he wears the tunic with the brightly coloured ducks for the occasion because he loves it. look at his ducks! aren’t they great?
he is a child. the adults around him manipulate and coax him to gain more power for themselves. he still plays with toys.
as a teenager, not yet an adult, he fathers children. they do not survive. he’s not even old enough to have full agency in his job and is still being manipulated, but he had babies and they died.
he does not make it to his twenties. at eighteen or nineteen years old he dies, and is buried. his babies, so tiny, are buried with him.
and so is his tunic with the little ducks that he loved so much he kept it long after it no longer fit.
yeah i think that like. especially with historical figures in your mind people who were kings and queens or important nobles were adults. even if you know how old they were it doesn’t really click. it doesn’t seem real
but then you get something like a little tunic with brightly coloured ducks on it and it hits you like a fucking truck that this really was a little kid and no matter how far removed you are a little kid is still a little kid. their brains didn’t develop any quicker back then. he was just as developed/mature mentally as any 8 year old now. he had cartoonish animals on his clothes and he played with toy boats and probably terrorised the local cat population.
tutankhamun was a child and he didn’t make it to adulthood because he was unfortunate enough to be a very important child
his dad died when he was 8. he saw his own babies die when he was still just a boy himself.
but he had brightly coloured little ducks on his favourite shirt, and he kept it.
tutankhamun had a little pair of sandals with ducks on them. he had earrings decorated with ducks. he kept those, and other items of childhood clothing. some toys. keepsakes. things he loved, and treasured. he kept them all in a little wooden chest. the chest… was carved with ducks.
and that little duck chest, filled with things he kept from his childhood, was buried with him. maybe he was keeping them for the little babies who did not make it. maybe they just reminded him of good days and fun times.
but he was a little boy who thought ducks were just the best
get to know me: [1/5] dynamics
@pscentral event 06: favorite characters/performers
» oscar isaac as steven grant and marc spector in moon knight (in/sp.)
Here's something that's been cooking in my head for a while. So there's a lot of fics where Marc and the reader will have a argument and then Marc will sort of shut out and just leave Steven and Jake to be out as a means to avoid reader, and some have it that while that's happening Steven and Jake then just spoil reader with affection and stuff and then there's some point where Marc just comes out and they talk it out. But hear me out on this one and even feel free to run and do your own things with it-
So let's say that that's a common scenario that happens and that Marc and reader are arguing about something and at some point things boil over a little and they do a whole "Fine! "Fine!" sort of thing. Reader walks away to cool off and maybe go back to the issue later when both of them are more calm but then Marc goes "I guess this is the part where you sit somewhere and wait for Steven and Jake to spoil you rotten!".
And now there's an even bigger problem because now Marc is bringing Steven and Jake into this and that pisses them off and there's a whole argument between them because Jake and Steven are saying that they wouldn't have to if Marc would just man up and not turn every issue brought up into an argument. And Marc is saying that it wouldn't be such a big deal if they just let him sulk and solve it himself without them swooping in and overhearing/seeing them basically fawning over reader. And reader is even more upset because it's somewhat true but because you're still made they want to prove him wrong.
You can continue from here or just leave it. Just thought you'd like to hear it at least
Thank you so much for this ask! It has been fermenting in my mind for days now. I hope I've done it justice ❤️
Spoiled Rotten
Marc Spector X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Warnings: arguements (subject matter is not specified), hurt and comfort (heavy on the comfort), typos, rail road sentences Please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 1496
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“No that’s not what I said, you’re not listen-”
“You’re just repeating what you said over and ov-”
“I wouldn’t have to repeat it if you would just li-”
“It’s not even relevant to this, you’re changing the sub-”
“I’m changing the subject? What do you think you’re doi-”
“Stop talking over me!”
“Stop talking over me!”
You both glare at each other, rage boiling over like an overfilled pan.
Your breathing hard, your lips forced together, just waiting for him to say something so you can both go at each other again.
You could strangle him, the way he sneered a little as he spoke, that little mocking tone he used specifically for you, the fact that he would never, ever, ever back down.
Your breathing calmed a little as he stayed quiet, good. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, a few rouge curls had escaped his carefully slicked back hair, breaking his illusion of being oh-so perfect.
Oh, I’m Marc Spector and I never do anything wrong.
You loved him, of course you did, and if anyone ever laid a finger on him you’d gouge their eyes out, but good god if that man didn’t know how to get perfectly under your skin.
He stayed quiet, scowling at you.
With a deep breath you looked away from him and walked into the kitchen. There was no reason to stay in his presence if he was going to be like this, trying to bait you into talking first like a child. (As if you hadn’t been trying to do the exact same thing to him.)
You thought about making a comment, saying something like ‘oh, the silent treatment, Marc? Real original.’ But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And you knew how childish it would sound.
You stopped in front of the kitchen counter and sighed. Cliché as it was, you couldn’t remember what you had first started arguing about. Or why it even mattered.
Maybe if you just took a few minutes to cool off and-
Marc’s distinct footsteps sounded as he came into the kitchen. “So, I guess this is the part where you sit somewhere and wait for Steven and Jake to spoil you rotten!" His voice was somewhere between normal and shouting, raising in volume even more at the end.
He had been trying, and promptly failed, to sound collected.
You turned, anger rising in your chest and throat, “what?”
“It’s always the same-”
“It is not always the same-”
“We have an argument, you go off and sulk and then,”
“I sulk?” You gestured to yourself, “I’m the one that goes off and sulks?”
“And, then, Steven or Jake front and it’s all ‘oh what has that horrible Marc done to you now.’” His eyes flicked to the side the second the words left his mouth, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching hard.
You recognised the movement instantly. Steven or Jake, or possibly both, were saying something.
Heat rises to your cheeks. “That’s not what happens.”
He glances back to you, the smallest twitch is his forehead telling you that Steven and Jake must still be talking. “Liar.”
You clamp your teeth shut, trying to stop yourself from saying something you know you’ll regret.
He was right though, and you hated it. Why did this insufferable man always have to be right?
You and Marc argued the most.
Jake didn’t shout, he didn’t like that kind of confrontation. He would go quiet and listen to you when you were angry. For anyone else his silence would have made it worse, but there was something about his expression. How he just folded back, bleeding emotion out of himself until he seemed monochrome against your rage. It never failed to refuse you. You’d both end up talking calmly about your disagreements.
Steven was the king of sarcasm, and passive aggression when he wanted to be. But when an argument with you was getting too far he would just call a timeout and let you both go your separate ways to calm down.
On the whole, very rarely did any of you argue, and when you did it was usually about something silly.
And as you’d been together longer, disagreements with Jake and Steven had lessened to almost nonexistence. While arguments with Marc had stayed the same.
It always followed a similar pattern: you and Marc would shout at each other and then Jake or Steven or both would come and make it better with hugs and kisses and soft words.
“Well it’s not going to happen this time.” Marc snarled.
You looked back at him, realising you had been lost in your thoughts.
“You're stuck with horrible me.”
He was goading you, trying to get you to shout at him again. Needing you to yell, to express your anger. He could deal with that, could fight against it.
You stayed quiet.
“Gonna give me the silent treatment? Because I’m not good enough for you? That’s real original.”
You almost laughed then, but just managed to stop yourself. There was no way that could help in this situation. Your shoulders slumped slightly. The problem was, you were both too similar.
“Sit down.” You spoke softly, and gestured to the kitchen table before walking over to the coffee machine. Marc was the only one who really used it for the fancy milky coffees he still pretended he didn’t adore.
“What?” He snapped, watching you move. He took a step towards you, his hands flexing in irritation as he saw you switch the coffee machine on.
You turned fully to look at him, “sit down,” your voice sounded calm and kind, even though you were still fighting with your own exasperation inside. “Or stand, whatever you want.”
You expected him to snap back with another dig. But to your surprise he swallowed, a small bob of his throat, and sat down on the chair closest to you.
He didn’t take his eyes off you while you made a coffee, the crease in his forehead deepening as he assumed you were going to drink it right in front of him.
Instead you heard the little breath he exhaled when you placed the cup on the table directly to his right.
Marc stared at it for a second, dumbfounded. He was so caught up in staring at the coffee that he didn’t hear you step back and open the cupboard, only realising that time had passed when you set a small plate with choco leibniz milk biscuits in front of him.
“Those are Jake’s.” He whispered.
“I bought them for everyone.” You leave out, ‘except Steven’ as that was a given due to the milk.
The biscuits were, however, a favourite of Jakes. And he did have a tendency to eat them all before anyone else got a chance.
Marc pressed his lips together into a tight line.
You didn’t want for him to say anything else as you walked into the living room and turned on the television. You spend a few minutes searching through the listings until you found something that matched your criteria. Marc had a soft spot for westerns.
You clicked on The Searchers and pressed play before grabbing the heavy, fluffy blanket out of the airing cupboard and laying it out on the settee.
When you came back into the kitchen Marc was chewing on a biscuit. He looked up at you as you entered and for a moment seemed much younger than his years.
“Come on,” you spoke softly, lifting the plate and cup from the table.
Marc didn’t question you and followed you into the living room one step behind.
You gestured to the settee after you put the biscuits and coffee on the table, raising the blanket for Marc to sit. He did, slowly, as if he was waiting for something awful to jump out at him.
You sat next to him, pulling the blanket over you both. You left a ‘sensible’ space between you. Not wanting to be too far or too close, and upsetting him with the extreme.
He stared at you, not even glancing at the television. “What are you doing?” He whispered. His expression was nervous, pained, and it chased away the residual anger in your chest.
“Spoiling you rotten.” You said quietly, The Searchers opening music nearly drowning your words out.
Slowly, you lifted your arm to the back of the settee, leaving an open invitation for physical touch.
To your surprise he moved instantly, burying himself into your side and laying his head against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tight.
You smiled and kissed the top of his head as you hugged him back.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your chest, his breath hot against your skin.
“Me too.” You kissed his head again as you both relaxed into each other's embrace and settled down to watch the film.
It’s super late at night and you’ve already gotten into bed. The reader is sound asleep but Marc is just laying there wide awake having a huge episode of self doubt and insecurity and he can’t sleep because of it. Marc is aware that his thoughts are just running around but he can’t help it. He wonders if he really is living a good life or if he’s living in a lie he’s made up for himself to think that he is.
Do you actually love him or do you just put up with him because you actually love Steven and Jake and he’s just part of the “package”? Or what if he and the boys are just some sort of man-toy that you like but will leave once you find them not longer amusing. Even when reader cuddles up closer to him in their sleep, he just thinks “what if they’re just dreaming that I’m Steven or Jake”.
At some point Marc does end up falling asleep, more so out of his body just deciding to do it rather than through will. When it’s morning, Marc wakes up and finds reader starting to make breakfast. They greet him with a good morning kiss and all that and a while after comes out and made a breakfast that Marc specifically, just out of whim, and Marc just kind of sits there and thinks “Okay yeah, no, they love me :)”
You can change this up any way you like It was just something I thoughts that fit in your writing style
PAIN. (Thank you for the ask, oh boy did this one just run off and do whatever it wanted.) Also basing Marc’s thought process/self doubt on my (mentally ill) thought process. I changed the ending, I hope you don’t mind, again the story just seemed to go off and do its own thing.
Ink in Water
Marc Spector X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Warnings: self doubt, self hatred, Marc thinking he's worthless (HE'S WRONG), illusions to Randall, nightmares, happy ending, rail road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 1305
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The steady rain hitting the windows would be soothing to most, calming. The right noise to lull someone off to sleep.
Marc hated it.
Especially when it was dark with the sound of your soft breathing next to him. Rain and dark and not being alone.
It had been one of the things that had annoyed him about London, the idea of it at least. But it was pleasantly surprising when he realised that it didn’t actually rain that much in the city, not really. Despite how often its inhabitants seemed to talk about it.
More often than not it was that spitty rain anyway, the kind of stuff that felt like you’d been sprayed in the face with mist. It made everything damp and by default made 2 degrees celsius feel colder than 30 in fahrenheit, but other than that it was okay. Bearable.
Not like tonight.
Tonight it pelted down, the wind howling faintly. Tonight it reminded him too much of… well, things best left buried.
He tried to focus on the sound of just your breathing instead. That gentle, even rhythm and was normally so soothing. Would usually drown everything else out.
Don’t think of drown.
Don’t think of anything.
Just breathing, your breathing. In and out. In and out. He tried to match it, held his breath until you breathed out. But no matter how he tried he kept slipping out of your rhythm.
Marc turned onto his side, opening his eyes to look at you, your face faintly illuminated by the glow of this fish tank. He’d forgotten to turn the light off.
Steven would tut and scoff at him in the morning. ‘How would you like to sleep with the top light on, hmm? It’s not good for them, buggers up their internal clocks and all that.’
He’d have to tell Steven that he didn’t think fish had internal clocks.
Part of him wanted to get up, to turn the light off. And not just to avoid Steven’s disappointment, but because really he did feel kind of bad for the poor fish.
Not tonight though, he couldn’t do it tonight. The thought of getting up, walking through the darkness of the flat despite the glow from the streetlights outside, with the sound of the rain. Dark, walking, rain. No, not tonight.
The fish tank light stopped the complete darkness, the sound of it hummed lightly. Even if Marc couldn’t focus on it enough for it to completely block out the rain the absence of it would be worse. It would make the drip, drip, drip of the water going through the tank’s filter louder. The kind of sound that would give birth to stalagmites.
No, not tonight. He would say he forgot, apologise to Steven and the fish in the morning.
He could put his headphones on, listen to something to try to drown out the rain-
Don’t think of drown.
But he didn’t remember where he put them, which left him with fumbling around in the dark to look or turning on a light. Both would wake you. And that wasn’t fair.
You put up with so much and here he was, not even able to deal with the sound of the rain.
Marc pushed gently at the head space, a nudge just to check if anyone else was awake. If Steven or Jake would like a go at trying to get the body to sleep. He could just… slink back and fade. It was always easier to nod off if he wasn’t fronting, just sort of sink-
Don’t think of sink. Don’t think of drown. Don’t think at all.
That, of course, never worked.
You shifted in bed, sighing quietly.
It hurt sometimes to think about how much he loved you. Early on he used to imagine you breaking up with him every night, not Jake or Steven, no you’d still be with them, just him. Ending it with him.
It was like he had to. Repeatedly going over and over the way you’d tell him you didn’t want to be together romantically anymore. In any and all situations he could think of.
The more he thought about it, he reasoned, the more he would get used to the idea. Grow calluses over the hurt, so when it happened he wouldn’t cause too much of a fuss. Wouldn’t make it awkward for you or Steven or Jake.
It never worked like that, of course. His thoughts very rarely did what he wanted, preferring to run among and spread all over the place like ink in water. Clouding everything to madness.
Everytime he imagined it, the words you’d say, whether you’d speak them calmly or in a rage, coldly or with kindness, it didn’t matter. Just thinking about it always made him cry. Made his throat ache and skin hot.
It got so bad once that Steven had jumped to the front, confused and worried at the tears on their face, at why their hands were pulling fistfuls of their hair. At why they were sitting curled up on the bathroom floor.
Marc had bullshited something, he couldn’t remember what. Steven hadn’t believed him, Marc knew that for sure, but he hadn’t pressed him further either. It wasn’t surprising, Steven was far too smart to swallow whatever nonsense had been thrown at him. The opposite of hook, line and sinker. Sinker. Water. Rain. Sinker. Sink. Drown.
Don’t think of sinker. Don’t think of sink. Don’t think of drown.
Of course you’d stay with Steven and Jake. How could you not?
He’d seen the way Jake made you laugh, so loud that it reverated in your chest, so hard that you almost couldn’t breathe, so constantly that you’d beg him to stop, just for a moment so that you could compose yourself. You’d never give that up.
He knew the way you talked with Steven, both of you speaking so fast that it made Marc’s head spin, so excitedly and animatedly, not even needing to finish a sentence before starting the next one because you were both so in sync. You’d never let that go.
What did he have to offer?
Except for being scared of the rain. Too afraid to turn off the fish tank light. Too pathetic to even deal with the idea of not being with you.
He really should just-
“Marc?” You turned, your voice filled with sleep as you reached out for him. You grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.
He swallowed, “yeah baby?” He sounded stuffy, almost like he’d been crying. Thankfully, you weren't quite awake enough to notice.
You sighed, relief flooding your veins and shuffled closer to him, quickly embracing him and hugging him tight.
“I had a bad dream.” You mutter against him, pressing your face into his chest.
“Baby,” he squeezes you back and places a soft kiss on your temple. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You’re alright.”
“Dreamt I couldn’t find you.”
“Couldn’t find me?”
You nod. “I kept shouting ‘Marc’, kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”
Something sharp digs into his chest, spearing his heart clean through the middle. “Shouting for me?” He whispers.
You nod and stiff, shaking a little. There’s wetness on his bare chest.
“Hey, baby, hey,” he gently pulls you back and lifts up your face, cradling your cheeks in his warm, safe hands. “It’s okay.” He kisses lightly just under your eyes, presses his lips to your tears, “I’m right here, don’t worry. Not going anywhere.”
You nod, still sleepy and kiss his lips. “Love you.”
“I love you baby, here.” Marc readjusts his position so that you can lay your head fully on the pillow and he can wrap both arms around you, softly rubbing your back as you snuggle into his warmth.
Tags: Marc Spector x Reader x Steven Grant, afab!fem!reader, consensual voyeurism, unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life omg), dirty talk, slight degradation, Steven watches Marc fuck you through a mirror idk what to tell you (w/c: 1K)
A/N: Back with the boys because I love them and I cannot help myself okay!!! And this is consensual, even though Steven doesn't exactly know it at the beginning, he just thinks he's being a perv. But in my fics, everyone is a perv alright! (this month I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)
Steven knows it’s wrong, God, it’s fucking wrong, but it’s like he can’t stop himself.
There’s something about the way Marc fucks you, the way you scrabble at the bedsheets when the shoves you into a lewd arch, his hand pressing into your back. The way you moan for it, heaving breaths into your lungs. It’s the way Marc talks to you through it, talking to you like you’re the filthy one, like you’re the one who’s desperate for it, even though Steven knows it’s both of you.
“God damn, baby,” Marc snarls, fucking into you hard enough that tears are starting to leak down your cheeks. “You’re fucking sucking me in, sweetheart. Feels good, huh? Getting fucked like you need?”
“Yes, fuck, yes,” you gasp through the moans he forces out of your mouth with every thrust. “It’s so fucking good, Marc, you’re so fucking deep.”
Steven should stop, right now. Go hide in the headspace, go to sleep and let you both have some privacy. Fuck, he's as naked as Marc is right now, he should feel exposed, have some god damn decency. But it’s like he’s stuck in place, staring in through the mirror as Marc rips you apart in ways he’s never dreamed to. It’s fucking addicting to watch the way your eyes roll back, the way your ass smacks back against Marc every time he shoves himself in, in, in. He reaches down to his bare cock and squeezes, unable to help it.
You’d only put this mirror up a week ago, and he hadn't even thought about the positioning of it. It’s placed on the wall right across from the foot of your bed, and fuck, he can see everything. He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t thought about this view when he had helped you set it straight, Marc coming into view in the reflection and smirking at Steven like he knew something he didn’t. Steven had brushed it off.
He shouldn’t have fucking brushed it off.
Because he’s sure, almost fucking positive, that Marc had somehow known. He’d known that Steven would watch, just like this, how Marc takes care of their girl. How he destroys you in ways that Steven can’t even think up on his own. It’s a special kind of torture, seeing you like this and not feeling it, not feeling you.
Marc’s thrusts are brutal, violent like the man himself. He treats you with so much care normally, Steven has seen it, but this isn’t gentle in the least. And you love it, crying out and drooling onto your sheets as Marc rips you to pieces, pulling you back onto his cock with thick fingers digging hard into your hips. He’s not sure how long he’s been watching intently, unable to tear his gaze away, when he sees Marc’s head snap up.
Looking right fucking at him.
Steven should go, disappear from the consciousness entirely, but it’s like he’s glued to the spot, his gaze locked with Marc’s. Marc’s thrusts don’t stutter, don’t stop, and you’re blissfully unaware as Marc watches Steven watch you.
Until Marc grins like the bastard he is, and leans down to mutter, just loud enough for Steven to hear, “Guess who’s here, gorgeous?”
“Wh-what?” you gasp through Marc’s unrelenting thrusts.
“He’s watching, baby,” Marc smiles, glancing up at Steven. “Just like you wanted.”
You wanted- you wanted? Steven’s breath catches in his throat, he’s pretty sure his heart stops fucking beating.
“Steven,” you moan like it’s been punched out of you. “Steven’s here.”
“He’s watchin’ in that mirror you put up, sweetheart,” Marc says, “Watching me fuck you.” Steven is flushed beet-red, he knows it, but still, he watches. “Look at him, baby,” Marc growls, “Fucking look at him.”
Marc reaches up and curls a fist into your hair, tugging your head up to look straight into the mirror, straight at Steven. And God, you’re beautiful, tears falling down your face, your lips plump from the way you’ve been biting at them. You can’t see him, Steven knows that, but you look anyway, like you really can.
“She wanted this,” Marc snarls, and you clench your eyes shut, like you want to hide from Steven’s gaze. “She put that mirror up, hoping you’d watch like this. Wanted me to watch you both too, Steven.” You whine, and Marc’s thrusts seem to get even harder. “Our baby’s a little slut, just wants someone to watch her get fucked, isn’t that right, honey?”
“Your-” you gasp, staring into the mirror, like you’re talking to Steven, too. “Your slut, fuck, just yours.”
Marc fucking growls, his hips driving his cock into you. Steven can hear the way your pussy squishes around him, so wet you’re dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Your body is covered in sweat, glinting in the light, practically glowing.
“Gonna let him fuck you after this, baby?” Marc grits, “Fucking whore for this cock, can’t get enough.” You slur a stream of yesyesyesyes as Marc reaches beneath you to start rubbing furiously at your clit, and you tremble beneath him.
“C’mon, gorgeous, cum for me.” Marc glances up at Steven. “Cum for both of us.”
Your eyes go wide, your mouth gaping open around a silent scream as you gush down Marc’s cock, body shaking as Marc fucks you through it, letting out a strangled groan of his own. Steven is hard as a fucking rock, straining against his stomach, begging for your touch. He watches as Marc thrusts deep and stills, his eyelids fluttering as he pumps you full of his cum.
You slump into the sheets, and Marc slides out of you, leaning down to kiss down your spine, muttering little praises of “such a good girl,” and “took it so well, looked so pretty,” into your skin. You roll onto your back, tugging Marc down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Marc smiles against your mouth, and Steven feels that familiar pull to the front.
He shuts his eyes, and when he blinks them open again, you’re smiling up at him, reaching up to brush a reverent hand across his jaw.
“Enjoyed the show?” you whisper, and Steven can’t help the way he grins, the way his heart flutters.
“More than you know, darling,” he mutters, and leans to lick into your mouth. “Got to give Marc a show now, yeah?”
Marc Spector X F!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Summary: Out of the three of them, Marc had met your mother last.
Warnings: Angst & fluff. Mentions of previous abuse (Wendy Spector) but doesn't go into detail. Typos - I am notoriously bad at catching them. Swearing.
A/N: I've used corvase's 'lovely little domestic prompts: “your mom is coming over today.” “tell her to bring fried rice or she’s not invited.” “you tell her, she’s your mom.” “but she likes you more!”' - and it ended up being a lot more angsty than I inteaded. I changed the prompt words a touch as well. Steven & Jake make a little appearance too.
Word Count: 1689
Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites
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You had been in the shower when your phone rang. It was on silent, as usual, but by chance the light caught Marc’s attention as he put the clean laundry away.
The display read ‘Mum’.
He swallowed, a flash of nerves hitting him for a second before he pushed them away. He could just wait it out, pretend he didn’t see it.
The soft material of a pair of your fuzzy socks in his hand suddenly became much heavier; the cartoon duck on the side no longer looked friendly. There was a judgemental tone in its eyes.
“Fuck you.” He narrowed his eyes and hissed at the cartoon, the absurdity enough to bring a small smile to his face.
Quickly, without giving himself too much time to really think about it, he grabbed your phone and answered the call.
“Hello!” Your mum’s voice was like sunshine itself.
“Hi, it’s-”
“Marc! Ah! How lovely to get you!”
He grinned broadly, warmth bubbling up in his chest. She recognised his voice. Straight away she recognised his voice.
“I was wondering if I could pop by today? I have a little something for you all.”
Your mother knew all three of them, but her first meeting with Marc had been almost five months after she had met Steven and Jake.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to meet her, he did, it was just... difficult. Panic spiked up in his spine and made him sick whenever the arranged date to introduce himself grew close.
His alters’ voices constantly in his ear. “She’s so lovely.” “You’ll get on well with her hermano.” “She’s nothing like-”
It hadn’t mattered. He had chickened out four times. The third when he was in the car with you outside of your mother’s house. He just couldn’t. Couldn’t. Had checked out and left it to Steven and Jake.
He would stay away for days, the worst being the second occasion when he didn’t front for nearly two weeks afterwards and had refused to speak to Jake or Steven. Even staying quiet when Steven had said he would let Jake grow a moustache if Marc didn’t say something.
When Marc finally did front he had refused to talk about it. Point blank. Not to Steven, not to Jake, not to you. He knew that made it worse.
It had caused more than one internal and external argument.
You had tried to bring it up carefully, calmly, telling Marc that there was no need to rush, he hadn’t caused any offence, that he didn’t even need to meet your mother if he didn’t want to.
But instead of staying quiet, nodding, or any of the countless peaceful options Marc had gone into defensive mode. Unable to explain his fears even though you knew about Wendy, unable to accept your kindness and care and love when he was so sure he didn’t deserve it. He wanted your anger.
“Oh, so you don’t want me to meet your Mom then?”
His tone had taken you by surprise even before his words had registered. “Marc that’s...” you shook your head, playing back what you had said, checking for how your words could have been misunderstood. “I didn’t mean that, I-”
“Maybe you should think before you speak in future.”
“Marc-”
“She’s got Steven and Jake, guess I’m not as important as them?”
It had just escalated from there. Your tone and words grew more agitated despite your best intentions as he kept going and going.
There had been something on the tip of his tongue, something nasty and untrue but based on your own securities. Something that was intended to hurt. He had begun to speak it, shout it, trying to push you in punishing him when everything shifted.
It was the first time you had seen Jake forcibly front, spitting out a hiss of words obviously not aimed at you and breathing hard.
“¡No te atrevas a decir eso!” Don’t you dare say that.
He had sat on the settee, closed his eyes and crossed his arms. His legs were spread wide in an apparent guise of relaxation but you could see the tension thumping in his neck.
After a moment to calm yourself you had sat down next to him, slowly, and leaving some space between your bodies.
Jake had kept his eyes closed; his jaw clenched as he listened to Marc, but did not reply. After a few minutes he had taken your hand in his, pressed kisses to your fingers and knuckles tentatively before he opened his eyes.
You had smiled weakly at him, your eyes glassy. “Is he okay?”
Jake let out a humourless laugh. “He’s on the naughty step.” He moved closer, letting go of your hand to wrap his arms around you. “He’ll stay there until his manners improve.” His voice was low in your ear, making you shiver, but you knew those words were more directed at Marc than to you.
Marc had watched silently whenever Steven or Jake were with your mother. The ease of conversation, the joking, smiles, hugs, kisses on the cheek and small gifts.
You had found him once, on a morning so early it should have been night, crouched down by the coffee table in your flat. His arms wrapped tightly around his legs as he stared at a small paper bag on the floor.
Your mother was notorious for giving gifts, things that made her think of others. The previous day you and Steven had visited her for dinner. She had spoken animatedly about her day, a visit to Greenwich park and market before brandishing, a golden pin with the Eye of Horus engraved for Steven (who spoke animatedly and excitedly about the meaning behind it for a good ten minutes before worrying he was ‘going on a bit’, and then another fifteen when your mum shhhed him and eagerly asked him to continue.)
Champurradas for Jake, which you hadn’t heard of before, “Oh Jake and I were talking about them the other day, and I just so happened to see a stall with all sorts of food. I just had to get them for him.” (You were eighty percent sure she had purposely looked for somewhere that sold them and had gone to Greenwich specifically with the goal in mind.) She had playfully smacked your hand when you had asked to try one, “Shhh! They’re for Jake! You’ll have to ask him if you want one.” You laughed.
She had held out a small paper bag to Steven as you were leaving, “this is for Marc.”
“Oh, you didn’t have-”
“Shhh,” your mother was the master of the ‘shhh’, “I wanted to. I love all of you very much.” She had kissed his cheek and pressed the bag into his warm hands.
You had told your mother briefly about Wendy after the second time Steven had visited instead of Marc, no details – as you felt it wasn’t your place.
And now Marc sat staring at the keyring resting on top of the paper bag like it held the answer to the universe.
It took you a moment to recognise the logo as the Chicago Bears and knew, for certain, that she definitely hadn’t found that in Greenwich market.
He turned towards you suddenly at the creak of the floorboard under your feet, eyes red and shining.
You froze, afraid that anything you did, anything you said would cause hurt.
“Steven told her I’d confused my keys with our key for here.” His voice broke at the last word and you rushed forward, falling to your knees and wrapping yourself around him. “She, she remembered.”
You had held him and kissed him and soothed him as his tears soaked into your pyjamas and finally, when you had coaxed him back into bed, hugged him tightly the whole night.
The keyring never left his keys.
You had both visited your mother soon after that, Marc nervously gripping a large bouquet of flowers as you walked to the front door. He knuckles white under the tension.
When your mother opened the door Marc had quickly blurted out, “here, I’m Marc, nice to meet you.” In a voice that sounded far younger than his age and thrusted the flowers towards her.
Your mother didn’t even miss a beat, she had fawned over the flowers, ‘the nicest ones she had ever received’ and lavished attention on your boyfriend the entire day, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly when you left. Saying nothing when he held onto her a little too tightly and for a few beats too long.
You heard Marc laughing as you came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and padded down the hall to your bedroom.
He was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, holding your phone to his ear. A few items of clean clothes next to him, you couldn’t help but smile as you realised he had put the others away. You hadn’t asked him to, he had just done it knowing your intense dislike of the final part of the clothes washing process.
Marc turned as you came in, giving you a little wave. “She’s just finished.” He spoke into the phone. “Your Mom!” He said to you.
“Hi Mum!” You yelled, a little over the top.
The muffled sound of your mother laughing and saying ‘hello love!’ filtered back.
You opened your wardrobe, absentmindedly chewing on your bottom lip.
“She’s gonna come over later, she said she’d pick up Chinese on the way?”
The questioning tone at the end of his sentence warmed your heart. You had told him countless times that your flat was his flat; but he still wanted to check things with you, protective of your space.
“Tell her to bring egg fried rice or she’s not invited.” You teased.
Marc gave a mock gasp of shock and you could hear your mum laughing on the other end of the phone.
“You tell her, she’s your Mom!” He grinned.
You turned around, hands on your hips and pulled a silly face. “But she likes you more!”
Summary: Mark leaves on a mission for Khonshu while you deal with a confrontation of your own. Unfortunately, this particular foe is aware of your specific skill set and uses your weakest spot to deliver a fatal wound. Laying there defenseless and abandoned, your final desire is to speak to the love of your life one last time.
warnings: ANGSTTTT!! (the fav), character backstory, flashbacks, character death, reader wound, sadness, despair etc etc, cliffhanger
masterlist!
“M-Mark?” Fuck. Fuck. Your voice was wobblier than you had expected.
“Baby?” You heard some shuffling. “What’s wrong?”
You pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Despite your assurances, he wouldn’t be fooled. “Is everything okay?”
hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!
IMPLODING THE MIRAGE
Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)
You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?
RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni)
WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)
imploding the mirage — the killers
i had to do it, i had no other choice
you’ve got to listen to the inside voice
a bullet train will get you there fast
but it won’t guarantee a long last
sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt
to push your boundaries out
beyond your imagining
He was the moon, and she was the stars.
It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.
The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.
So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.
He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.
Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.
He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.
“Where to next, Moon Boy?”
She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.
He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.
“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”
Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.
“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”
He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—
“Jesus Christ!”
You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.
“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”
Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”
“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”
He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.
“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”
You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.
He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.
You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.
You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.
“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.
“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”
You frowned.
“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”
“Hell of a time for that to happen.”
He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.
“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”
Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.
“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”
Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.
“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”
Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.
“Of course Steven made you.”
A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?
You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.
You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.
“Do you mind if I—”
“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”
You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.
She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.
Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.
“Fuck, Marc.”
She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.
“Want you—need you so bad.”
“You’re doing it again.”
You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.
“Shit, I—sorry.”
You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.
You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.
“It’s nothing, Marc.”
You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.
He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.
“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”
There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.
“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”
You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.
Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.
“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”
She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.
“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”
She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”
He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.
“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.
“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”
“Why do you push me away?”
She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.
“What do you mean?”
“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”
He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.
“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”
He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.
You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.
You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.
You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.
You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.
“Are you going to tell them?”
Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.
Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.
“No.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.
“What?”
Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.
“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”
The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.
“I—you?”
He glowered playfully.
“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”
That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.
“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”
Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.
You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”
You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.
Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.
“But what about how you feel?”
His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”
Anger flared within you.
“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”
Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.
“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”
“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”
You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.
Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.
“No, nena. I’m sorry.”
You turned away.
“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”
You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.
“What if he breaks my heart?”
He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.
“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”
Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”
The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.
She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.
He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.
“G’mornin’, darling.”
He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.
“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”
He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.
“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”
She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.
“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”
She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.
“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”
“G’mornin’, darling.”
The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.
“Steven! Shit!”
You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.
“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”
You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.
“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”
You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.
“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”
There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.
Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.
He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.
“There we are—good as new.”
He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...
Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.
“Bon apétit.”
You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.
“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”
He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.
You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.
“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”
He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.
“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”
She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.
“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”
“S’there somethin’ on my face?”
Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.
You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.
“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”
He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.
“What were you thinkin’ about?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”
You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.
“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”
“Yes.”
You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.
He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.
“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.
“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”
She’s lying.
Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.
And how do you know that?
Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.
What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?
Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’
But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.
He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.
“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”
You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.
Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.
You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.
“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”
There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.
The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.
He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—
Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?
Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.
Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?
You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.
You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.
hey, you forgot something here
i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x
It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.
What if this was from his latest mission?
It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.
You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.
“Where is it?”
A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.
“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”
To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.
“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”
He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.
“I just wasn’t alone.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.
“Looking for this?”
She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.
Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.
When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.
“Thanks.”
Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.
Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.
“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”
He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.
“Marc. I mean it.”
He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.
“Yeah, I know.”
She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.
“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”
Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.
Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.
“Wake up, little star.”
Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.
“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—
“Wake up!”
With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.
When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.
He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.
“Marc?”
You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.
“Drink.”
He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.
“I—what happened?”
You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.
“What do you remember?”
He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—
“Was I kidnapped?”
You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.
“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”
He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.
“What do you mean?”
You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.
“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”
“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”
His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.
“I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, don’t.”
His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.
“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”
You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.
“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”
“Stop!”
He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.
“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.
“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”
“What did you just say?”
Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.
“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”
His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.
“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”
You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.
“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”
“At least we’d be suffering together.”
It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.
“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”
“See you?”
He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.
“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”
You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.
“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”
Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.
“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”
His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.
“I—what?”
“I—”
You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.
“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”
He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.
“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that?”
You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.
“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”
Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.
“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”
“But that’s not true.”
He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.
“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”
“But you told me—”
“Well, I lied.”
He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.
“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”
Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.
“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”
“I know.”
He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.
“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”
“I’m a big girl, Marc.”
You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.
“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.
“I know.”
It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.
“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”
You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.
“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”
Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.
“He—he did?”
Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.
“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”
“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”
Marc’s brows furrowed.
“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”
You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.
“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”
Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.
“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”
“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”
You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”
You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.
“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”
“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”
His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.
“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”
You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.
“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”
“Hey, it’s not stupid.”
He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.
“It’s just not true.”
“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”
She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—
“Hey. Where’d you go?”
It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.
You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—
“Sorry.”
You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.
“What were you thinking about?”
Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.
“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”
It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.
He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.
When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.
“Wait—wait.”
You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.
“What’s wrong?”
He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.
“I just—”
You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.
“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”
He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.
“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”
You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.
When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.
“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”
You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.
You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.
“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”
You felt a small smile find your face.
“Really?”
He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.
“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.
“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”
You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.
He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.
He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.
“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”
He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.
The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.
“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”
You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.
“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”
You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.
“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”
He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.
“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?”
He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.
“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”
Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.
“You want my cum, baby?”
You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.
“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”
You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.
“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”
Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.
“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”
He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.
“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”
His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.
He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.
You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.
It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.
“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”
Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.
“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”
Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.
“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”
His attempt at a joke fell flat.
“That’s not what I mean.”
You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.
“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”
Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.
You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.
Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.
“Told you so.”
Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.
“Yeah, I guess you did.”
You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.
You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.
“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”
You nodded.
“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”
You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.
“And you called me estrellita.”
You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.
“Estrellita?”
He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”
You explained, and he shook his head.
“I know that, but I—hmm.”
His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative
“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”
You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.
“He fucking what?”
Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?
Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.
MARC SPECTOR X READER , IMPLIED STEVEN GRANT AND JAKE LOCKLEY X READER
prompt : marc lost you to the snap and after 5 years of dealing with his grief by maiming people, he finally gets you back.
wow i finally finished a fic after so long! i’m so sorry for the wait, i just thought of a bunch of concepts that i couldn’t finish but eventually i came up with this after rewatching infinity war and endgame so, i hope it’s worth the wait!
likes and reblogs appreciated as always <3
warnings : angst. like, wow, angst. some fluff at the end though cause this is hurt/comfort so dont worry too much. some violence but nothing too graphic
bold is jake , steven is italics
word count : 3218
masterlist
It’s been 5 years since the snap. 5 years since the Avengers lost and half of the entire universe was dusted away. Yet Marc still remembers it far too vividly. Well, how can he not when the memory of you fading, turned to dust, haunts his every night and when he wakes up, the wound feels fresh every time.
summary: you’re an ex-black widow, now working with the avengers. and marc spector, a soldier gone vigilante, is your target. so who’s this steven guy, and what’s up with the giant skeleton bird?
relationships: moon boys x fem!reader
total wordcount: 20k
warnings: violence, language, episode five, specific warning listed in each part
ALSO I’M DELETING LAYLA I’M SORRY I LOVE HER TOO BUT I FOR THE SAKE OF THE FIC I MUST
this series is complete!
[pictures aren’t mine]
🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙
part i- the mission
“and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.” -mahmoud darwish
you head to britain to begin your most recent assignment: to find the vigilante marc spector.
part ii- the scarab
“the moon taught me there is beauty in darkness too” - marine ashnalikyan
steven gets arrested, there’s a cult, and apparently, a magic bug. how did you get roped into this?
part iii- cairo
“i am a deserted sky, and you are the moonlight” - manoj muntashir
arthur harrow causes more problems
part iv- the hunt
“the moon in me finds the sky in you” - dikshasuman
a bit of breaking and entering, a touch of mummy surgeons
part v- the boat
“we are all like the bright moon, we still have our darker side” - kahlil gibran
grave robbing and a shootout lands you in a bit of trouble. ok, i guess being dead is a lot of trouble
part vi- fault
“someday someone will bring the moon down for you in the shape of their love” - dikshasuman
a dive into the past to save the future
part vii- choice
“hug me like the night holds the moon” - alexandra vasiliu
two resurrections that could arguably give that jesus dude a run for his money
part viii- home
“love you to the moon and to saturn” - taylor swift
you come back from your mission with a little more than you expected. namely, a boyfriend.
paring: moon boys x fem! reader; established relationship
genre: fluffy af you could float on it mentally like a cloud ☁️
a/n: for the lovely person who requested more tiktok couple trends with the moon boys.
tagging: @twwcs
-------
Steven:
He was on his way to work when he said, "I love you! Laters Gators!", he was outside the door.
But when you didn't say it back, he immediately pokes his head in. "Love?"
"Hmm?" you look up from your position, sitting on a dining chair.
"I said I love you"
"Hmm"
"Hello?" he waves his hand in front of you, walking towards you. "Darling?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"I love you"
"I know"
He looks confused for a second before he realises, "This is one of your pranks, innit?", he shakes his head slightly, his curls following the direction.
You can't hold your laugh anymore.
"Alright, that's it. I need you to say it, now, darling. Can't go without it. I love you!" he bends down to kiss your cheek. He presses his lips on your cheek, neck, nose, all over your face"
"I love you!" you blurt out, still giggling and capturing his lips with yours. "So much"
"That wasn't so hard, was it, love?" now he is the one smiling.
"You know I love you" your expression softens, you reach out to touch his cheek.
"I know, darling. I know", smiling, he takes your fingers closer to his lips and kisses the tips and then back of your hand, making your heart flutter with warmth and familiar love.
You can't help but smile. How did you get so lucky?
Marc:
"Anything else?"
"Hmm, just grab some chocolates on the way, thanks!"
Marc wanted to run for quick grocery shopping.
"Got it, I love you!"
"Okay"
He stops in his tracks, frowning. "Baby, did you forget something?"
You put on your serious thinking face, pretending to think, "Nope, just the chocolates"
Okay, maybe you didn't realise it.
"I love you, sweetheart"
You hum in response, not moving an inch from the couch you are sitting down comfortably.
He lets out a sigh. "Now you are doing it on purpose"
"Doing what?" you feign innocence.
"Say it back" he sounds serious, his eyebrows meeting together in concentration. He strides towards you, sitting next to you grumpily. "I'm not going out. Say it back", his expression softens a bit, his voice like a silent plea.
He yearns for it. Simple confirmation of reciprocated love.
"Marc" you laugh softly, giving in. You cup his face tenderly and caress his cheek with your thumb.
"I love you", a kiss on his forehead. "I love you", a reminder. "I love you", everything is alright. "I love you", a promise.
His face eases into a lovely smile.
"Ah, there. Better now. You look so handsome when you lose that grumpy eagle expression"
"What now?"
"Nothing" you kiss his lips.
"What grumpy eagle?"
"I love you, baby!", you get up and make your way to the kitchen to grab a snack, giggling to yourself.
"What grumpy eagle?" he asks again with serious voice, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Y/n/n?" he follows you to the kitchen making you laugh again.
Jake:
"I'll pick you up today, wait for me, querida" he unlocked the car door. "I love you, princesa"
Jake wanted to drop you off at work today, even though you insisted you could take the bus. What? His princesa taking the bus? Not on his watch.
"Mm hmm" you nod, opening the door and getting out.
You didn't even make full ten steps, he hurriedly gets out of the car, following you and grabbing your hand.
"Cariño, did you forget it?" he gives you cocky smirk.
"Oh, silly me" you smile and lean to kiss his cheek.
"Princesa" the cockiness in his voice was gone.
"Right" you peck his lips.
He still doesn't let go of your hand.
"What's wrong, Jake?" you ask with a subtle mischievous smile tugging at corners of your lips.
He doesn't want to seem desparate. He let's out a frustrated sigh.
"Princesa" this time his voice sounds little whiny, any trace of cockiness long gone.
"What?"
"Querida, are you angry?"
"No, why?" you have mastered the art of innocent face by now.
"You are really going to make me say it" he gazes into your eyes. That's alright, if you wanted him to ask for it, he would. For you, he would get on his knees and beg. He opens his mouth.
"Te amo, papi" you take his hands in yours with a sweet smile on your face, replacing the mischievous one.
His lips stay parted for a couple of seconds. You could see his eyes widening ever so slightly.
Your little confession in Spanish sounded like choir of angels singing in his ears. You never spoke in Spanish before with him and it felt more soft, more intimate, like a secret between just the two of you. Warmth spreads in his chest like sweet honey when golden sunrays pass throw it.
"You little devil" the smile on his face lights up his entire face, making his eyes crinkle.
Your heart clenches at how much loves his eyes holds for you.
"Say it again, por favor"
"Te amo"
"Again", he places palms on sides of your face and brings it closer to his. "Por favor", he pleads, like asking for one more drop of sweet nectar.
"Te amo" the soft smile never leaves your face once.
"Eres mi corazón", he rests his forehead against yours and kissing your head. "Mi vida", he slightly tilts your chin, kissing your lips as if to physically taste every bit of sweet honey.
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