#Khonshu x Gn!reader

[chaoticcollectivenightmare]

Headcanon (Khonshu X Avatar! Reader)

POV: Khonshu falls in love with his avatar but the avatar is too afraid to confess his feelings and doesn't return Khonshu's feelings because of it. Khosnhu then sing this song.

[fr33ze-y0ur-br4in]

Hey so I saw that your requests were open and you’d be open to do Khonshu stuff. I’m so excited because he’s like my go to but there’s not a ton of content to keep me fed so I’ll just as a simple fluff head canon stuff from you. I understand if you’re busy or whatnot so no rush, have a beautiful day!

.:*・°☆. Murder Bird My Beloved.:*・°☆.

My link list is here

Pairing: Khonshu x GN!Deity!Reader

Summary: general fluffy headcanons for Big Bird Khonshu dearest (includes backstory for “meeting” I suppose, maybe how you got together? (A/n: they kinda merged together), and then just general fluff stuff)

Warnings: it’s so much omg, Reader is god/goddess/deity of Promises and has a counterpart that’s the deity of Karma, GN!Reader, 2nd POV (“you” is used in reference to reader), Y/N not used, possible spoilers for Moon Knight, canon-divergent in most aspects, as usual probably cringey, also as usual should be POC friendly but if any descriptions of skin color are detailed please let me know so I can fix it, Reader’s godly form is said to have “eyes […] so golden they seem to reflect […] stars […]” but they have an unspoken human form that doesn’t have such specifics

Word Count: 1,134

Genre: headcanons, fluff

Beta/Proofread?: yep!

Notes: I told my friend to hear me out on Khonshu and she just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose🧍listen I can eXPLAI- It started out so well but went down in quality in the second part ;-; Would anyone like to hear about what my OC that Reader is based of looks like cus I love how she’s designed

How you met + Getting together:

Technically speaking, you had always known of each other’s existence, just rarely having spoken

Given that you are not part of the Ennead, you and your counterpart were not held to as high of a pedestal as them.

You, being the deity of promises, and your counterpart, being the deity of karma from broken promises, often kept to yourselves, only going to the other deities when necessary so as to not be reeled into fights and rivalries

Honestly it worked

No one really had an issue with either of you and you had few issues with the other deities

The only reason that you would have a negative encounter with another god would be if they broke a promise, swear, or deal they made with anyone else or if their Avatar did so

That being said, you and your counterpart always knew when and if someone would break a promise. Much like Ammit, you judged someone’s (or something’s) character before anything bad happened, looking into whether they would keep their end of a bargain when they made it. Similar to Khonshu and to the disappointment of your counterpart, you didn’t give punishment until after the deal was broken, giving them a chance to change their decisions.

This is why Khonshu held a certain level of respect for you whether he’d admit it or not

He knew that even though someone was almost guaranteed to continue down the same path or fate they begun, there was always that slim chance that they’d be able to change their path, either giving them salvation and rightful rewards from you two or appropriate punishments for their wrongdoings

He saw that you were all similar in style and execution of your duties, though he held a certain level of fondness for you that he didn’t hold for your counterpart

Perhaps it’s the way your eyes are so golden when in your true form that they seem to reflect the very stars Khonshu tends to manipulate

Perhaps it’s the way you’re the reason people gain a second chance, your counterpart wishing to be more like Ammit in that they believed you should punish the bad before they can affect the world

Perhaps it’s the way you have your own set of rules that you are determined to stick to:

Minor broken promises that have little effect on the world and anyone in it are not to be punished with anything more severe than a lingering feeling of regret for a bit of time

Promises broken having something to do with love are to be punished over time, rarely having an instant punishment to quickly get over, and shall have a lasting effect on the person or people in the wrong

Mortals are to have only three chances to break a major promise before their punishments are to be fitting for their level of importance to the course of the world

Gods, sometimes understandably having to go back on their word for the sake of the greater good, have five chances at most to break positive world-changing promises

You and your counterpart are to never break a major promise more than one time, two times being the point of worthy imprisonment

Never in your several thousand years of existence have you felt it necessary to break any or your rules, always sticking to them no matter what

Your counterpart, unknown to you being slowly corrupted by Ammit, disagreed with the rules and thought that humans shouldn’t break a promise more than once to be worthy of punishment, deities should have no restrictions on their deals, and you two of all people shouldn’t have to be punished for your wrongdoings

After Ammit and your counterpart nearly succeeded in taking all bad in the world and turned it in their favor, you helped the Ennead to imprison the two of them burying them deep in tombs so as to never be released.

Khonshu saw how even you, the counterpart and friend of the Karmic deity, were unwilling to bend your principles even if it meant taking on the entirety of the world’s promises and karma on your own

He decided you would be a good person to have on his side, beginning to call upon you in any situation he deemed fit, even daring to call upon your own judgment within the Ennead’s circle of decisions whether the other gods saw it appropriate or not

This is how over the course of a few thousand years, it became known to any who heard legends of the two of you that you belonged to each other, finding a mutual love for each other over the time you share

General Headcanons (after establishing relationship):

If you weren’t already a god/goddess/deity, you’d better believe he’d make you one. Although since you already are one, he holds you to the highest degree of devotion possible, not having any regard for whether or not it offends the others

Even though you didn’t, he’d treat you as though you helped to hang the stars above

Boy you have him wrapped around your godly finger 💀 (

Probably the typical “I hate everyone and refuse to listen to anyone except my perfect wonderful amazing lovely wife” type of god, yk?

Genuinely thinks you can do no wrong, it’s probably not even healthy but he loves you so it’s fine

(okay I know this is probably so unlike him but I am so obsessed with the idea that anyone resembling a crow in any way loves to bring random shiny things to people they like so I can just see him bringing you random bits of precious metals and gems to the point that all that he collects is able to be made into a whole ahh shrine or smt for you)

Not a headcanon but I’m now realizing i should’ve done human!reader cus that’d be easier for general headcanons but I’ll make that later

After he gets banished, you become more enraged than you ever had been, choosing to follow him instead of staying with the others

Hopelessly devoted to youuuuu~🎶

Falls even harder if that was possible

He makes sure that any Avatars he picks are worthy in your eyes

After a particularly difficult mission Marc took on, before the events of the show, Khonshu considered dropping him altogether

You easily convinced him to do otherwise, telling him how crucial he’d be to the world in the future

The only reason Khonshu held onto Marc and Steven for so long even if he’d threaten to drop them was because of your words always echoing in his mind even with the slight doubt that came with seeing Steven’s performance

After the events of Ammit, he never doubted a word you said again, always taking your words as the highest level of truth to be said

A/n: I’m sorry the last half sucks, I tried to make it as well as possible but I think my tiredness is getting the better of me seeing as it’s now 11:30 at night for me rn- I hope you like it either way <3

[ivystoryweaver]

The Box (Fluff edition)

Read the NSFW version My Masterlist

Summary: You have a secret to share with Marc. A box under your bed. But he may have one too.

Paring: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Notables: One-shot. This story has 2 versions. This is the f l u f f version. (It also has more plot). The story starts the same, but completely changes after the divider. (dividers by saradika)

Warnings: fluff, mention of reader in danger, cursing, not beta'd

Sometimes you can know someone so well and still be completely blindsided by their secrets. But some secrets really aren't that big of a deal. Right?

Marc, your boyfriend of six months, had asked you to move in with him.

You had a shitty roommate anyway, so you were ecstatic. Plus Marc lived much closer to your job.

Some of your friends - the few who always had something to say about Marc - cautioned you that it was too soon. That you didn't know one another well enough. You calmly explained to them that you had spent practically every waking moment with him for the last 187 days. These were the friends who labeled Marc too quiet, grumpy and when they were feeling especially rude: boring or moody. (Maybe you needed new friends)

Your other friends encouraged it. They knew how crazy you were about Marc, and their opinion was that you could really get to know someone by living with them. These friends saw how Marc was protective of you - always walking you where you needed to be, always waiting for you after work. They enjoyed his rare but funny jokes, and appreciated his poker skills.

A few of them, guys and girls alike, were absolutely crazy about his American accent.

"Who knows what kind of things you'll learn about Mr. Mysterious?" Your best friend teased. That's what she liked to call Marc, even to his face. Well, she wasn't wrong.

Marc had trusted you with all manner of personal information, including the fact that he was actually a system. Just last week, before he asked you to move in, you met Steven. Marc told you Steven was his alter.

You started to wonder what Marc could even see in you. He was this complex, well-traveled, multi-lingual retired solider. And he definitely had that mysterious vibe going. Hadn't he met so many other interesting people?

His answer was that you always accepted everything he told you, as if he were completely normal. And that he loved you.

So given the fact that your relationship was solid, loving and secret-free (for the most part), why were you so nervous to tell him about your teeny tiny, little secret? It couldn't be more interesting than his background.

So why couldn't you show him your box?

Since you were a kid, you had inadvertently collected a box of...comfort items. It was kind of embarrassing. However, Marc always put his trust in you, right?

So you decided, if you were going to live with Marc and share a closet with him - it was time to either get rid of The Box (not likely) - or show it to him. You were certain he wouldn't even bat an eyelash at the items inside or the thought of you using them. He would probably be all for it.

Your favorite item was something you typically only used it when Marc was gone on a trip, or on an occasional night alone, if you had trouble sleeping.

He was coming over tonight to help you pack up your kitchen, since there was no way in hell your shitty roommate would ever help you. You had already asked him to spend the night, so the situation would lend itself to this exact conversation.

"I have to tell you something."

Marc was relaxing on your bed - one hand behind his head and the other, stretched out to hold yours. Having shed his hoodie after working up a light sweat packing your entire kitchen, his almost-too-tight t-shirt sleeves wrapped deliciously around his biceps.

Damn he was pretty.

Releasing his hand, you reached under the edge of your bed and pulled out The Box. Marc's dark eyebrows shot up while the corner of his mouth curled.

"What's in there?"

Hoping you didn't seem like the biggest weirdo, you slowly removed the lid. "I've been wanting to show you this, but...I didn't know what you would think."

Sitting up a little, he leaned over to get a peek. You slammed the lid back on The Box with a squeak.

"Come on, baby, don't stop. Please show me."

Something about that little beg made you tingle all over.

"Okay," you breathed out, finally removing the lid. "I know it'll seem like a little much but...well, just look."

Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Marc peered down into The Box, rummaging around in your secret stash.

"Iiit's...like...an emergency preparedness kit?" One eyebrow shot up questioningly.

Laughing out, you realized how it must seem. The Box contained several types and sizes of flashlights, numerous batteries, candles of various sizes, a few lighters, matches and mats and dishes to set the candles on. There were also a few packages of glow sticks. Now that he mentioned it, you surely would be prepared for a power outage.

That was the whole point!

"Who is this?" He asked, reaching for the most embarrassing item of all. "Is this like an eagle? Or a - "

"Falcon," you corrected, swallowing hard.

"Cute," Marc shrugged, squeezing the fluffy stuffed animal. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

Slowly nodding, you watched his handsome face carefully for any judgment.

Marc's previously teasing smile eased into something warm as his fingers toyed with the furry fake feathers, and squeezed the black tip of its beak. Then he noticed something on its fuzzy, plush midsection.

"Oh, what's this?" Leaning in closer, he noticed a circle made of hard plastic.

"Push it," you instructed.

He complied and a bright light shined in his face, temporarily blinding him.

"It's a flashlight," he chuckled. "Like a stuffed falcon tummy flashlight."

You melted at how cute he was being. Noting the bird's stoic, almost stern expression, you pointed between it and Marc's forehead.

"You know, he kind of looks like you. Very serious," you teased.

"Ha ha," Marc mocked, clicking the tummy flashlight back off. "I like it."

"I've had it since I was little," you confessed. "My dad and I used to go to the Natural History Museum. He loved the birds. Still does. That's where we got it."

Marc gently smiled, listening to you speak about your dad.

"Anyway, um...see, I haven't told you this but..." chewing on your lip, you blew out a long breath. "I'm scared of the dark."

You paused, waiting for a reaction. Marc reached for your hand, nodding encouragingly.

"That's it, that's my secret," you huffed out. "I'm totally, completely, absolutely, insanely scared of the dark. Since I was a kid. Like terrified. Like...complete phobia." Nodding down at The Box, you added, "Hence...my collection."

"Shit," Marc laughed out. "That's it? I thought you were trying to tell me you were into some skin-burning cult or something. I had no idea what you were going to say, baby."

Burying your face in your hands, you realized how silly you must sound. "I know it's dumb," you mumbled through your fingers.

"It's not - lots of people don't like the dark," he sympathized. Didn't he know it? He was the protector of the travelers of the night, after all. Not that he'd had the courage to share that with you quite yet. He'd only just told you about Steven, so he was trying to give you a few days before trying to explain an ancient Egyptian deity who imbued him with power.

"I'm surprised I didn't notice it before," he added, reaching to pull your hands down so he could see your lovely face.

"Haven't you ever wondered why I sleep with my lamp on? And why at least one light is always on when we - " Licking your lips, your eyes traveled down his body, "You know..."

"I just thought you wanted to see all this," he winked, motioning to his body.

"Always," you fired back, giggling. "So...you don't think it's weird?"

Eyeing you curiously, he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, moving The Box aside. "That you're scared of the dark?"

"That I sometimes sleep with a stuffed animal. Or - sometimes I have a flashlight on my bed, that just happens to be in the form of...a stuffed falcon?"

Reaching for Flashlight Falcon, Marc shrugged. "You mean this guy? Who wouldn't want to sleep with him? He's awesome."

"I only do it sometimes. When it's really stormy or you're out of town - stuff like that."

"You were actually worried about what I would think?" Shaking his head, he chuckled. "Honey, I promise you - I am the weird one here."

"Hey," you protested, grabbing Flashlight Falcon and bopping Marc on the arm with it. "Don't talk about yourself and Steven like that."

"I'm not. Believe me, Steven is the normal one here."

A comfortable silence fell between you and Marc decided he better confess about his nighttime routine as Moon Knight. After all, if you were going to share a bed, you would want to know where he went at night. He should have told you sooner. He just couldn't find the words.

But before he could, you spoke up again. "I actually learned how to live with the dark - mostly - when I went off to school," you quietly explained. "But...something happened to me, around two years ago."

Marc nodded for you to go on.

Then you told your deeper story. How you hardly left your flat after dark on purpose - not unless you were with a friend or a group. You rarely walked, budgeting for transportation, because you simply hated dark streets that much.

But one night, two years ago, you and your friend were walking home. She offered to walk you to your door, since you only lived a couple streets over from her, but you insisted you would be okay. The path from hers to yours was well lit, with plenty of pedestrians.

So you set off on a very brave journey when the exact wrong thing happened to someone like you. Out of nowhere, on a well-lit street, someone grabbed you.

"But nothing happened," you explained to Marc, who was looking rather worried. "Someone saved me. Like - like an Avenger or someone."

"You were saved by an Avenger?" He marveled, eyes wide as you told your tale.

"No, not actually. Or - at least I don't think so," you explained. "He - I mean, I think it was a 'he' - it looked like a man. Although he wasn't that tall. He was about your height, actually... Anyway, he was dressed like completely, head-to-toe in all white."

Well, shit... Marc swallowed hard, slowly nodding.

"He had like...this hood and this long cape - I didn't even think superheroes wore capes for real..." You mused. "Maybe except Thor. Or Doctor Strange. I don't know - but anyway, he pulled me out of the way, told me I was safe, beat the hell out of this asshole who grabbed me and like...it was amazing."

Blowing out a quick breath, you shuddered at the memory. "Scared the shit out of me, though. He had these glowing, white eyes. It made me feel so safe because they were kind of like these safe beacons...or - or flashlights. I immediately felt better."

Chewing on your lip in confusion, you added, "But I think they're meant to be intimidating. His eyes, I mean. And, of course, he was sort of wrapped up like a mummy? So that was freaky."

Marc had played the role of Moon Knight for years, and saved countless travelers, but never once had he heard one of his rescues explained back to him. He was a scary mummy who wasn't very tall with comforting/intimidating flashlight eyes.

The Moon Knight effect was meant to be felt by those deserving the wrath of Khonshu's vengeance. But he hadn't given a great deal of thought to his perception by victims. He typically just made sure they got out of the way and knew they were safe.

And you - lovely, wonderful you could have been hurt, but he got the chance to save you.

"Anyway, that's when I beefed up my Box," you concluded your story. "That night really freaked me out and - not only did I have my flashlights and candles, but...I actually dug through some storage items to find Flashlight Falcon."

"Babe, that is a very cool story," Marc finally responded, completely sincerely. "Well, except for the asshole grabbing you part." Gathering his courage, he knew this was his clear opening to tell you the truth.

"You know..." He picked up Flashlight Falcon and turned his tummy light back on. "There's an Egyptian god of the moon - protector of night travelers. His name is Khonshu. He's a falcon."

"Really?" You gasped. "I guess Flashlight Falcon was watching over me," you joked. "Maybe that's why that Avenger had flashlight eyes."

Marc chuckled, setting the plushie aside. Turning to gaze into your loving eyes, he squeezed your hands, hoping you would take this well.

"You know...when we met, you seemed a little familiar to me. But I couldn't ever figure out why. But now I know."

"You do?" You questioned, having a bit of trouble keeping up with his line of thought. Weren't you talking about falcons?

"Yeah. And it...it's a bigger secret than your uh - emergency preparedness kit or a stuffed flashlight."

"Okay," you slowly nodded. You had been so nervous about Marc learning of your Flashlight Falcon, but now he seemed like the unsure one.

"The Avenger who saved you isn't an Avenger," he explained, still holding onto your hands. "His name is Moon Knight. He is a guardian of the travelers of the night. His white suit is from Khonshu - the god of the moon."

Narrowing your eyes disbelievingly, you replied, "The moon god? Is a superhero?"

"Not the god...and not really a superhero, I guess, but...the white suit is Khonshu's healing armor. That's why it looks the way it does."

"How do you know all this?" You asked. "I mean...there are all sorts of sorcerers and demigods and aliens in the world nowadays, so it's not so hard to believe. But how do you know?"

Staring into your eyes, Marc granted you a hopeful smile. "Because…he’s me."

Sometimes you can know someone so well and still be completely blindsided by their secrets. But some secrets really aren't that big of a deal. Right?

Marc, your boyfriend of six months, had asked you to move in with him.

And now you knew that one falcon or another had always been watching over you.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc Spector-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[deadqueerboys]

Steven: You're always mean with me.

Konshu: No i'm not! I didn't even talked about how dumb you look in that suit from last night.

Steven: You just.. okay, forget it!

[hoedamn-eron]

just breathe

After being kidnapped by Harrow, you don't know whether to kiss Marc or kill him.

Warnings: Some swearing. Near death experience; reader almost drowns. Some inaccuracies regarding Harrow and Ammit's cane, but nothing drastic. Marc and Harrow may be slightly, a little bit, OOC. Lightly proofread. Word count: 2,784 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Requested by @ahookedheroespureheart. I know I promised this 2 weeks ago, I'm sorry. I'm also sorry this took 4 months to get written and get out, I hadn't actually forgotten about it, the prompt was sat in my drafts the entire time! Here's the original ask. It turned more into a Marc Spector fic than a system one, but Steven is mentioned.

You wake up to a room that was unfamiliar to you. You could barely hear yourself groan at the splitting headache you had. You tried to open your eyes but everything just seemed too bright, and it made your head throb even more.

You tried to look around you but you could barely keep your head up, your eyes flickering shut no matter how many times you tried to open them; whatever you were drugged with was evidently still in your system. Your limbs felt heavy and you couldn’t really feel your legs. You could feel yourself getting hot and your breathing quickened as the panic settled in your chest heavily, more so when you found you were tied to a chair and couldn’t move.

You don’t fully remember what happened. You had just come home after an internal panic because your boyfriend (or potential boyfriend, you hadn’t actually had that conversation yet) had told you he needed to talk to you tonight, about something important. He didn’t specify what for, and maybe that’s why you didn’t notice the strange man in your flat. You were unconscious before you could even threaten to scream.

The chill of the grey stone room settled on your clammy skin, causing you to shiver, but you couldn’t tell if it was the cold, the drugs, the panic, or a combination of all. You tried to take deep breaths, seeing if that could help you in any way, but honestly, you felt the cold air to be stifling. What if you had been targeted for human trafficking? God, your boyfriend/not boyfriend always told you that you had to start keeping an eye on your surroundings, but you had just laughed at him and called you paranoid. What had you done to get yourself in this situation?

“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s more of who you know.”

The too calm, icy voice caused you to freeze. You hadn’t realised you had been muttering to yourself, a habit you had tried hard to break. You tensed as you felt the man standing behind you, his footsteps slow as he circled you. He evidently wasn’t in any hurry, feeling the need to analyse you in your place still tied to the chair.

As the drugs slowly left your system, you were able to look up properly, your sight coming more into focus. The man walked around with a slight limp, a glowing walking stick in his hand. He had shoulder length grey hair, and he was looking at you with an almost amused look on his face. You didn’t recognise him, but he was looking at you with familiarity, and the way he muttered your name caused a chill throughout your body, and you were positive that this time, it wasn’t the cold around you.

“I apologise for the circumstances in which we are meeting. You must have a lot of questions,” the man said. “But we don’t really have the time, I’m afraid.”

“What am I doing here?” you ask, your voice a little croaky. You held back the urge to cough. “Who are you?”

“Where are my manners?” the man chuckled, but you didn’t find anything even slightly amusing. “I’m Arthur Harrow. I’m the avatar of Ammit, a great Goddess, known for the time of judgment.” Harrow leaned forward, giving you a soft smile that wasn’t all too kind, making you feel slimy. “And you, my dear, are needed for someone’s attention.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand, I’m no-one. I don’t even…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’re far beyond confused. You wracked your brain to see if you knew anyone who might have pissed off anyone even remotely important, but you get nothing. The name ‘Ammit’ sounded familiar though; there’d been some weird not-a-cult-but-it-was-definitely-a-cult activity near your neighbourhood, and you’d heard someone near the dodgy alleyway that led to the not-so-abandoned block of flats mention the name. You tended to avoid going that way on the way to work, but sometimes you were running late and that was the quickest route.

“Now, now, don’t get yourself so worked up,” said Arthur, mockingly patting you on the shoulder, causing you to flinch. “If all goes to plan, then you don’t have to get hurt.”

“Please,” you plead, tears coming to your eyes as you shake your head. “I don’t know anybody, please. I want to go home.”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid. You see, Marc Spector and I are due a chat.”

Marc? What did he want with Marc?

Your heart hammered in your chest at the thought of your not-boyfriend. You bet Marc was wondering where you were, why you weren’t at your flat to greet him for dinner that night (how long ago was that night anyway? One day? One week?). Would he have called the police? He’d told you he had a stint in the military so maybe he knew people in high places to find you. Or, if ‘the conversation’ was going to happen at dinner, he might have been planning to break things off, so he might not bother looking for you again.

The thought sat heavy in your chest. What if that’s exactly what happened? What if you’re never found, and this is where you die? You felt sick at the thought of no-one finding you, not coming to get you, and leaving you to rot wherever you had been taken.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sudden sounds of distant gunfire, and muffled yelling. You stared wide eyed at the closed door, Harrow not looking the least bit bothered by the sudden sounds of violence. You could feel your chest tightening again with panic, your breathing quickening as you looked back at Harrow, who merely raised an eyebrow at you as he took a few steps forward. “Time to go.”

You start struggling again, shaking your head and pleading, “No, no, no,” over and over again as Harrow unbound you from the chair, pulling you along with him out towards the shouts and gunshots (he was stronger than he looked, and you were still a little wobbly on your legs). His grip on your upper arm was tight as you were dragged along equally freezing stone corridors, before coming into a large room, almost like a cave, standing on a small platform surrounded by a deep pool of water.

You felt the hairs on your arms stand up at the sudden silence. There were unconscious bodies – or dead, you weren’t sure – scattered around the opposite side of the room, a mix of weapons in their hands or strewn along with them across the floor. Harrow kept a tight grip on your arm, looking around with a furrowed brow, his jaw tight as you still struggled to escape his grip. You weren’t sure what he was looking around for, but you felt Harrow tense as a shadow crossed the wall, revealing a tall, muscled man in a suit of what looked like bandages, covering his entire body and a hood over his head. He was stood with his shoulders squared, his glowing white eyes aimed at you and Harrow.

Harrow smiled. “Nice of you to join us, Marc.”

Your eyes widened. Marc?

“They have nothing to do with this, Harrow,” the suited man – Marc – said.

You must be dreaming. There was no way any of this was real, from the kidnapping in your own flat to seeing a masked being (who might just be your boyfriend-not-boyfriend) with glowing eyes. You couldn’t stop staring. What was this? What was going on? Since when was Marc some vigilante, fighting against killer cults dressed like a caped mummy? What was happening?

“They got you here, Marc, and that’s all I needed.”

Marc called your name, his mask seemingly unravelling from his face. He looked a little battered and bruised, and his dark hair was a bit of a mess, but it was definitely Marc. He was looking at you with a panic in his eyes, something you’d never seen before in your few months of casual dating. “Are you okay?”

You shakily nod. “Not hurt.”

Marc gave a nod after looking you over before looking back at Harrow. “This is between you and me, and I’m not going to let you kill innocent people.”

“Ammit’s judgement rids the world of those who could do wrong; create a perfect, non-conflict world.”

Marc practically growled at Harrow. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

Harrow hummed, giving a small smirk at Marc. “Pity. You’ve let that bird get to you.”

You silently questioned what he meant by ‘the bird’, but Harrow’s sudden pull of your arm made you come face to face with him. Again, you struggled to separate from him, looking up at him with fear and you felt the dread settle heavy in your stomach as the nonchalant look on his face, Marc shouting your name from across the room. Harrow gave what was almost a sarcastic sigh of disappointment. “I’m sorry it ended this way.”

Before you could ask what he was talking about, tell him he didn’t sound sorry at all, you were violently pushed you towards the edge of the platform.

You let out a scream as you were thrown backwards, straight towards the water. You heard Marc scream your name before gasping as the cold water hit your skin, drenching you and water filling your mouth. You struggled against your bindings, the panicking settling deep in you. The water was deeper than you thought and you could barely make out what looked like Marc and Harrow fighting above you. Your lungs were already starting to burn, and the more you struggled, the more you sank further down into the water. You could almost touch the bottom, you surface darker and further away.

If you didn’t get out now, you would drown.

You pulled and pulled at your restraints, but your arms were useless after the drugging and being stuck in the same position for a long time. If you didn’t free your arms, you couldn’t free your legs to swim back to the surface. The water was freezing, and your muscles kept tensing, trying to keep what little heat you already had in your body.

Looking back up momentarily at the surface, you couldn’t see Marc or Harrow. You wondered what happened. You wondered if Harrow had won the fight, that Marc was suffering the same fate as you, sinking to the bottom of the pool, trying to fight his way to the surface. Marc had mentioned to you once that he wasn’t so fond of deep water and struggled to swim because of it.

You tried to hold back a sob, a few bubbles escaping your mouth as you gave another weak pull at your wrists, black spots appearing in your vision as you grit your teeth, trying to keep conscious. You don’t know how long you had been down here, but it seemed like Marc had either lost or left, probably cutting his losses. Like you said, you weren’t that serious, only casually dating. You hadn’t even had that conversation yet.

He'd meet someone new, probably. He was a good-looking guy, and very charming, he’ll have no problems finding someone else. And his hair…you wished you had ran your fingers through it more; those curls would melt even the coldest of hearts.

Yeah, Marc Spector would be okay.

You close your eyes, letting the darkness envelope you, barely noticing the figure diving in the water above you.

Something was pushing heavily on your chest, over and over again.

It hurt, and you were sure that after dying, nothing should hurt.

“Come on,” grunted Marc, compressing again and again on your chest. “Breathe. Come on, baby, breathe!”

You felt his lips over yours, breathing air into your lungs. Your eyes snapped open and you spluttered, Marc pulling away from you quickly and turning you on your side, patting your back firmly as you coughed, your lungs still burning from the water you were practically spewing up.

Oh my God, you had almost died.

You lay back, gasping loudly, tears streaming down your face the pain you were in. Marc helped you sit up, muttering gently to you about not moving too fast, just to keep breathing. He was already cutting away at your ties, your feet and hands coming free in moments. You shivered, still in the cave like room surrounded by the water, the chill remaining deep in your bones.

You took a good look at Marc, who was no longer wearing his suit, seeing that he was also soaked to the bone, obviously having jumped in the water after you. You heart warmed at the fact that he chose to go in after you, even after his aversion to water. You leapt to him, wrapping your arms around him, wanting – needing – him as close to you as possible. After a moment’s hesitation, Marc’s arms slipping around you, pulling you even closer to him.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m okay, baby,” said Marc, his face buried into your neck. “A little beat up but I’ll be okay.”

You both stay in each other’s arms for a few more moments, before the reality of your situation begins to creep back into your mind. Your kidnapping; Harrow and his cult; Marc being a white bandaged superhero –

“Where’s Harrow?” you ask quickly, pulling away frantically and looking around. The chamber was empty aside from the unconscious bodies and you and Marc.

Marc shook his head. “He’s gone, don’t worry about him for now.”

You turn your head to look at Marc, eyes wide. “What are you?”

Marc bit his lip nervously before he stood, holding his hand out to you. “Can you walk?”

You shakily stood, grabbing Marc’s hand as you balance yourself. You were a little wobbly but you were confident you could walk. You nod as Marc suddenly leads you out of the cave room, and you were thankful to see the back of it. You had so many questions for Marc, and as you both were walking out of wherever you were, you were spewing so many at him. His grip on your hand tightened the deeper into the cave system, still not answering your questions. You had the feeling he might just avoid the conversation all together.

You soon made it out of what felt like the maze you were trapped in, feeling the much warmer air against you skin. You took a look around, your mouth falling open at the sight of the Pyramids of Giza ahead of you.

Egypt. There was no way you were in Egypt.

“I’m in Egypt? Egypt?”

“You did mention you had always wanted to visit the Sphynx,” joked Marc, giving you a small smile.

“Seriously, Marc, what is going on?”

Marc looked at you with a desperate look on his face. He shook his head before taking a deep breath. “I serve Khonshu. The Egyptian God of the moon.” Marc closed his eyes and grimaced a moment, as if someone had suddenly shouted at him but the area around you was silent. “And the night sky; Egyptian God of the moon and night sky.”

You felt as though the air around you was stifling. There was a loud buzzing in your ear that you think might be the adrenaline waring off, the lack of oxygen from almost drowning, or it was merely your panic kicking up again. You could only stare at Marc like he had grown a second head, which wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that had happened to you. You let out a laugh of disbelief, Marc looking at you with a worried look on his face, almost as if he was scared of rejection. “I’m sorry, what?”

Marc gave you a small nod. “I’m…I’m Moon Knight. I’m the Fist of Vengeance and Protector of Travellers of the Night.”

You give another laugh, almost manic. You weren’t sure if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. “This is…this is insane, Marc, you know that don’t you?”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to have dinner!”

“I know.”

“And I was…kidnapped, because you are some superhero with a cape!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You sagged, looking away from him. “I can’t believe this.”

Marc hesitated for a moment before tentatively placing a hand on your back. “It’s not just the avatar thing.”

“What?” you breathe, looking back at him with wide, confused eyes.

Marc sighed, giving you a tired and heavy look. “I need to introduce you to Steven.”

Your brow furrowed at him, looking at him in confusion. “Who’s Steven?”

Tagged - @ahookedheroespureheart, @eonnyx

Black moon divider by @djarrex.

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Homecoming

Title: Homecoming

Part 8 of Scribe of the Gods Series: Epilogue Pt. 1

Pairing: Steven grant x gn reader (platonic), Marc spector x gn reader (platonic)

Rating: PG

Word Count: 6k

Description: Many months after the attack of Cairo, Marc and Steven have done their best to return to normalcy. While doing so, they await for the return of the Scribe, who had been away during this time to help the Ennead return to its former state. Finally, the scribe is able to return home, with much to discuss.

A/N: .... HI.

It has been... far too long. This was long overdue, and I want to say thank you to those who have been patient. It means so much to me that you all were so willing to wait while I was away, a lot has happened but I genuinely did not want to leave this unfinished. I felt like I had to finish the story. Originally, I wanted to have one single chapter for the epilogue, but I decided that I should split it up as a thank you to those who were patient. I hope you all enjoy, I'm incredibly rusty and i didn't go back to edit this because i just wanted this out so you guys know what i've had collecting dust for the last few months. 100000 percent promise that i plan to and will most likely go back and edit this, but I really couldn't wait to throw this out there. Love you all. RAHHHHHH

London library has felt more empty in the last six months now that it has one less presence. Taking the weekly trips to the library just wasn’t what it used to be for Steven, who often took the trip to rotate his book cycles for his nightly readings. Now that y/n had gone off to all ends of the earth on behalf of the Ennead, there was no one to carry the same conversations the unlikely duo had prior. Steven didn’t blame y/n or feel any ill towards them leaving him and Marc and the life they had in London. In fact all he had was pride for them. They had a big job to accomplish, judging from everything they’d told him with all of the letters they’d sent to his and Marc’s flat. Writings on postcards that served as a reminder that the scribe thought of them, that they were still around in his life.

Despite their loud absence, Steven still kept the habit of visiting the library, but not under the same urgency as before now that he was no longer as afraid of wandering about under the night sky as he was before. His relationship with Marc had finally found balance. The man no longer stayed awake at night , fearful of ending up in obscure places. Marc promised Steven that now that they were no longer serving Khonshu there was no more reason for him to leave the apartment during the night to go on missions. Steven was relieved to find this out, as it meant that he was able to put himself to ease during the night, and now he got to read for his own pleasure rather than a desperate attempt to remain awake. 

Not only that, but Steven managed to get a job at the museum- thanks to Marc’s help- as a tour guide. He needed to refresh his knowledge of Egyptology and the library had a large selection of books for him to choose from. 

Steven thanked the librarian, a rather stern sort of woman who liked to drone on and on about herbs, picking up his books with a little polite nod, and made his way out towards the exit. He paused a few steps in, looking back at the desk once more with memories of the conversations he and y/n had floating in his head.

He gave a sigh. Thank goodness they were coming back soon.

He couldn’t wait.

One last look and he made his way out of the door and into the London streets.

—----

It’s been too long since y/n stepped foot in the London Library. Six months. Give or take. They’d stopped bothering to keep track after the numerous tasks they’d completed on behalf of the Ennead. For whatever it’s worth, the six months were filled to the brim with ensuring the gods’ work in the mortal realm ran smoothly. 

The first few weeks were the worst of it. When the temple had just fallen and all the avatars had died there was nothing short of utter chaos. All of the gods were adamant for y/n’s help, insecure that they no longer had a human vessel to be able to oversee their work; they insisted that they were the first to receive the young thing’s assistance. Y/n did what they could to assist the individual gods, trying to tend to their needs in a matter of urgency rather than agreeing to any given moment.

They had to be firm about their servitude, Osiris told them after a meeting gone poorly- one of the gods had complained over y/n’s unavailability to help their request. But Osiris vouched for y/n and reprimanded the god for expecting y/n to waiting for a job to simply be handed to them, they were a human child, Horus. Where are your children now that we are all scrambling to get back on our feet?- they need to be mindful that the gods can forget themselves in their place of power. The god told the human scribe that as they continued their service and aid the gods, they had to prioritize what work needed to be accomplished. If a god came to them with a mundane task that could wait, y/n was allowed, even encouraged, to tell the god that the job will be done later. 

“If they have a problem with it, tell them that they can come discuss it with me.” Osiris would tell them this time and time again. He wanted to make certain that the scribe didn’t overwork themselves or felt the need to always say yes. And y/n took this advice, and had to use it many times, but they were grateful to have a god look out for them the way Osiris did.  

While the gods were generous enough to allow y/n an opportunity to work outside of the library, the only issue that came from this  was that y/n had no reliable place to stay. On normal accounts, before the collapse of the Ennead and their temple due to the demise of Ammit, they were able to rest between councils within the chambers of the temple. They’d find a little corner far enough where no one could disturb them and catch up on sleep while the avatars drank and caught each other up in their lives outside of ceremonial duties. 

Such was not the case anymore. All that resides in the chambers now are the ghosts of the avatars and the destruction of Ammit. Neither suitable company for the scribe to stay as they worked for the gods.

Despite all the time that'd passed, the chambers still suffered from Ammit’s destruction. Not as badly as before as every now and then y/n would lift random debris out of the way as a way to pass time, but even they didn’t have the technical skills to completely reform the chambers to what it once was. 

But six months had passed since the events of Cairo. Why was it that the pyramids and the realm of the ennead was yet to be restored? One day, amidst the gods after completing several tasks for them, the scribe inquired about this as they sat on a loose stone. Horus, in all his questionable glory, answered to the scribe. Without proper avatars, the gods had no ability to fix the destruction as they lacked a physical form. They needed humans.

Y/n thought that was bullshit, if they were being honest. They were literal gods. Why did they need an avatar’s body to be able to fix the chambers? Couldn’t a simple snap make it all better?

Whatever. It was not their place to question the gods, despite their obscurities and lack of explanations. Eventually, the chambers’ reconstruction finally started. It took longer than it should have when very few followers came for the call of Horus to aid in reconstruction, but progress was still being made. 

So, with construction happening at the temple it meant that y/n was unable to reside in the rubble of the chambers anymore. Instead, they spent their off hours in between hotel rooms and air bnbs. They didn’t mind it though, they finally had a proper bed and had a decent meal that consisted of something other than the Molokhia the gods had given them for the last six months. But really, to y/n, anywhere was better compared to staying in the london library. 

There was no point renting an apartment space when the gods started to send them to the ends of the earth for all sorts of missions. Whether it be recruiting a potential candidate for one of the gods, or scavenging artifacts stolen from the temple, the scribe had more on their plate than they’d anticipated and had no time to settle in one place for very long. They didn’t complain. The gods gave them the means to pay for living arrangements and for meals, and the pay was better than the one they received from working for the library. 

Six months. Six months was a long time, now that they thought about it. 

Thank the gods they were finally able to go home now. 

—-----

Now that they thought about it, the first time y/n had been to Steven and Marc’s apartment they weren’t even invited in. Should they knock? 

They stood in front of the door, but weren't sure how Steven and Marc would react to them suddenly showing up the day before they were supposed to. The two men were expecting y/n to show up the next day. They’d even insisted on picking them up at the airport and going out for lunch. Well, that was the original plan. Until the gods had decided to let y/n leave earlier out of gratitude and granted them a portal to anywhere they desired, it was only natural that they decided to end up at the front steps of the system’s apartment. A little surprise visit doesn’t hurt anyone, right? 

The scribe straightened up, realizing they’d spent too long standing idle at the door and needed to make a move. They raised their fist and rapped on the door several times. And when no one answered they waited a few more moments before knocking once more. 

Hm. No one was home. y/n uncomfortable shifted in place, waiting a little longer to make sure that no one was actually home before they began deciding their next move. Should they stay in place and wait for the men to come home? Would that be too awkward? Having the men walk into their apartment floor and find the young adult sitting on the space next to their door? Would it just be better to leave altogether and try to come back later? What if they miss the men again? They could always go, but the question is where? It’s not like they have a place to stay nor anywhere that seemed decent enough to crash, and-

“y/n?”

The voice from across the hall snapped y/n out of their thoughts almost immediately. Steven, in all his glory, stood at the space of the elevator that’d just opened. He stared at the scribe as though he’d unable to perceive that they were actually there. 

y/n faltered a moment, unexpected at the sight of the man faster than they were anticipating, and gave Steven a small smile, a little embarrassed that at the end of it they did just loiter in steven’s space like they didn’t want to.

“Hey, Steven.” They greeted him warmly. 

The gift-shopist turned tour-guide seemed to stumble in his words as an incoherent string of words fell numb to y/n’s ears. They tried to give him an encouraging smile, walking to steven’s space in the elevator as he remained frozen in place. Too frozen, in fact, as the door of the elevator began to shut with him still inside. 

“Uh, the door-” y/n jumped in their place, arm outstretched for the door though the gift shopist stuck their arm through in time to alert the motion detector. The doors stretched open as did Steven’s arms as he took y/n in for a big hug, which they happily reciprocated. It was the kind of hug where they teetered in place very slowly, taking in each other’s presence after months of being apart, 

“What’re you doing here so early?” Steven asked between breathy chuckles, slowly  pulling y/n away from him, they took a good look at the man and realized he’d sported a light stubble. “Ain’t we’s supposed to pick you up tomorrow?”

The scribe gave them a warm smile. “The Ennead let me go early!”

“Hmm. Are you sure it was ‘cause they couldn’t wait to get rid of you.” y/n didn’t miss the sly smirk steven sported.

“Shut up.” They retorted, lightly pushed Steven’s shoulders. “Just be happy I wanted to come back.”

The gift shopist grabbed at his shoulder and glanced at the doorstop, “Is that all you’ve brought with ye? Let me help you.” He of course was referring to the two duffel bags of y/n’s personal belongings that sat at his doorstep. For six months they’d lived off of everything in the bags and it was painfully obvious from the wear and tear of the bags themselves. Before they could insist that they could carry the items Steven already had his hands on the bags and was looking through his keys for his front door. 

The door flew right open in a matter of moments and Steven stepped to the side, grinning at the scribe as he gestured for them to go ahead. 

“Right, come on in. Make yourself at home”

—------

No matter how many times they’d reassured Steven that really, they didn’t mind, Steven profusely apologized for the state of his apartment. He droned for a few moments stating that with his new job he’d not had the time to tidy up nor did Marc want to clean after Steven, (“He says I’m in charge of cleaning up my own mess. The nerve of ‘him, talkin’ to me like I’m a child!”) all the while y/n paid little mind and allowed their eyes to wander. Yes, they’d been in the apartment once, but that was many months ago. And it wasn’t like they had the time to take it in back then. Back then, when they were observing Marc and Steven from afar under the orders of a concerned Djehuty. They hummed to themselves, remembering the late nights sitting atop of Marc’s rooftop while listening for any sign of disturbances that could happen to the men. 

Y/n sighed deeply, eyes wandering to the window they used to sit by. It wasn’t that long ago. Look how things have changed. 

From where they sat nestled in a quaint green armchair, y/n felt like they were back in the London Library. Nestled amongst an alarming number of books, manuscripts, a tombstone of forests and papetry. Every nook and cranny of the apartment was filled with paper. All that was missing from the library was the occasional bun-wearing, shushing librarians and underpaid security guards. 

“Did you read all of these?” y/n picked up a loose book resting close to them, lifting the cover to their sight.

Steven responded from his kitchenette, fiddling with three assorted mugs as he kept himself busy making something to drink for the two. “Yeah, more or less.” 

“Huh,” y/n lowered the book, smoothing their fingers across the cover as they glanced again at the books around them. “With all of these books there’s not much use going to the library. You have your own here.”

Steven walked over to the scribe and offered out their drink to them. “ I make a habit of buying books I like after reading them borrowed ones. Keep ‘em here like little trophies, yknow.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people.”

“Yes, I’m one of those people, but at least we’re a reason why you have a job at the library.”

They didn’t miss the amusing smirk that Steven shot their way as he plopped himself into his seat at the armchair opposite of theirs, not before settingy/n’s designated cup on the table in front of them. He took a swing from his own and a silence fell between the two. Doing their best to ignore it, y/n took another moment to discern the gift shopist’s apartment.

Steven must’ve noticed them observing the fish tank that stood loudly in the middle of the apartment, as he shifted in his seat and gestured to the papers that decorated the glass pane. All held up by magnets and were numerous by the numbers. y/n had barely noticed them with their admiration of the two fishes that swam inside. “We kept all your letters. Marc thought putting them up close to the water was a bad idea but I’s quite like them there.”

“Oh,” y/n let out a small smile at this, struck with warmth that the system liked the letters enough to put them up. Like drawings on a fridge. “I didn’t think you’d do that.”

“Of course we would. Marc wanted to know what you were up to, and liked to keep note of where you’s been since you had to be secretive about it.” Steven beamed proudly, standing up to approach the fishtank. 

“It was a necessary sacrifice,” y/n spoke, leaning over to grab their drink that Steven had prepared for them. “This was the best way I could keep in touch.”

During their time in the ennead, y/n was unable to communicate to marc and steven very often. Communication through modern devices were limited due to risks of tracing and exposing their location from those with malintentions. To help their friends know that they were still alive and well, the young avatar developed a habit of sending postcards to the system from locations they were sent to during a mission. Most of them were written with the generic, “I’m having fun’s” and “Wish you were here’s” to maintain obscurity, but y/n never missed a chance to send them so that Marc and Steven could figure out their last whereabouts from where the postcard originated from, and be relieved by the very fact that they were still alive and well. 

 “Wells,” Steven hummed to himself, turning to give the avatar a small smile as he returned to his seat. He had collected several postcards from the fishtank and waved them in the air before dropping them onto the table. Y/n watches the postcards splatter across the table, recognizing the images on the postcards from places they went to during their trip. “You have to tell us about your trips.” 

And so the scribe told Steven about their life the last six months. Giving an explanation to why they were so absent outside of handwritten letters. As they spoke Steven gave them all of his attention, sitting at the edge of his seat, forearms rested on his knees as he leaned in to every word they spoke. They made sure to speak in great detail as they continued, knowing that the gift shopist had waited a long time to be able to hear their experience firsthand. Marc finally made an appearance to make his own comments. Immediately y/n was ecstatic to hear from the marine and they began to catch up amongst themselves like they did with Steven minutes prior. By the time they were finished their mugs were empty and the sun had set.

“They had me go out and find the avatars,” y/n continued telling their story to Marc, pulling out a map from one of their bags and displaying it onto the coffee table. Marc leaned over, eying the jumbled scribbles written all over the world, marked with locations and field notes from your travels. “The gods, they chose their patrons from different parts of the world, Marc. I-I mean, I had to go to the most obscure places, finding these people, I even ended up in Jersey City, of all places looking out for this one girl-”

Marc closed the front door as he watched y/n run to their bag for the map, carrying takeout from a Vietnamese restaurant down the road. At some point during their conversation he proposed that they went to get some food. He chuckled at y/n’s demeanor now that they finally got to take out the map that they said they wanted to show him, gushing over their trips. 

“The Jackals are from Jersey,” Marc sat himself back in the chair, opening up the bag and placing their food onto the table. He lifted up a box, opening it up to make sure that he didn’t get the food switched, “My old man took me to one of their games back when I was a kid.”

He frowned at his food, eyeing the noodles. Steven began looking around the table before reaching his hand back into the bag, shuffling through napkins. “Bollocks, I think they’ve forgot my peppers.” 

“They’re here,” y/n took a small container of peppers from their side of the table and handed it over to Steven, eyes still trained on the marked locations of the map. He gave them an appreciative smile, humming as he opened up the container and poured its contents over the steaming bun bo hue he’d ordered.

He took a large bite of his food as he leaned over to take in the map displayed before him, trying to make sense of the scribbles. “Did you find all of them?”

Y/n nodded, finally reaching to grab their food. They couldn’t help but smile in content at the food when they flipped the box open. “I did. Finding them was the easy part. A lot of them were still distraught and panicked over the fact that the gods were real. One guy was so convinced that someone snuck him drugs and he was having a really bad trip. Other people took the whole thing really well, but a majority of them needed as much help as they could get from assimilating to the concept that an Egyptian god chose them as their patron.”

Marc nodded knowingly at them, “Not everybody is okay with the whole ‘gods are real’ schtick.” 

The scribe stopped looking over their map to gaze at Marc. They hesitated for a moment. It had been a really long time since they’d seen Marc, they realized now that they really had no idea of how he’s been since the attack on Cairo, whether the attack had left him with any mental troubles or injury now that Khonshu’s power was no longer there to speed up his body’s natural healing process. On the topic, y/n was greatly concerned on how Marc and Steven had been handling themselves now that they were no longer indebted to Khonshu. 

Y/n hesitated a moment as they observed Marc, who was keeping himself occupied with his meal now that there was a bit of silence to dwell in. 

Finally, they spoke. They were sure that Marc could be able to hear the hesitence in their voice, but it was too late to stop now. 

“So, how have you been? Like, with Khonshu and everything.” 

Marc said nothing for a moment. Finally, he deeply sighed. He kept his eyes trained on his soup, picking at the noodles with his utensils as he slowly spoke. “I feel much better, I would say”

“Yeah?” Y/n responded. They reached for a napkin laying on the table. 

Marc nodded. He shifted himself to lean forward more on his knees. “Like, you know how we were pretty much forced to serve Khonshu? Well, now that that’s over with, I feel like I can do whatever I want now,” He let out a sort of dry chuckle, seemingly pondering over his own words. “Like, I never understood how limited our life actually was… it feels really… open now, do you understand that?”

He continued, not waiting for the scribe’s response, a look of content written on his face. “Honestly, I feel good about it.”

Marc didn’t sound like he had any doubt about his decision to end the system’s relationship with Khonshu. When he spoke, he sounded so sure of himself and where he was currently, trying to return to normalcy after Cairo. Well, as normal as it can get for people like them, y/n reminded themselves. There was no way that either of their lives would ever be the same. They were forever thrusted into the world of the gods, and even though Marc and Steven had chosen to retire that life, y/n knew very well that they were still a pawn waiting to be used in the eyes of the gods. They just hoped that that would never be the case. For Marc and Steven’s sake, they deserved to have their retirement be undisturbed. 

“That’s,” y/n began, trying to find the courage to speak after realizing they’d remained silent a little too long. They blinked several times. “That’s great. That’s really great. I’m happy for you two.”

Steven beamed at them, shifting in his seat after putting his meal back on the table. “Ye, it is really. I’s been real nice not havin’ any more trouble at work because of that nasty old crow.”

“He caused you both more harm than good,” The scribe nodded knowingly at Steven’s words. 

Steven swallowed another portion of his soup, rubbing off the droplets that trailed from his lips. He cleared his throat, but y/n’s attention was fixated on the napkin he’d dropped on the table. He didn’t wait for the scribe to acknowledge him, but they were able to hear the way he was trying to tread lightly as he spoke.

“Speakin’ of the gods,” He began slowly, waiting a moment to make sure that y/n had nothing to say before he continued, “now that you’re done workin’ for the Ennead, have you put any thought to what you’re going to do with Djehuty?”

It was obvious that this question came to y/n as a surprise when they jolted at the mention of the god. Steven hummed anxiously and raised his hands toward the scribe, profusely apologizing for bringing up the god in question.

“No, no it’s fine,” y/n raised a hand to reassure Steven. “It’s just, it’s the last thing I want to think about right now. Djehuty hasn’t approached me since I first started working for the Ennead, and everyday since then it’s been this waiting game of when he’ll actually show up again. I’m a little on edge, I guess.”

“You still don’t want to see him?” Marc stood up. He stretched his arms into the air briefly before throwing them down again, observing the contents on the table. By this time, all of their food had been finished save for the spring rolls they’d decided to split together. There was one left that sat there for a lot longer than it should have, neither y/n nor marc wanted to be the person to take it out of courtesy. 

“No,” y/n glanced up at Marc. He stood over the scribe with the spring roll offered out to them, they gave him a brief monotonous look before accepting the spring roll from him. They inspected it before taking a small bite. They hummed, scanning the table for peanut butter sauce while Marc began clearing the plates away. 

“Why is it you don’t want to see Djehuty, again?” The utensils clinked in Marc’s hands as he gathered up what he could, swiping his finger into the peanut butter sauce as y/n grabbed the container. He raised it to his mouth to taste and made his way to the kitchenette to dispose the takeout boxes. 

“ ‘cause most likely he’s going to ask me to be his avatar again,” y/n states after swallowing from their bite. The scribe took another bite of the roll, gathering their own mess of napkins and peanut butter sauce and making their way to where Marc was in the kitchen. They spared him a glance as they approached. He had this look on his face that told them that he was choosing his next words carefully. 

They opened Steven’s fridge, eying for a spot before placing the peanut butter sauce somewhere for Steven to taste later. Marc reached for his drink from the countertop, “And what would your response be?”

There’s a pause. And Marc is observing y/n with a look on his face that made them feel like they were being read like an open book. 

y/n straightened themselves up, slowly closing the fridge door to look at Marc with skepticism in their eyes. They had yet to say anything to the ex-marine, but they didn’t have to when the look that they gave him told him that he was pushing a nerve with them. But 

“You’re talking to a guy who’s well-versed in this whole avatar schtick,” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight against the kitchen counter. The man gazed at y/n with a look, “I know coping mechanisms when I see one. Instead of facing Djehuty head-on, you decided to play it safe and hide behind Ennead, but now that you’ve ditched that strategy, you’re still avoiding Djehuty even though you’re technically still his avatar. I just want to know why exactly it is you’re doing that, that’s all.”

y/n turned away from Marc, uncomfortable at the pressing question he’d asked them. They tapped their fingers against their upper thighs in an attempt to dispel the anxiety growing inside of them.

“Its just that,” they began slowly, articulating the feelings they had kept to themselves for so long into words as they spoke. They hadn’t thought that they would share this with anyone this soon, let alone the System. “if I wasn’t his avatar… then what would I even be? I can’t even imagine what I would become. It’s all I've ever known. It’s the reason I’m alive.”

“Well, yeah, its why you were alive the first time.” Marc countered plainly, a resting his face onto his open palm as he had his weight on his knees.  He didn’t miss the glare that y/n had shot him. They didn’t like to be reminded of the whole situation they’d had with Djehuty in the Duat. Although Marc did his best to respect it there were times where he wasn’t shy to tell them how it was. It struck a nerve with them every time he did so. 

“Yeah, cause who wouldn’t want their entire existence defined by being a puppet for an ancient deity. At least I wasn’t dumb enough to be manipulated into it.” 

Marc blinked at y/n’s words. He leaned back slightly, eyes fixated on the scribe as they snapped at him with a hostile air to them. He was unable to see their face as they had turned their head away from him, but he knew deep down that their outburst at him was simply a defense mechanism, a way of protecting themselves from the blunt remarks and sudden pressure to answer questions he’d put them under without warning. Marc didn’t blame them for lashing out in such a way, he probably would have done the same too if he was in their position. 

Slowly, Marc sighed from behind y/n. They could hear the slow movements he made behind him as he made his way to refill his water from the sink. They sighed, pushing their hands to their face and wiping it across their eyes. They’d forgotten themselves in that moment, and felt guilty at how they responded to Marc’s questions, he was kind enough to invite them to food and there was too much time that had passed between the two to snap at him, even if it was through a joking manner. 

“Look, Marc-”

“No, I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I’m sorry for pushing your buttons.” Marc stood by the scribe, clamping a firm hand onto their shoulder. He had faced them now, carrying a water in his hand as he offered them a small nod, acknowledging his words. He extended the glass in his hands towards them, waiting for them to take the cup from his hands before patting his open palms onto the pockets of his pants. He seemed to be looking for something as his eyes searched the room. 

“You know what? It’s been a long day, I’m sure you’re tired after all that traveling.”

“I literally went through a portal,” Y/n couldn’t help but smile at the marine with an incredulous look on their face. 

“Well you’re still in Egypt, aren’t you?” Steven mused, raising his eyebrows at the young thing. y/n rolled their eyes at Steven's whit. “It’s a whole two hours difference. What is it… it’s midnight for you, right, let’s get you ready.” y/n groaned at the statement. They weren’t tired at all from their journey. Steven was only using that as an excuse to go to bed early. They knew that he and Marc, despite being in their late 30s, were really just old men who slept for more than they should. 

“You can take the bed tonight, y/n. I’ll set up the couch for myself-ah.” Marc raised a hand to them with a firm voice telling them that there was no room for arguing. “You’re taking the bed. Tomorrow we can regroup and have more time to figure out what we’ll do now that you’re here.”

Marc left their side with one more pat before he approached a cabinet on the far side of the room. He opened it and pulled out a few blankets and a pillow before making his way to the couch. y/n observed the marine from their place in the kitchen, not daring to move until they were certain that the man was not at all disturbed by their presence. They kept watch as he made a hmph, releasing the noise while plopping himself across the couch with a blanket over him and a book in his hands.

The scribe, still unwilling to move from their place, observed the marine for a little bit longe, hoping to find reassurance that he held no grudge against them for their earlier attitude. They watched closely, but neither Marc nor Steven showed any visible signs of resentment. Instead, Steven gave them one last look, offering a genuine "goodnight" before settling down with his book.

Filled with a mix of relief and lingering guilt over their behavior, y/n glanced between the man in the couch and the bed they'd offered to him. They looked back at Steven, and after a few moments realized that they were fully staring at the man who had clearly told them goodnight. Slowly, they walked past the couch and took a peek into Steven and Marc's designated sleeping spot in their open apartment. Not to the scribe's surprise, their bed was surrounded by mountains of books that Steven had collected. Despite the overwhelming number of books it all seemed to be a sort of organized mess that only Steven could understand.

The scribe took their bags from the floor beside the couch where Steven read their book and took out some pajamas and bathroom bag. They made sure to stay quiet while they went to change and prepare for bed, scared that if they made too much noise, they would bother Steven. In the bathroom, they pulled out a shirt that read "I survived my trip to NYC," a memento they bought from a subway giftshop during a recon mission on behalf of Horus. Slipping the shirt over their head, y/n caught their reflection in the mirror.

Staring at themselves, they recognized their own face staring back at them, but a nagging sense of detachment washed over the scribe. The conversation Marc tried to have with them minutes before was fresh on their mind. They stared at themselves in the mirror, eyes flickering between one another as they tried to discern what exactly it was, they were feeling.

y/n raised their hands to grab onto the fabric of their shirt, looking down at the words as they rubbed their fingers across the fabric. Suddenly, the shirt's message seemed to mock them. The only reason they were able to get this shirt was because of their work for the Egyptian deities. In this life that they'd lived, they'd accomplished so much. They'd made a name for themselves amongst the gods and had earned their respect, but even that didn't outweigh the dangers and mental exhaustion that came with being an avatar.

But it was all that they'd ever known. This life. The life of servitude for the Egyptian gods. y/n had confidence that if they were to continue their involvement in the affairs of the gods, including Djehuty, the scribe had no doubt that they would thrive.

But was that really what they wanted? y/n slowly let go of their grip on their t-shirt, raising their hands to their face as they observed themselves in the mirror.

This was something that the scribe had contemplated since the first day they began working on behalf of the ennead. They agreed to help the gods reform the Ennead so that when it came down to it, they could go to the gods and ask them to return the favor out of the kindness that they may be able to show to an avatar that dedicated so much time to them.

The scribe had enough of staring at themselves in the mirror, hoping to pick up their toothbrush and toothpaste. They poured a dollop of paste to their brush, raising the toothbrush to their mouth, leaning over the sink to brush their teeth.

On the other hand, they pondered while brushing, there was the very big resentment towards Djehuty that held them back from being so willing to work for him again. Djehuty, who had betrayed their trust long ago by revealing that he'd stolen their soul without disclosure. They found it extremely difficult to fully trust that old bird, fearful of being deceived again.

But... despite their reservations, y/n grappled with the uncertainty of letting go. Being an avatar and serving the gods had become their identity, their purpose. It was all they had ever known, and the thought of severing that connection to become a normal human filled them with uncertainty of what their human life would hold in store for them.

Could they even do it?

If they were being honest, y/n was very jealous of Marc and Steven. The men seemed to have severed their connection with Khonshu so easily. They barely even hesitated. Now the men were building a life of their own, getting jobs, healing.

The young avatar spat out into the sink, cleaning any paste that covered their mouth before finally leaving the bathroom. They entered into the dimly lit apartment, slowly making their way to Marc and Steven's bed, not without sparing a glance to the couch where the system was settled in. Probably still reading their book. They made a mental note to themselves to ask about the book at a later time, when they'd find a good opportunity.

As they settled into the bed, y/n covered themselves with the blankets Marc had laid out for them. It felt peculiar to sleep in the bed of another man. The scribe felt like they were completely violating the system's personal space, despite Marc insisting on the arrangement, assuring them that it was completely fine.

They stared up at the ceiling, unsure if they were quite ready to sleep yet. The scribe hummed, turning to their side after some time, They listened to the water filter of Gus the Second's fish tank hum amidst the stillness of the night and the occasional turning of page as Steven flipped through his book. In the moments before sleep finally took over the young thing, y/n laid in bed and observed Gus the second swimming around in his little home. They could see him clearly, swimming and exploring in his own little world, and they couldn't help but wonder if Gus ever caught glimpses of Steven and themselves about the apartment and dreamt of leaving his home in the fish tank to explore Steven's apartment.

-----------

@astrobuzzsstuff

@blustalker

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[p-taryn-dactyl]

second poll this night sorry guys, im obsessed with these

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Pussy Magnet

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Jake was always good with animals.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: I'm so sorry I had to make this stupid joke, I'm-

Warnings: Terrible jokes, Jake stealing Steven and Marc's clothes, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 567

You can’t help but smile as you glance over at Jake. You’re in the middle of speaking with your friend, whose home you’re currently in. She had invited you to a small barbeque, which had turned into an impromptu dinner party when the heavens had opened. 

There were only seven of you in total, so it wasn’t too overcrowded. 

While everyone else were seated on, or around the large armchair and settee in the living room, Jake was the exception. 

He was laying on his side, his hand outstretched under the bookcase, slowly coaxing your friend’s new kitten out of hiding. 

There was the largest, softest smile plastered over his face as the cat slowly inches forward and sniffed his fingers. 

He had been carefully befriending the kitten over the last forty minutes, taking it as a personal mission the second your friend mentioned she had a new kitten that was painfully shy around new people. 

She was a small thing, the runt of the litter, black and white with wide green eyes. Your friend and her partner had affectionately named her ‘Newspaper’.  

Slowly Newspaper crept closer to him, a few careful steps forward until she was completely out from under the bookshelf’s protection. She paused, watching Jake carefully before shuffling closer again. 

Your friend asks you a question and you turn back to her and the conversation around you. 

It’s about twenty minutes later that Jake comes and sits down next to you, grinning intently. 

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow playfully and his grin widens. 

He’s holding his shirt, a borrowed one from Steven, at an odd angle. Basically cradling it. Even if there wasn’t a bulge over his left chest it would be easy to work out why.

“What you got there?” You ask innocently. 

“Nothing.” He beams at you and leans closer, moving his shirt slightly to the side to show you Newspaper nestled against him and purring. 

You grin. 

“You think Marc’ll tell me off for getting cat hair on his t-shirt?” 

“Nah.” You shake your head. “He might tell you off for borrowing his clothes again, but not for the cat hair.”

Jake snorts. “Steven doesn’t mind when I do it.” 

You grin wider. 

“It’s Marc’s fault anyway for buying comfy clothes.” 

That makes you laugh. 

Newspaper moves a little in her sleep, tucking in closer to Jake. 

You pause for a moment, watching the kitten. A terrible joke pops into your head as if it was placed there by some unseen force. Part of you wonders if Khonshu is whispering in your ear, but then again Jake would have heard him too. 

“Jake…” You say as naturally as you can. 

“Hmm?” He glances up, clocking the silly expression on your face before you even get a chance to talk. 

You speak anyway. “You’re really good with animals…”

“Yeah.” He pins you with his deadpan gaze, ready for whatever corny joke you’re going to say next. 

“Some could say you’re a … pussy magnet.”

He snorts, breaking his nonchalant facade as quickly as he formed it and nudges you playfully in the arm with his shoulder. 

You expect an eye roll when he looks back at you, something along the lines of ‘that’s awful.’ But instead he smiles, silky smooth. “I have been told that in my time.” He waggled his eyebrows at you until you laughed and woke up the kitten. 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[nathanbatemanfucker]

In the Eyes

summary: marc is dating the most competitive mario-kart player he’s ever met. and he loves them.

prompt: reader and marc are playing mario kart and getting very competitive (but still fun, no actual fighting). they both end up ordering pizza and snuggling up on the couch watching ancient aliens cause why not. idk

pairing: marc spector x gn!reader, implied reader x steven grant/jake lockley

contents: fluff, internal angst, cheating during mario-kart (a cardinal sin), food mention, cheesy love confessions

gif credit: @nowritingonthewall

word count: 2.5k

an: this is a little late but, happy year anniversary to moonknight! thank you to @juneknight for putting together this moonknight anniversary fic exchange. all the smooshes and all my love bb. and to my lovely friends in Marc’s girls i love uuuuu 🥰 (p.s. internal angst is a must with marc spector so sorry in advance)

moonknight masterlist | requests are open

Nights like tonight are the sort you look forward to all week. And they’ve started to become a staple in your relationship with Marc. It’s partially because you like to have specific things that you do with each of them— the other half is that Steven and Jake suck at MarioKart. Marc is the only one who’s any real competition and with your competitive nature, it’s a requirement for game nights such as these.

Marc shows up to your apartment on time, as always, and just the sight of you has all of the tension that habitually sits in his shoulders dissipating. You look mischievous, mouth turned up in a smirk that he can’t help but want to kiss. Although your eyes say it all– bright and sparkling– it's abundantly clear that you’re ecstatic about him being here. It's something he still adapting to but would it be so terrible for him to believe that you genuinely do enjoy his presence? Horrible no, but terrifying. Nevertheless, he’s trying and will continue to show up if only to see that twinkle in your eye, no matter how hard it is to believe that he is the reason.

His self-deprecating train of thought is interrupted when you reach for him, pulling him in for a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Marc melts against your mouth, a hand raising to cup your cheek. There’s nothing that clears his mind like the feel of your lips against his– he would happily give up oxygen to kiss you for the rest of his days. But eventually, you pull away, grinning at him.

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Spector?” You huff breathlessly into his mouth.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it teasingly before saying, “Ready to do the ass-kicking, actually.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

Marc is all about routine, it's just who he is. It's the only thing he’s taken from his time serving that he is grateful for as it helps balance his mind– all of their minds. So when the two of you get the game loaded and make it to the characters screen he chooses Donkey Kong as he always does. Sometimes to mess with and throw him off a bit you’ll choose Donkey Kong. He has his list of backups– Link, Mario, and begrudgingly, Toad– but those never feel exactly right. Tonight you decide to give him a break, you’ll prove to him that you can beat him in his element or not.

The two of you are neck and neck on the last race, with Marc starting to lurch forward ahead of you. There’s a healthy distance between you, ample room for dramatic turns and frustrated bouncing without either of you accidentally elbowing the other. But, when he starts to leave you in the dust on the last lap around you know exactly how to distract him. Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you scoot an inch closer to him. He’s well aware of your movement, heightened observation comes with Khonshu but he makes nothing of it, focusing on making it to the finish line. The sly grin on your lips spreads and you shift even closer, this time your shoulder rubs against his. Marc stiffens, his grip on the controller fumbling a bit. It's the perfect opportunity for you to make your move, and you brush up against him again to ensure that he’ll glance over at you.

“What’re you doin’?” He asks suspiciously, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that for just a moment his eyes flicker over to you.

You grin, eyes firmly glued to the screen as you watch his character slow down. You pass him easily, your voice innocent as you say, “Nothing.”

When his eyes return to the screen they widen in disbelief as you cross the finish line a few seconds before him. “You cheated!” He accuses, looking over at you with narrowed eyes.

Your mouth drops open in feigned offense, “Did not!”

“Bullshit, baby, I know what you’re doing when you move closer to me.”

“You’re warm, I was cold.”

“Liar.”

“Alright, since you’re so sure, let’s go again. Best 2 out of 3. I’ll even sit on the ground this time, can’t cheat that way,” You insist, before shifting off the couch to sit crossed-legged between his knees.

As nonchalant as ever, Marc bends to wrap his arm around your waist and lifts you with no effort to place a pillow underneath your butt. The simple act of care contrasts with the competitive look on his face as he hands you your controller once more, “No funny business this time baby.”

He lets you get comfortable, waiting to strike. He’s trailing a few places behind you up until the last lap. You’re sure that you’ll win and halfway around the last pass you relax back against the couch. Unseen to you, Marc grins just before he starts to shift his knees back and forth.

“Hey now,” You quip, but you don’t look away from the screen or make any movement, assuming that he needs to readjust in his seat. But it continues and you glance up at him with a knowing look.

“Oh now, who’s cheating?” You ask, trying to lean away from his knees that he’s bumping into your shoulders.

“What was that? I can’t hear you over my impending victory,” He teases, nodding his head toward the screen.

When your eyes follow his over to the tv, you watch as he shoots you with a red shell before zooming away over the finish line. The shell disrupts you completely, and you’re passed by half of the computers. You end up in 7th place and huff in frustration, “Marc!

“Hmm?” He hums through a laugh, bending to press a kiss to your cheek.

You try your best to glare at him, but with his smile this wide and genuine, you can’t even hold the expression for more than a few seconds. “You only beat me because you cheated and I’m hungry.”

Marc frowns at you, setting his controller down on the coffee table before fishing his phone out of his pocket, “What? Why didn’t you say that before? What do you want— pizza?”

“Pizza’s good. I want—“

“I know, baby.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What if I was gonna say something different?”

He looks up at you with an expression that says ‘really?’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was upset, genuinely feeling impatient with you. But, in the time that you’ve gotten to know him— all three of them— it’s become much easier to read them. It’s always in the eyes. And when it all boils down, no matter what he’s feeling or saying, all you ever see in Marc’s eyes is understanding and adoration for you.

“Ok, fair, I wasn’t but if I wanted to?”

He shrugs, a knowing smile on his face, “Then I would know.”

Your cheeks warm and you rest your head on his knee, looking up at him with this soft look on your face that makes him feel melted. To know and be known. It’s all either of you have ever wanted.

Marc clears his throat to distract from the flush in his cheeks he knows is there, “While we wait…y’know, Steven told me about this show— we don’t have to watch it if it doesn’t sound interesting to you.”

“I’m listening.”

Marc goes into an entire spiel, using his hand as he and Steven always do, though Marc’s movements are sharper and smaller. You’ve known that Marc is nerdy by how easy he navigates technology, casually throwing out terms here and there that you never understand. But to see him like this, with bright eyes as he explains the contents of the show, it displays you that similarity between him and Steven that’s always buzzing beneath the surface.

“Are you talking about Ancient Aliens?”

He snaps, eyes going wide, “Yes! You know it?”

You resist the urge to cup his face and dust his cheeks with a flurry of kisses, a difficult feat when he’s looking so adorably excited, “Hell yeah I know it, I watch it with my dad sometimes. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”

“Who doesn’t wanna know about aliens? Atlantis?”

“You always poke fun at Steven for stuff like this,” You say matter of factly.

“That was before I gave it a chance.”

While you get the controllers put up and decide on an episode, Marc heads into your kitchen to get drinks, the tube of parmesan out of your fridge and the red pepper out your fridge knowing that these are all necessary for pizza night. When he returns, you’re curled into a blanket and he sets everything down on the coffee table before pressing in beside you, his arms caging you into his chest.

Both of you are distracted. Not by the usual attraction— that’s manageable. Snuggled together on the couch like this, you both feel it. There’s this pool of some overwhelmingly delightful feeling neither of you has felt before. You can identify it immediately as love. Pure and gooey, like the warm insides of a chocolate chip cookie. Marc on the other hand refuses to look it in the eye, pushing it deeper and deeper until it’s light and fuzzy, ignorable. The last thing he will do is love someone who won’t love him. It isn’t the same— this time he is simply unworthy, not easy prey to a wounded predator— but he’s been there and done that. That wound sits on his chest, refusing to heal no matter what he does.

You lean back, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him, “Marc?”

He paused the show and met your gaze before you finished saying his name, “Yeah, honey?”

The remote almost slips out of his hand at the look in your eyes. Could it be more? Marc’s only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other— luckily after everything he and Layla are on amicable terms. But could he really have something like that again? Is that twinkle in your eye what he craves so much that his bones ache?

Under his intense gaze your resolve flatters, your heart, feeling as if it will beat right out of your chest.

“I—,” You breath catches in your throat that’s suddenly gone dry. What if he doesn’t love you back? Losing him means losing Steven and Jake. It means losing the only love you’ve ever known. You swallow those words and opt for others, “Tonight has been one of my favorite nights yet. Thank you.”

He can hear it in your tone. He knows that isn’t what you were going to say and by the look in his eyes, you know that he knows. He stares at you for several moments longer, giving you a chance, hoping that you’ll take the plunge because he can’t. Not yet.

Eventually, the pizza arrives and that cuts some of the tension that’s in the room. Something is clearly off but neither of you can find the courage to say anything as you finish eating and the credits roll on the episode you’d put on.

You let him leave. You kiss him goodbye and watch as he crosses the hall to the stairwell, only closing the door once he’s down the first flight. You feel like an idiot— why couldn’t you have just said it? He was waiting, eyes practically pleading, and yet the words wouldn’t form.

It only takes two minutes for you to decide that this isn’t how the night should end. Fears be damned, he deserves to know— they all do eventually. So you grab your keys, knowing that if you’d left your door unlocked for even the short time it would take to get him back, Jake would scold you about it.

Despite the quickness of your decision to chase after him, Marc is well down the street once you make it out the front door of your complex.

“Marc, wait!”

He stops immediately, recognizing your voice even from so far away. His eyes scan the street when he turns around and as soon as they find you, he’s walking towards you, brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” He pats his pockets, noting that his wallet and keys are there.

Maybe you’d decided to tell him what you were planning to say earlier and his heart begins to hammer again. His mind goes to the worst-case scenario, that maybe you weren’t going to confess deeper feelings for him. That you’re ready to be done with him, that he’s not worth it. That every disparaging thing his mother had ever said about him is true and you’ve just come to realize it.

“No, it’s just that I—“

“Yeah?” He prompts when you go quiet for a minute. His voice is fused with preemptive disappointment and he begins to prepare to leave the headspace, to retreat so far within that not even his alters can find him— Steven or Jake can deal with the aftermath of you. He’ll sulk and disappear like he had promised Steven a couple of years ago.

“I love you. I don’t know what I didn’t just say that before, I’d planned to but then you looked at me and it’s like I was scared all over again,” You whisper, eyes slipping down to look at the ground.

He tilts his head at you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. His voice is tender, and confused as he asks, “What do you have to be afraid of?”

“You know what,” You mumble, refusing to look up at him.

“That I wouldn’t want you? That I’d be stupid enough not to love you too?” He says the words as if they’re blasphemy like they’re the most ridiculous thing imaginable and you can’t help but look up at him.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

His other hand raises so he has both your cheeks in his hands, “Because it's complete bullshit, of course, I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, now come here,” He pulls you closer by his hand on your cheek, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. He kisses you fiercely, licking into your mouth with a fervor like never before. You match him, just as hungry and needy to show him how deeply you feel for him not just with words, but with actions.

He pulls away, breathless, “Steven’s saying we shouldn’t make out on the street.”

“Yeah, and what’s Jake saying?” You ask, though you can imagine his opinions on public indecency.

“You don’t wanna know.”

You giggle, before saying once more— firmly this time, unafraid to take the plunge because you know he’ll catch you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” He repeats, his mouth brushing yours as he says it.

You arch a brow at him, smiling against his lips. “Enough to settle who’s won and stay the night?”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” He murmurs cheekily through a grin, pulling you back towards your apartment.

It’s safe to say that you both got it.

moonknight taglist: @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @julydaydream, @welcometostayingawake, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @minigirl87, @campingwiththecharmings

[ichorai]

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range. 

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side. 

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief. 

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level. 

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought. 

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment. 

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him. 

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd. 

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple. 

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?” 

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away. 

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium. 

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you. 

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles. 

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu. 

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing. 

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica. 

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now. 

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity. 

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time. 

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. 

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana. 

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults. 

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat. 

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering. 

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes. 

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused. 

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower. 

You didn’t stay to answer his question. 

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips. 

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him. 

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince. 

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively. 

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied. 

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him. 

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him. 

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you. 

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running. 

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it. 

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed. 

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide. 

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun. 

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition. 

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him. 

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter. 

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity. 

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked. 

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him. 

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline. 

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people. 

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off. 

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say. 

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it. 

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?” 

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight. 

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes. 

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening. 

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast. 

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile. 

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba. 

So this was goodbye. 

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat. 

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes. 

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing. 

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes. 

Air.

Gasping for breath. 

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates. 

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind. 

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord. 

The man fell limp in your hold. 

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out, 

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip. 

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang. 

A breath of relief. 

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask. 

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away. 

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his. 

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it. 

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them. 

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages. 

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while. 

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be. 

But he didn’t. 

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound. 

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth. 

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence. 

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon. 

[phantomspiderr]

Rest

Pairing: Steven Grant x gn!reader

Word Count: 750+

Summary: a sleepy cuddle with Steven

Warnings/Tags: just some cuddling fluff that I think about all the time, not really any description of reader, reader also doesn't talk, trying to keep it as neutral as possible, I don't think there's anything else but let me know if I've missed something

a/n: two posts in one week omg, Happy Holidays bbys😘

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

There is no sound throughout the flat, only occasionally is the silence broken by pages turning or scribbling of notes. Another evening of research had turned into being up until the early hours of the morning. Steven was hunched over his desk, hyper-focused on researching for a new exhibition that had been announced at his work. Since he’d finally settled back at home—after everything that happened with Marc, Egypt, Khonshu, all of those things that had been addressed—he’d been dying to get back to the museum. Unfortunately, Donna still worked there and everyone still remembered he’d trashed a perfectly good bathroom for no particular reason but luckily London had many, many museums. Steven felt like his luck had finally begun to change when he came across a part-time tour guide position at another fancy museum. Then the manager had loved his enthusiasm and knowledge so much that they’d offered him the job there and then. Now he's been working there for a few months but he was still set on making a good impression, that and he just found learning all of the knowledge therapeutic. There was a deep-seated comfort for Steven in reading over history books, especially on days like today when the streets of London are covered in snow and the flat is so cosy. He is so lost in his reading that he jumps when the floorboards creak, his head whipping around to your shadowy figure. Steven’s entire body softens, his fight or flight instincts calming down when he sees that you’re wrapped up in a blanket, standing a few feet away sleepily looking at him.

“Hi, little star. What’re you doing up?” Steven reaches a hand out to you, while his other removes his glasses and places them down on the desk. You quietly walked toward him, rubbing at your eyes with your blanketed hand and he can’t stop a smile from forming. As soon as you’re close enough Steven wraps his arm around you, looking up at you fondly, “you okay?” You only nod to the question, the memory of sleep still evident in your brain and Steven knows it’s late, so late, and that he should just allow you to drag him back to bed with him but he’s almost done with this chapter. Then you let out the quietest little whine and he almost gives up there and then, “I just have a few more pages love and then I promise I’ll come to bed. I swear.” Of course, you just pout and whine a little more and again he considers just leaving the rest for tomorrow but he’s so close to being done. He just looks between you and the desk a couple times before the idea pops into his head, “come sit with me till I’m done.” You don’t even take a moment to think about it, immediately climbing into Steven’s lap. With his help, you’re straddled in his lap facing him and he’s cupping your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing the tops of your cheeks while he takes a moment just to admire you. He gives your cheek the gentlest kiss as he allows you to make yourself more comfortable, your arms along with the blanket wrapping around his shoulders and your head resting to the side, tucked against your own shoulder and his face. Steven allows himself a minute to just hold you like this, he hadn’t even realised he was a little cold until your warmth was wrapped around him. He appreciates the comfort before he starts to realise how tired he actually is and now he has to fight his drooping eyes as he picks his book up again.

In no time you've dropped back into a slumber cosied up against Steven and he's struggling now. The urge to finish the chapter slipping from him, maybe he's learned enough for one night or maybe he can just rest his eyes for a moment and he'll find the energy to finish. He decides he'll just rest for a minute and he'll be fine. So, he ever so gently nuzzles his head into your neck, the book he'd been so absorbed with abandoned on the desk in favour of wrapping his arms around your body. Then within minutes he completely succumbs to sleep, research forgotten, now all he thinks of is you. Of how warm you are and that you smell so good and that all he wants at this moment is to stay like this forever. To always be this close and comfortable.

[lolahauri]

✎ Introduction ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Requests are always open, and you can send as many as you want, as detailed as you want! I just get to them whenever i can/feel like it.

Anon's: 🌹-🕯️-🍁-❤️-🎴-

Other Accounts: @lolas-favfics @lolamultifandom @lolahaurisfw @chowderpop @lolaloa777

AO3: Here

BlueSky: Here

Get To Know Me: Here

Boundaries: Flirting, nicknames, tmi, spam are all okay.😛Just don't copy or repost my stuff. Translations or taking inspo is fine w cred. <3

-> MASTERLIST <- -> EVENT MASTERLIST <-

DNI: MAP, ZOO, Pro-Para, Pro-Ana, TERF, Zionist, Bigots, Minors!!!, Discourse Blogs. ❤️🖤🤍💚

Things I Won't Write: ❌

Sex Crimes of Any Kind, Super Violent/Xtreme Kinks, Inflation, Feederism, Abuse, Puke, Shit, DDLG, Age Play, Raceplay, Wound Fucking, Gore, Vore, Misgendering/Detrans, CBT, Sounding, Fisting, Gunplay, Drugging, Stepcest etc...

Things I Will Write: ✔️

Genderbent Characters, Mild Yandere, Daddy/Mommy Kink, Cheating, Mild BDSM, CNC, Dubcon, Monsters, Hybrids, Sex Pollen, Legal Age Gap, Power Imbalance (Prof/Student, Boss/Employee), Feet, Armpits, Piss, Breeding, Mild Blood/Knifeplay, Cock Warming, Dry Humping, Voyeur, Public Sex, Orgy, 3somes, Sex Toys, Overstim, Edging, etc... etc... :P

Trans Reader, Tall/Short Reader, Chubby/Curvy/Fat/Buff Reader, Other Specific Characteristics. ✔️

Ch x Ch / Ch x Reader / Ch x OC / OC x Reader / Poly Ships of any kind.

F/F, M/M, F/M, GN/F, GN/M, Poly Ships of any kind.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the list of fandoms and characters i'm familiar with and will happily take requests on! (you can request other characters from these fandoms, but it might take me longer!)

Adventure Time/Fiona & Cake: PB, Marceline, Marshall Lee, Winter King, Candy Queen, Simon, Ice King, Fiona.

Attack On Titan: Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Levi, Hanji, Annie, Historia, Reiner, Erwin, Ymir. 

Avatar: Jake, Neytiri.

Batman Begins Triology: Batman, Catwoman, Bane, Joker, Scarecrow.

Bee & Puppycat: Bee, Deckard, Cass, Toast.

BigBang Theory: Raj, Leonard, Penny, Amy.

Black Dynamite: Honeybee, Black Dynamite.

BNA: Michiru, Shirou.

Bob’s Burgers: Bob, Linda.

Breaking Bad: Jesse, Skylar.

Call of Duty: Konig, Ghost, Mace, Keegan, Krueger, Valeria, Farah.

Creepypasta: Jeff, Jane, Ben, Toby, EJ, LJ, Slenderman, Splendorman, Clockwork, Kate, Masky, Hoodie,

Desperate Housewives: Bree, Gabi, Edie, Lynette, Carlos, John.

Dirty Dancing: Johnny, Baby.

Earth Girls Are Easy: Mac, Zeebo, Wiploc, Valerie.

Elemental: Wade, Ember.

Encanto: Isabela, Bruno, Dolores, Julieta.

FNAF Movie: Vanessa, Mike, William/Steve.

Frozen: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff.

Futurama: Leela, Fry, Amy, Bender.

Gravity Falls: Ford, Stan, Soos, Melody, Giffany, Bill.

Jane The Virgin: Jane, Michael, Petra, Luisa, Rose, Rogelio, Xiomara.

Jurassic Park (1993): Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler.

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna.

King of the Hill: Hank, Peggy, Luane, Nancy, Dale, Khan, Min, John Redcorn.

Lisa Frankenstein: Lisa, Creature, Taffy.

Little Mermaid (2022): Ariel, Eric.

MHA: Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa.

Moon Knight: Moon System, Layla, Khonshu.

Mulan: Mulan, Li Shang.

National Treasure: Benjamin, Riley.

Nintendo: Link, Zelda, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Luigi, Bowser, Waluigi.

Norbit: Rasputia, Norbit.

Princess & The Frog: Tiana, Lottie, Naveen, Shadow Man.

Ratatouille: Colette, Linguini. 

Regular Show: Mordecai, Margret, Eileen, CJ, Benson.

Resident Evil: Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oiliveria, Lady Dimitrescu.

Rick and Morty: Rick, Jerry, Beth, Doofus Rick.

Riverdale: FP Jones, Hiram.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: Kim, Ramona, Gideon, Wallace.

Scream 5: Amber, Tara, Sam.

Serial Mom: Chip, Beverly.

Silverado: Slick, Rae, Mal, Paden.

Shallow Hal: Rosemary, Hal.

Shameless: Lip, Fiona, Kev, V.

SheRa (2018): All Adults.

Sherlock (2010): Sherlock, John Watson.

Slashers & DBD: Brahms, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, Pyramid Head, The Spirit, Huntress, Trapper, Wraith, Trickster, Pearl, Jennifer Check, Stu Matcher, Billy Loomis, Tiffany Valentine, Patrick Bateman, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair, Eric Draven, The Artist, Amanda Young.

Spiderverse: Miguel, Jessica Drew.

Spongebob: Dennis, Man Ray.

Squid Games: Gi-Hun, Sae-Byeok, Ali, Sang Woo.

Steven Universe: Garnet, Amethyst, Peridot, Lapis, Jasper, Blue Diamond, Rose, Greg.

Stardew Valley: All Adult Humans (Except George & Evelyn)

Stranger Things: Robin, Billy Eddie, Chrissy, Hopper.

Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Castiel.

Super Store: Amy, Jonah, Dina, Garrett, Cheyenne.

Tangled: Flynn, Rapunzel, Mother Gothell.

The Batman (2022): Batman, Riddler.

The Breakfast Club: John Bender, Allison Reynolds.

The Nanny: C.C, Fran, Maxwell.

Total Drama Island: S1 Contestants, Chris, Chef, Blainley.

Triple Frontier: Frankie, Santiago.

Turning Red: Ming Lee, Jin Lee.

Twilight: Edward, Carlisle, Alice, Charlie.

YOU: Beck, Joe, Peach, Love.

Young Sheldon: Mary, Connie.

~

Abel Morales (A Most Violent Year)

Astarion (Baulder’s Gate 3)

Babbo Natale (Violent Night)

Barbie (Barbie 2023)

Basil Stitt (Lightning Face)

Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs)

Bruce (Beyond Therapy)

Charles Ingalls (Little House on the Praire)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling Friends)

Chel (Road to El Dorado)

Dale Kobble (Longlegs)

Dan Conner (Rosanne)

David Levinson (Independence Day)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Doug Remer (Baseketball)

Duke Leto Atreides (Dune)

Fezzik (Princess Bride)

Francine (American Dad)

Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Georgia Miller (Ginny & Georgia)

Jack Harrison (Translyvania 6-5000)

Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield 2024)

John Doe (John Doe Game)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

John Wick (John Wick 4)

King Baldwin (Kingdom of Heaven)

Kitten (Breakfast on Pluto)

Laurent LeClaire (In Secret)

Linda Gunderson (Rio)

Llewyn Davis (Inside Lleywn Davis)

Master Chief (Halo)

Mike (5lbs of Pressure)

Moe Doodle (Doodle Bops)

Nani Palekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Nathan Bateman (Ex Machina)

Outcome-3 (The Bourne Legacy)

Orestes (Agora)

Paul Blart (Paul Blart: Mall Cop)

Paul Cable (Last Stand at Saber River)

Peggy Bundy (Married With Children)

Peter Mitchell (3 Men & A Baby)

Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Prince John (Robin Hood 2010)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Shiv (Pu-239)

Stanley Ipkiss (The Mask)

Star-Lord (Gaurdians of the Galaxy)

Tate Langdon (AHS: Murder House)

The Janitor (Willy’s Wonderland)

Thomas Magnum (Magnum, P.I 1980)

William Tell (The Card Counter)

[rems-writing]

Until we meet again, my love

Pairing: Anubis!Seonghwa x MoonKnight!reader

Summary: Marc and the reader have been shot to death by Arthur Harrow as they are trying to stop him from releasing Ammit from her ushabti prison and wreaking havoc. As the twins fall to their death, they are separated as they land in the Duat. Taweret, the goddess of childbirth, is currently calming Marc and Steven down as they have found each other and are trying to escape the Duat. They both woke up in what appears to be a mental hospital but... what of his twin? Where are they? And why are they not with Marc and Steven?

Warning(s): Implications of sex but nothing actually happened, simp!Seonghwa, gn!reader

Genre: Fluff with an angsty beginning, some spicy moments, and a fluffly ending

Nets: @blossomnet @mirohs-aurora-society

Context: Anubis is the ancient Egyptian god of the dead long before Osiris came about. During his funerary practices, he would ensure lost souls that they would be cared for and respected as they move on and live in the Field of Reeds.

Once again, thank you to @ja3hwa and @acupoftaewithsomesuga for helping me decide which god goes with which member

"WHERE'S MY TWIN?!" Marc yelled out in a panic.

"As much as I would love to ask many questions, Ms. Taweret, where is Marc's twin? We really need to find them!" Steven agreed nervously.

"I'm not sure, gentlemen. And I am so sorry. Rest assured; we will find them so all of you can move on." Taweret said in a soothing voice. The hippo goddess, albeit calm on the outside, was panicking along with them. She was supposed to welcome and guide all three of them across the Duat and into the Field of Reeds.

'Oh dear. I need to find them fast.'

Little did she know that another god slipped out from the shadows and snatched the other Spector out of selfishness...

---------------------------------------------------

You groaned as you woke up first and stretched before sitting up in bed. Your eyes were bleary so you rubbed the sleepiness out of them before blinking rapidly.

Wait...

Your room never looked like this.

Pristine white walls surrounded the room and you noticed a pc sitting atop a desk. It was black and chrome silver and there were figurines everywhere, along with Lego sets. You narrowed your eyes and leaned in a bit before retracting yourself.

The Lego set had pyramids and the Lego figurines looked eerily a lot like the henchmen/followers that Arthur recruited. You gulped nervously as you saw the Lego figurine version of Arthur with his stupid cane and his stupid smirk. More Lego figurines popped up in your vision and you felt a shiver go down your spine.

There were four Lego figurines that depicted Marc, Steven, Marc's wife Layla, and you.

Finally, you looked behind the figurines and your eyes widened.

Two tall Lego action figures were battling it out. One looked like Ammit once she was released from her ushabti prison. Even in Lego form, she looked terrifying. The other looked like Khonshu, that fuck ass old bird Egyptian god of the moon.

Just what was going on?

You felt cold and you covered your nude self with a blanket.

Wait a minute...

WHY WERE YOU NAKED?!

That's when you saw it. And you wanted to throw up.

Clothes were strewn all over the floor, alongside opened condom packets. Your eyes then looked downwards to see a human arm wrapped around your waist.

From the looks of it, that arm was holding you tight. You felt pain on your neck and you realized that whoever you slept with, they left a lot of hickies on your neck. Your lower body was also aching and you lifted the covers slightly to see the grip marks on your thighs.

If you truly did have sex with someone, they must've went hard on you.

You tried to wiggle your way out of this person's hold yet to no avail. They were holding onto you so tight that you felt like you were being glued to the bed. Finally, you freed yourself from your captor's grasp and went still as the person groaned sleepily and turned to the other side.

'HOLY SHIT! HE HAS SCRATCHES ON HIS BACK! I SEROUSLY NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!'

You quickly but quietly snuck out of bed and tiptoed your way over to the first door that you saw. When you opened it, it revealed a closet.

'Huh. Not what I was looking for but I suppose I could get dressed before I dip. After all, I don't need Marc and Steven seeing me naked.'

As you entered the closet, you couldn't help but be fascinated by the amount of clothes this person had.

At least this person had good fashion sense.

You were about to settle on a random set of clothing when you came across a familiar suit. You pulled it out momentarily and almost screamed.

It was your ceremonial suit that Khonshu provided.

You threw it against the wall and it landed with a soft thud onto the floor.

Just what was going on??

Panicking, you threw on a white tank top and white shorts before running stealthily into the bathroom. You turned on the faucet and splashed your face a bunch of times with cold water. As you grabbed a towel and dabbed your face dry, you looked up into the mirror to see your reflection.

You almost let out a scream.

Instead of a haphazardly dressed woman with bed hair and hickies all over her neck while the shower was behind her, you see a woman with lifeless eyes and an outfit that looked similar to Marc's. You then saw two bright red spots on the chest area of your outfit, alongside with a body of water surrounding you.

'No. NO. NO! I'm not dead! I shouldn't be! We were so close to taking down Harrow! Wait... did he shoot us?!'

You rubbed your eyes and counted to three before opening them. You saw the reflection that you expected to see, but you weren't alone.

Standing behind you was a tall man dressed in black sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His upper half was bare. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him so your back was touching his chest. His head was buried in the crook of your neck and you felt his plush lips kiss your neck softly. You froze when you felt the tip of his long tongue drag upwards before kissing behind your ear.

"Come back to bed, my love."

Hell no.

You shoved his arms away from you and you turned around so you could face him instead.

That was a mistake.

His face was the prettiest face you've ever seen on a man. Plush lips formed into a pout, a prominent pointed nose, brown eyes that looked warm and inviting, a long slender neck that was littered with a lot more hickies, a small waist, and long arms that fit his lean muscular body.

You didn't know if you were ensnared by his beauty or experiencing gender envy.

You were so distracted by him that you failed to notice the faint outline of a jackal's head surrounding him.

"Are you ok? Looks like last night took a toll on you. Maybe I'll be gentler next time."

"Last night?! I just got here! What are you talking about?"

"Huh. For someone who doesn't drink a lot, you sure don't remember a whole lot."

As he stepped closer to you, you backed up slowly and reached behind you to try and open the bathroom door. Of course it had to be jammed. As you wiggled the doorknob, you felt a hand caress your cheek lightly. Wearily, you looked up to see the handsome man tilt his head slightly out of curiosity.

"Do you remember my name? You were definitely screaming it a lot."

"The fuck? No I don't! And quite frankly, I don't want to remember it."

You didn't miss the way his eyes turned from playful to upset yet you chose to ignore it. You wiggled the doorknob again while he kept speaking. His voice was soft but instead of it being teasing, it was saddened.

"My name is Seonghwa."

"Yeah hi nice to meet you, Seonghwa. Listen. I need to go."

"Go where? Are you in a rush to go to work? I can drop you off."

Ha. If only it were that simple for you. You shook your head.

"Look. If I don't leave now, I might be too late. Thanks for letting me... sleep over... or whatever. Ok bye!"

You finally pried the bathroom door open and you sprinted to the final door. You were so anxious to leave that you didn't hear him yell cautiously.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!"

When you opened the door and stepped out, you froze.

Nothing but sand dunes and eerie winds were present. As you looked around, you noticed something different in the dimly lit sky. Huge balls of bright purple light shot down from the sky and landed in various parts of the sand dunes. Your eyes widened in realization.

Arthur was still alive and sending people down here using Ammit's power.

"No. NO! This isn't happening!"

You needed to get out of there. You need to be reunited with Marc and figure out how to escape this place. You were so caught up in your own head that you didn't notice the man, who claims to be Seonghwa, grabbed your arm and pull you back inside the room. He closed the door and locked it. You were about to protest when he held a finger up.

He was annoyed. But wasn't he holding you captive though?

"Had I moved a bit later, the sands would have eaten you alive, leaving you to be lost forever in the Duat."

The Duat?

Oh shit.

You really were dead then.

"The Duat is the Egyptian Underworld. But doesn't Osiris rule this place?"

A loud and bitter laugh escaped his pretty lips and you felt yourself blush out of embarrassment. Clearly, this wasn't Osiris's avatar. So who was he?

"Even the human I fell in love with only remembers that fool's name."

Wait a second...

The gears finally clicked in your head and you felt yourself kneel and your head bow in shame.

"I'm so sorry, Anubis! I forgot that you were the original personification of death. Please forgive me. Do not send me out into the sand dunes. Please!"

Seonghwa, or Anubis as you have stated, sighed quietly as he looked at your trembling form kneeling before him. While a part of him was happy that someone remembered his name and still trembled in fear right in front of his presence, he never wanted you to tremble in fear because of him. He swallowed his pride and knelt down to your level before grabbing your shoulders and making you rise to your feet. Your head was still bowed down in shame and his heart clenched painfully at the sight.

Clearly, you had no intention of forgetting who he was. You were so wrapped up in your fear and anxiety of this place that he couldn't help but hug you. Lifting your head up so you could see him, he brought you into a warm hug. His strong arms wrapped around your shaking body and he shushed you gently whenever he heard you mutter apologies.

"Oh, my love. It's ok. I'm just glad you remember my name. Don't cry."

He kissed the side of your head while you laid on his shoulder. He kept you in his embrace until you stopped shaking. He pulled away momentarily and wiped away the remaining tears that were on your face.

"Normally, I don't do this with most of the lost souls that end up in the Duat. However, you are someone special to me. I don't know if you recall, but this isn't the first time that we met."

"H-Huh?"

Seonghwa smiled sadly. He tenderly kissed your forehead before continuing to speak.

"Let me change into something a bit more appropriate before I explain."

He pulled away and walked into his closet to change quickly before coming back out in a different outfit.

He was now wearing a black tank top and blue jeans. They were adjusted so the waistband of his underwear was peeking out from the top. He raked his fingers through his messy black hair so it wouldn't look as bad as when he rolled out of bed and found you in the bathroom.

Even the waviness of his long black hair was pretty!

He pulled you once more into the bathroom and hoisted you up onto the counter before standing in between your legs and assessing any wounds you might have carried.

You were dead though so why would he...

"I'm aware that you're dead. However, I still pride myself in making sure that you look presentable even if you're dead."

His response was sassy and playful once more, yet it didn't stop you from feeling even more embarrassed. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and your ears perked up at the sound of his light and melodious laughter.

"It's ok. You probably didn't mean to say it out loud."

He bent down and brought out some gauze and a few medical supplies, along with some herbs and a mortar & pestle. The gauze made you skittish and Seonghwa noticed this.

"Come here, my love."

He brought you into a tender kiss, his lips molding with yours slowly and sensually. He set down the supplies and held your waist with a firm yet gentle grip. He snaked his arms around your waist and hummed in content as your shaky hands found his shoulders and settled on top of there. Just when he was about to shove his tongue down your throat, you pulled away. The both of you caught your breath and both of your lips were swollen.

Even though you enjoyed being in his arms, you were on a time crunch and you couldn't afford to waste it more. Seonghwa noticed this as well yet he couldn't help himself.

"Are you ok, my love?"

His voice was soft and caring as his eyes raked over your form. You stopped shaking but he had to make sure.

"Yeah. I'm ok. Thank you."

A pretty smile graced his face as he got to work in taking care of you. You watched as his hands raked over your body. It wasn't sexual but you definitely felt flustered under his touch. He took a wet rag and carefully dabbed it over the grip marks and bruises left on your thighs and hips. It felt warm to the touch and you watched in awe as the marks and bruises suddenly disappeared. Almost as if it was dirt smudged on your body!

He then moved on to the hickies on your neck. With each hicky being wiped away from your skin, he left a tender kiss in that same spot. Since he left a lot, the feeling of being flustered intensified since his soft lips raked over your skin. Again. It wasn't sexual but you highly doubted that he treated all lost souls like this when he tended to them after finding them drifting hopelessly in the Duat. Once he was done, he lifted his head and kissed both of your cheeks.

"How are you feeling, my love?"

"I'm great I mean I'm hot I mean I'm fine I mean uh..."

Seonghwa giggled at your rambling and kissed you quickly to shut you up.

"This last part... you might need to take off this tank top."

You knew what was coming. Rather than argue, you slowly lifted your tank top just enough for him to gasp quietly as his eyes fell on the two holes that were in your chest.

"Ammit's followers did this to you?"

You saw the angry look on his face as his eyes went from brown to a menacing black. The outline of the jackal's head shone brightly as a growl emitted from his throat and one of his hands gripped the countertop so hard that you were afraid of the godly strength he would use if he broke off a piece of it.

"Seonghwa, calm down. Please."

Your plea falls deaf on his ears and you panicked. Shoving your tank top down, you surged forward and grabbed his face before kissing him quickly. His body relaxed as you pulled away and connected your forehead with his. You saw a tear roll down his face and you quickly wiped it away.

"Technically, only one follower did. His name is Arthur Harrow. He used to be under Khonshu's grasp, but now he follows in Ammit's footsteps."

"That doesn't make it any better, Y/N."

"I know, but still. I'm here with you now."

"It's only temporary since you have to go back to the world of the living and stop this mad man."

"Whether it be temporary or permanent, I am here with you."

"You're right. If I had it my way, I would never let you go. I already did the first time."

"Speaking of which, when did we actually have our first encounter?"

As Seonghwa signaled for you to lift your tank top once more so he can take care of the bullet wounds in your chest, he spoke.

"It was when you and your brother died under Khonshu's statue after defeating those mercenaries."

A wince left your mouth and Seonghwa quickly apologized, thinking he hurt you. You shook your head.

"You didn't hurt me with the tweezers. You unintentionally brought up a painful memory."

"It was never my intention to bring you pain, my love."

"I know, but still. You were just recalling the first time we met."

"You were so young. I couldn't bring myself to drag you to the Duat at such a young age, knowing that there was more in store for you. Begrudgingly, I let Khonshu take a hold of you. I even forced him to promise to take care of you and your brother. Being a younger god, he obeyed me."

You wanted to make light of this situation so you decided to roast the moon god.

"Khonshu? Young? His godly form is withered and the bird skull is old."

Seonghwa's heart melted when you lightly giggled as you poked fun at the moon god. After removing the bullets, he placed some herbs in the mortar & pestle before pouring water in and grinding them up.

"Contrary to what you might think, he is actually younger than me. It's my human disguise throwing you off. My original god form is quite... something."

He stepped back momentarily to reveal his godly form for a brief moment before resorting back to his human disguise.

"Well then... that's definitely something. I think I like this better. Sorry."

You smiled sheepishly and Seonghwa waved it off, not offended at all.

"It's ok. A lot of people find it better if I approach them like this."

You felt a pang of jealousy course through your body as you thought about how many lost souls encountered him before moving onwards into the Field of Reeds. Seonghwa must have noticed and he smirked lightly before setting the mortar & pestle down and leaning in to leave light kisses on your jaw.

"Is my pretty baby jealous?"

His voice deepened and became more sensual as his lips roamed across your skin. You shook your head and Seonghwa chuckled smoothly before lifting his head to stare at you with sincerity and love in his eyes.

"Relax, my love. There is nothing to be jealous of. I only want you."

You felt at ease knowing that he had eyes for you only. Satisfied with your contentment, Seonghwa got back to work. The ground up herbs mixed with the water turned into an aromatic paste. He grabbed some with two fingers and applied it gently over the bullet wounds. You watched as he finished tending to your wounds and a grateful smile fell onto your face.

"The paste dries up quickly so you can put your tank top back on now."

You touched the spots that were covered in paste. True to his word, the paste did dry up quickly. As you put the tank top back on, you found him staring at you.

"So... what now?"

"Normally, I'd guide you into the Field of Reeds after tending to you. However, knowing that you need to get back out there and defeat this Harrow guy and Ammit, I will make sure you get back to the land of the living. By now, Osiris must've let Marc and Steven go and Taweret rescued them from the sand dunes. They should be here in a few minutes."

"I wish I could stay with you. You've been the kindest god I've ever come across. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, my love. I'm sorry I grabbed you out of selfish impulse."

You hugged him tightly and Seonghwa returned the hug gratefully. A knock sounded on the door and Seonghwa let you go before walking to the door and opening it. The hippo goddess looked back and forth between the two of you before speaking.

"Did you two..."

"No no. It was just an illusion to trick them. They looked past it."

"Ok good. Because if Marc was behind me, he'd probably would have tried to punch you."

"I'm fully aware of how protective he is."

"Well then... we've no time to lose. Come on, Y/N."

You looked at Seonghwa one last time before kissing his cheek and going with Taweret to board the boat that Marc and Steven were on. The boat soon took off and Seonghwa waved goodbye before closing the door behind him. He clutched his chest and a sob broke out of him.

"Until we meet again, my love..."

He waved his hand and the illusion of the nice bedroom was taken down, revealing the cobwebbed emptiness of the mummification room he forever resides in.

---------------------------------------------------

It had been some time since you and Marc were resurrected and took down Harrow before using him as a vessel to trap Ammit in. As promised, Khonshu let you go. You two were no longer bound to him so you got to live freely as regular human beings.

Which leads us to Marc arguing over the outfit you're wearing right now.

"Absolutely not! You're not going out like that!"

"Marc, come on! It's not that bad!"

"You're wearing a crop top. It's showing too much. Go change!"

Layla heard the commotion and giggled slightly at the Spector twins arguing.

"Marc, could you please tone it down a bit? It's a blind date! If it goes wrong, at least Y/N only wore this one time." Layla teasingly convinced Marc. Marc was about to protest when he felt Steven front.

"Layla's right, mate. I mean I don't like it either but if they like it, then I cannot argue." Steven's voice rang out. After Marc fronted again, the older twin sighed.

"Fine. But one time only!" He relented, feeling defeated. He smiled when he saw you squeal happily and felt his heart burst with adoration towards Layla smiling at you.

You saluted jokingly and hugged him before going with Layla so she could drop you off at the designated date spot.

---------------------------------------------------

DURING THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE MOON KNIGHTS AND AMMIT

"Are you sure, Anubis? Once you leave the Duat, your memories will be left behind here and you will become a new man in the land of the living."

Seonghwa sighed as he listened to Taweret.

"I'm fully aware. I'm ready though. I want to be with Y/N, even if it's not in my own body."

The hippo goddess sighed and brought the ancient god into a hug.

"Ok. If you say so. In the body of a different man, with a clear mind and an open clean heart, welcome to Earth."

Seonghwa smiled blissfully as he heard the last words of Taweret before stepping out into the light.

---------------------------------------------------

PRESENT TIME

"Hey. Sorry I'm late. Parking was horrible and traffic was twice as bad."

You looked up and saw the man you were supposed to meet. You almost folded.

He had long silver hair, bleached eyebrows, and glasses perched on the tip of his prominent nose. He had full lips, a nice jawline, and brown eyes that were warm, inviting, and a bit familiar.

He wore a suit that clung to his dorito like body well. It shaped his broad shoulders to look even broader. His waist was small and his hands were huge and adorned with many silver rings. As he sat down across from you, he spoke in that deep voice you loved already.

"I hope you didn't wait long."

You shook your head.

"You made it on time actually."

You stuck out your hand for a handshake.

"I'm Y/N Spector. Pleased to meet you."

The man smiled as he took your hand and shook it. His smile reached all the way to his eyes so they formed crescents.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Song Mingi."

[ivystoryweaver]

This is the Masterlist for my story "With You"

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9a Part 9b Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Part 16: Conclusion

My Masterlist

Read the standalone sequel Still With You

Pairing: Established relationship. Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley x gn!reader. Reader is engaged to Marc/Steven. Jake is new. So elements of slow burn/idiots in love. No use of y/n

Summary: Your fiancé is 2 years sober, so what could have possibly upset him enough to challenge that? (It's Khonshu and Jake). A look at how the system learns about continued servitude to Khonshu and a new alter, with you - their fiancé(e) - by their side

Overall fic content/warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism/addiction, hangover, cursing, hurt/comfort, references to past abuse, longing, feeling inadequate, some banter/bickering, mentions of food, domestic fluff, slice of life, nightmare, crying, romance, violence, injury, blood, implied sex, some sex but the language remains vague and gn - more erotic than explicit, not beta'd

Immersibility: Reader is gn, is somewhat shorter than Marc/Steven/Jake and able to wear their clothes around the house

[belovedspector]

Barely a Scratch

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader (implied Marc Spector x gn!reader and Steven Grant x gn!reader)

Word Count: ~580

Summary: Jake comes home from patrol a little worse for wear. You help patch him up.

Content: Blood and injury (nothing graphic), fluff

A/N: Just a little fic to try to get myself back into writing! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

You’re sitting in bed with a book when you hear the distinct squeak of the bedroom window opening. You should be used to it by now—you do live with Moon Knight, after all—but it still makes you jump.

You catch a glimpse of the suit before it dematerializes and know it’s Jake who’s standing in the room with you.

“How’d it go?” you ask, closing your book after marking your place.

“I got shot.”

“You what?!” You spring out of bed, panicked.

“I got shot. Only a little bit, though.”

He seems far too calm. You, on the other hand, are beside yourself.

“And how, pray-fucking-tell, does one only get ‘a little bit’ shot?!” you ask, struggling to keep your voice level.

He lifts his shirt to show off where the bullet grazed his side. “See? Barely a scratch,” he says with a slightly feral grin.

You shake your head disapprovingly.

“Hold on,” you say after a moment. “Why didn’t Khonshu heal you?”

Jake shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t heard from him all day. It’s been nice, actually.”

“Why’d you go out if that stupid bird didn’t tell you to?”

“There’s still people who need my help,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

You nod in understanding before moving through the apartment to grab the first aid kit.

“Kitchen or couch?” you ask as you reemerge from the bathroom, kit in hand.

He considers his options. “Couch,” he decides.

“Fine, but you’d better not get any blood on the cushions this time.” You let him lead the way, sitting down in the spot next to him.

“We can just flip ‘em over, no big deal.”

“We already did that, genius,” you remind him, opening up the first aid kit and pulling out the materials you need. “Shirt off, please.”

“Oh, right,” he says as he complies, wincing slightly at the movement.

You suck air through your teeth in sympathy. You hate seeing your boys hurt. The fact that it’s such an uncommon occurrence doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. If anything, the rarity of the situation makes it worse.

You make quick work of cleaning and bandaging the wound. To his credit, Jake is a good patient. He hisses a little when the disinfectant is applied, but otherwise stays remarkably still and quiet.

“Alright,” you say, closing up the kit, “you’re all set.”

He grabs your hand as you hoist yourself off the couch. “Thank you,” he says when your eyes meet his, warm and bright and full of unspoken appreciation.

“Of course,” you say softly, smiling down at him and giving his hand a squeeze.

You return the first aid kit to its spot in the bathroom cupboard and rejoin him on the couch.

“Can you get me the remote?” he asks sweetly.

You look to the coffee table, where the remote sits directly in front of him. “You can’t get it yourself?”

He pouts. “I’m injured. You have to be nice to me.”

You give him an exaggerated eye-roll, but you do as he asks, not quite able to keep the fond smile off your face.

“You’re really gonna milk this, aren’t you?” you ask.

He just flashes you a grin as he turns on the TV.

You snuggle up against him on his uninjured side, and he puts his arm around you. You smile to yourself while he flips through the channels. You’ll gladly do whatever he asks, as long as it means he’s safe at home with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[spectrs]

unwavering comfort

marc spector x gn!reader (slight steven grant x gn!reader and jake lockley x gn!reader)

after a particularly tough and grueling mission, you offer to help marc with the injuries he sustained. even with his initial reluctance, he can't bring himself to continue pushing you away from him.

WARNINGS - mentions of blood and injuries

WORD COUNT - 3.4k

i'm depressed once again (it's because of tlou which is something i HOPEFULLY will be writing for soon) and i've been needing to write for marc, so this is what we have. this man needs someone comforting him so badly it's actually insane. anyways, i hope y’all enjoy it <33 (also someone please let me know if this shit makes sense)

P.S - this takes place in chicago since i rarely see anything with the moon boys in my city (yes i live in chicago)

You had been waiting all night for the sound of the front door opening.

Your back was stiff and the noise from the bustling city below kept you from falling asleep, but at some point during the night you dozed off, only stirring when you heard Marc's keys clink against the doorknob as he gently pushed the door open. Your body immediately jumped into action and you stood up quickly, rushing to the door.

The first thing you noticed was how tired he looked. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent and his shoulders were slumped, a major contrast to the way he usually held himself with confidence. He had barely walked two steps into your apartment before he dropped his duffle bag and slumped against the wall, sighing wearily and closing his eyes.

You rushed to his side, knowing he would argue if you helped, but you didn't care. You gently grabbed his arm and directed him to the couch you laid on not even a minute ago. He clumsily sat down and groaned, the sound sending chills down your spine. You ignored it and pulled a chair next to him, already grabbing the things you'd gathered that afternoon for his arrival.

Even though your hands were busy with the task in front of you, your eyes couldn't help but wander to Marc's beat-up body, patches of his shirt and jacket caked in blood.

You knew the suit helped with the injuries he sustained during missions, but it wasn't capable of healing them fully. You were reminded of that every time you saw his bare body, his skin littered with scars from slashes and bullet wounds.

You reached up and your fingers skimmed the edge of his shirt, then grabbed it fully and took it off his body. He stayed silent, his eyes directed to the ground. He flinched as your hands traveled across the newly opened cuts and his shoulders tensed when you placed your warm hands on his skin. You felt his hand push yours away, and you looked up to see him staring at you.

“I don’t need your help. I’ve done this before on my own.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and scoffed. “Even in a state like this?”

“Believe it or not, I can take care of myself.”

“Well,” you said, grabbing a plastic bottle of alcohol from the table. “Did you know you don’t always have to?”

He didn’t say anything. He let his eyes fall to the ground again, his body still alert and rigid. You made quick work of disinfecting the lacerations on his chest, then grabbed from the assortment of bandages. “So,” you started. “What did Khonshu have you doing this time?”

“Just a simple extraction.”

“Simple, my ass. How come you’re so beat up?”

“It went sideways.”

You sighed, letting go of the bandage in your hand and looking up at him. “How long will it take before you trust me, Marc?”

He turned to you, a hint of surprise behind the stoic mask. “What?”

“How long have we been together?”

He looked at you for a moment before answering. “About a year.”

“I understand you’ve had a tough life. I may not know much else, but I know that. I just want you to know that you don’t have to hide anything you don’t want others to know. I love you and I trust you. You have to do the same.”

He huffed, standing up and pushing your hands away. “Listen, I don’t expect you to understand what I’ve been through. But I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help with anything.”

“Marc, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” You stood up as well, an exasperated look on your face. While it was true you didn’t know exactly what he’d been through, you desperately needed him to know he didn’t have to suffer in silence like he had his whole life. It truly hurt you to see him shut his feelings away, especially after Steven and Jake warned you about his “coping skills.”

He scoffed. “This is what I’ve done my whole life. You aren’t going to change that.” A moment of silence. You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, but you weren't even sure if he realized that because he never stopped talking.

"Maybe it's easier for Steven and Jake to accept this kind of thing, but not me. I don't care how hard you try. I don't care if you try to pressure me into it or even get Steven and Jake. I don't need your help with this. I don't need your help with anything."

When he was done, the only signs of his pure irritation were the emotionless pits of his eyes and the downward curl of his mouth as he glared at you. You felt your jaw clench and your nails dig harshly into your palms. It felt like he took pride in visibly hurting you, seeing your eyes well at the sound of his resistance towards your help.

God, it didn't even feel like he loved you.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren't sure if you didn't feel the way he did.

“Well, since you’re so fucking adamant about doing this yourself, then take it." you spat. You gathered the things on the table and walked past him, thrusting them into his arms.

"I'm going to bed." Those last words were a mutter, and you couldn't bring yourself to care if he'd heard them or not. You walked into your room and slammed the door, letting the tears spill from your eyes. You slowly walked over to the bed and lowered yourself on it, letting the anger overcome you. The same sounds from the streets below that prevented you from falling asleep did the opposite this time, slowly sending you to sleep. You felt the salty tears staining your cheeks and the pillow, but you didn’t care.

You really did want to help Marc. You just didn’t know how. You felt helpless, angry at yourself because you felt like you were allowing him to suffer on his own.

You woke to a soft rustling behind you. It was barely morning, the sun slightly peeking through the windows. Based on the gentle grip his hands had around your waist, you assumed it was Steven. His head was nestled into the crook of your neck and his breathing was steady. You lay there for a moment, savoring the peace, then slowly got up. You lifted his arm from your waist, but it gripped you tighter. You let out a small laugh, feeling his eyes open and his mouth curl into a smile.

“Good morning, love.”

“Good morning, Steven,” you said, turning around to look at him. His curls were roused and his eyes weren’t fully opened, but other than that he looked content. You brought your hand up to his face, letting your hands rub against the stubble growing on his cheek.

“How’s Marc doing?”

He sighed. “He forced Jake to take the body after your… confrontation last night. Neither of us has talked to him since.” His voice held a hint of pity, and you regretted bringing Marc up.

“Why doesn’t he trust me?”

“He does, he just can’t bring himself to…”

You raised your eyebrows at him in question. “Can’t bring himself to what?”

“He just… doesn’t know how to deal with-”

He stopped talking, his eyes suddenly darting to the reflection in the window. He nodded slightly, closed his eyes, then opened them again. You smiled, realizing who was in control of the body.

“Hi, Jake.”

“Hello, cariño. I needed Steven to give me the body for a moment, but he’ll be back.”

“Is that what you were telling him?”

“Yes. Now, continuing his explanation, Marc doesn’t know how to deal with someone actually caring for him. I’m sure you already know of his brother’s death, his mother’s extreme abuse, and his father’s ignorance, so I’ll just-”

“Wait, what?”

He gave you an odd look before speaking. “You didn’t know about that?”

“No, I didn’t know…” you confirmed, eyes wide with shock.

“He never told you that much?” His voice mimicked your expression, pure surprise.

“He never really bothered to get that specific.”

“Mierda, this is worse than I thought. I would’ve assumed he’d told you that much, I didn’t think he’d be so vague.”

“Well, he was.”

He sighed, his arms tightening around your waist. You knew how painful it was for Jake to witness Marc go through so much abuse. You had a vague idea of how DID develops, so you'd always assumed he had some traumatic event from his childhood. Pity always filled your heart at the thought of that. You also knew Jake's purpose was to protect Marc from any further abuse.

"Cariño?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

“Are you sure?”

You nodded your head in response.

“Jake, tell me how to help Marc. I can’t stand seeing him suffer in silence, not when he’s been doing it his whole life.”

A sigh left his mouth, and you felt his thumbs start to rub circles into your hips.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not sure how you can help. Even we can’t half the time.” His voice sounded heavy with remorse, as if it was his fault Marc was feeling this way. Your hand, still on his cheek, caressed his skin and jaw, and you felt him lean into your touch.

"The times you are able to help him, how do you do it?”

That conversation happened two days ago, and now you found yourself in a similar place compared to the night the situation occurred. You were curled up on the couch, an old movie playing in the background. You paid no attention to it, your eyes glued to your phone. The time jumped out at you like an ongoing alarm, the numbers reading 2:01 in the morning.

The last time you saw any of them was five hours earlier when Jake pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and told you he was going out for a drink. He’d denied your company, saying he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you if he drank too much. You had a feeling that he was lying, that he was actually going out to help Marc by using his drunken state to convince him to let you help him. If he suspected you knew, he didn’t say anything, instead grabbing his beaten newsboy cap and waving you goodbye as he walked out the door.

You convinced yourself they’d be fine, and as soon as they left, you opened your bottle of rum and sat yourself down on the couch. Your goal was to try and relax after the past three days of stress. It worked for the first couple of hours, the liquor loosening your muscles and allowing your mind to wander happily. After the four-hour mark, you started to worry a bit. Normally they’d be back at this hour, the odor of mixed alcohol and the sound of the running shower filling the apartment. Now, you were frightened.

Their ability to fight and defend themselves was extraordinary, but they were still affected by alcohol. You didn’t know how well they fought when they were drunk or high, but you had a feeling it wasn’t useful. That, among other things, was what led you to this, hunched over and eyes attached to the glowing screen.

You jumped as you heard the clinking of keys on the other side of the door, paranoia flooding your senses. When the door opened and the strong smell of whiskey came breezing through, you rid yourself of the paranoia and rushed to grab Marc before he fell.

You remember how scared you felt the first time he came home like this, stumbling and slurring his speech. That was when you discovered his past addiction and how hard he’d been trying to keep it in the past, finding out from Steven profusely apologizing the next morning for Marc’s relapse. You never said anything about it to Marc, finally mentioning it when he had apologized for it.

This time, it didn’t feel the way it normally did. Of course, he’d be irritable, but at some point, he’d tell you he was okay and that you didn’t need to worry about him. Now, as your hands wrapped around his bicep to pull him up, he shook it out of your grasp and stumbled across the room. It shouldn’t have hurt you to see him do that, but you felt a pang of hurt as you watched him.

“How much did you drink?”

He scoffed. “If you want to help, you can fuck off.”

“Answer my question, Marc.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? Jake was the one who was fronting at the bar.” His speech was slurred slightly and he looked exhausted. You felt another pang of emotion, but it wasn’t pain or anger. It was guilt.

“Why are you so upset with me?”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I haven’t seen you since the night you got back.”

He sighed, visible irritation lacing his voice. "Look, can we just talk about this in the morning?"

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not letting you walk away from me just to have you disappear again. I'm not fucking letting that happen."

"So, what? What do you need from me that's so goddamn important right now?"

"You know exactly what."

"I don't. Indulge me."

"Stop being a dick.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for not knowing what you’re talking about. Just tell me so we can move on.”

You scoffed, appalled by how avoidant he was being. “Why are you so upset with me?”

“Is that what’s so important?”

“Marc, please just talk to me. I don’t want to see you suffering like this.”

Another scoff, but this time it came from him. “What do you know about what I’ve been through? I haven’t told you anything.”

“Jake did.”

He paused, his eyes refusing to go anywhere except your face, darting around to find any sense of lying. Your face remained the way it was, unsmiling and glaring in his direction. You prayed this would work, not knowing what else to do if it didn’t.

“What?”

“He told me everything. I never asked him to and he just assumed you’d already told me, but I guess we were both wrong on that account.”

Now, he stood silent. His body was visibly tense, his hands and jaw clenching.

“What did he say?” The venom in his voice almost made you laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you said you didn’t give a shit if I tried to get them to help me.”

Silence again. If you didn’t know him as well as you did, you’d run away with the look of pure rage on his face. He wouldn’t act on it, no matter who it was directed towards. You knew he would just hide again, let Steven or Jake take control, and abandon them for a while, just to let things calm down. You were determined not to let that happen anymore. He couldn’t continue pushing away until every suppressed emotion became too much to bear.

You looked at him, his expression and demeanor unchanged. He wasn’t looking at you, but his attention was directed towards a mirror, making it clear he was talking to one of the others. You studied him carefully, watching the way his eyes moved to the floor in shame, almost, then back up to whoever was speaking. Then, finally, he turned to stare at you. You were shocked to find his eyes slightly glossed over, and he said nothing as he gently grabbed your wrist and sat you down.

“Listen… I don’t exactly know how to begin this since I don’t really do this-”

He stopped as you took his hands in yours, gently rubbing the rough skin. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Tell me as much as you think you need to.”

He sighed and looked down at the floor. “I don’t want you to pity me.”

“I could never.”

He looked up, his eyes holding so many emotions it made you want to cry. You truly wanted his suffering to end, to let him know he could trust you. At this point, you weren’t even sure if he did. If anything, you were hoping this could prove the presence of his trust.

“Did Jake go into detail?”

“No, he was brief about it.”

“Hm. Well,” he started. “I had a younger brother, Randall. When I was younger, I convinced him to come into this cave with me. I didn’t know about the rain. He…” His eyes were fully glossed over now, his expression making it seem like he was about to burst into tears. You squeezed his hands slightly, silently urging him to continue.

“He drowned that day. I don’t think my mother ever forgave me for killing him. After his shiva, she would shut herself in her room and just drink away. I can’t remember a time after that I haven’t seen a bottle in her hands. Of course, I couldn’t do anything about it, since she would scream every time she looked at me. Always claiming it was my fault and accusing me of being jealous, knowing I’d do something like that. She started that bullshit on my birthday, and I ran away. That was when…”

“You made up Steven.”

“Yeah. Everything’s a blur after that. Yelling, arguments, beatings. I wasn’t even sure when Jake came into the picture. At some point, I left. My dad tried to make me stay but I couldn’t bring myself to. That’s when I joined the Marines, then became a mercenary. The rest you already know.”

You took a minute to take in everything he told you. God, if only you had known beforehand. You would’ve been so happy to help him, to help him through whatever leftover emotions he had from his childhood. You kept your mouth shut for a second, not wanting to say anything.

“It’s not your fault, Marc."

The whole time, he’d been looking everywhere but you. It was like he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye and admit everything he’d buried away. But at your words, he looked up.

“What?”

“You were a kid, you didn’t know what would happen. Sure, your mother was grieving, but she had no fucking right to take it out on you."

He scoffed. “He was my responsibility.”

“And you did what you could. She or your father shouldn’t have let you go off on your own, not at that age and especially considering where you lived. Chicago is a dangerous place.”

“But she still-”

“You don’t have to listen to her anymore. I don’t know if she’s dead or not, but I don’t care. If she’s still around, I’m making sure you never have to go near her again. I promise.”

He was silent for a moment, letting your words sink in and burrow themselves into his brain. Almost all his life, he’d only known pain. Maybe the first few years were okay, but that day in the cave made his life absolute hell. He had never done this with Steven or Jake or Layla. He thought he couldn’t trust them enough. Now that he finally found someone who would listen and care for him and love him, his life suddenly wasn’t so bad.

He didn’t realize the small tears running down his face. He only knew when you slowly pressed your lips to his cheek and kissed them away. When you pulled back, he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the universe.

“God, what did I do to deserve you?”

You smiled at him and said, “Everything you’ve done for me, baby.”

A smile crept onto his face and he pushed you back against the couch. Confused, you lay down with a puzzled expression, but it turned into a look of love as he lay against you, his head between your legs. You smiled, letting your hands run through his hair and feeling the way he leaned into your touch. This was what you wanted. You didn’t want him shut away. You wanted him like this, truly comfortable and content around you.

“Marc?” His name was barely above a whisper, but he preened his head to look at you.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, grabbing your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to it.

“I love you too, baby.”

TAGS - @low-keylover @logans-soulmate