#it's hard to remember that Marc just had no chance.

[alwaysmicado]

Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year. 

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him. 

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive. 

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying. 

You’re trying so hard. 

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live. 

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.” 

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did. 

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this? 

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected. 

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting. 

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.” 

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent. 

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive. 

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air. 

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache. 

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t. 

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away. 

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you. 

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it. 

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much. 

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this. 

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole. 

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down. 

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes. 

Sadness. 

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need…if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft. 

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth. 

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile. 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you. 

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life. 

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it. 

You’re so fucking good. 

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face. 

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him. 

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones. 

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are. 

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high. 

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks. 

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan. 

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm. 

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…” 

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?” 

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you. 

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.  

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin. 

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna  hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do. 

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you. 

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself. 

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his. 

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him. 

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name. 

Not baby. 

Not Sunshine. 

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you. 

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe. 

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it. 

Just this once. 

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares. 

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you. 

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late. 

The spell is broken. 

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette. 

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment. 

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.  

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask. 

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh. 

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible. 

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you. 

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain. 

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching. 

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.” 

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone. 

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.  

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.  

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas. 

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free. 

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice. 

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.” 

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does. 

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight. 

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night. 

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange. 

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone. 

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–” 

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

[moonpascaltoo]

STEVEN GRANT / MARC SPECTOR / JAKE LOCKLEY

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all moon knight system stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) <3

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 08/17/24

MOON KNIGHT ONE TWO THREE

@brokebonewritings ✰ help me remember you You are given a second chance at life after dying. After waking up in the hospital, you find that Marc has no recollection of you or your relationship.

@mysecretlittlelibrary ✰ make it worth it The idea of you going on a date makes your friend confess feelings you didn't know they had

@halfmoonshines ✰ marc doesn’t like reader Marc doesn’t like reader, at all, and isn’t afraid to let her know it. Eventually, he starts warming up to her. One day she gets injured and Marc can’t help his worry

@nghtwngs ✰ the kiss scene with a severe case of writer’s block, kiss scenes are hard to write, but steven is always happy to help.

@messrmoonyy ✰ late night talking

@little-miss-dilf-lover ✰ the mediator and the instigator you and marc have been casually dating for a while now, though he finds it hard to admit his feelings. steven fronts to comfort you after a tiny argument, and he finds it hard to contain his own feelings towards you

@ivystoryweaver ✰ swimsuit shopping You're absolutely dreading swimsuit shopping for your upcoming trip. The Moon boys bravely weigh in.

@melodygatesauthor ✰ gamer!reader

@silvernight-m ✰ fair play steven You've got your hands on a new video game and been hyperfixating over it. Moonboys aren't taking it well at how they've been neglected.

@runa-falls ✰ cocktails you finally gain enough courage to make a move on your best friend

@reallyrallyauthor ✰ the d pic Your friend Steven accidentally sends you a dick pic, but it’s not exactly unsolicited.

@missdictatorme ✰ sneaky Jake is your cabbie, and idk he ends up between your legs thanks to your cat

@st4rymoon ✰ ribbon putting a ribbon on Steven’s bicep

[peterman-spideyparker]

Celebrate (Marc Spector x fem!Reader, Steven Grant x fem!Reader, Jake Lockley x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So, I have had this done for a while and just never posted, so better late than never, amirite? And besides, we can all always use more Oscar Isaac and the Moon Boys in our lives. Enjoy! :)

Summary: The boys realize that they've never celebrated your birthday with you, despite being with you for well over a year and you celebrating their birthday. When they find out when it is, nothing will stop them from giving you a birthday for the record books.

Warning: Fluff (established couple with all the Moon Boys, super sweet affection, kisses, a very important question), angst (negative emotions about birthdays), implied smut

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 3,348

Steven, Marc, and Jake love you. They loves everything about you, from how you talk, to how you have a ‘lucky’ something for every category of item you own, to how big your heart is. But there is one thing about you that particularly irks them.

In the year and a half that you have been together with them, they has yet to find out when your birthday is. For all they knows, they could have missed it twice! Hell, you’ve remembered theirs twice and have done incredibly loving things for both.

They have tried everything—Steven even tried to sneak a peak at your license once, but turned out to be in a different wallet. Steven only knew his lack of knowledge wasn’t by virtue of him not trying extremely hard, because Marc and Jake couldn’t find out either.

Jake enjoyed playing around with the fantasy that you were a secret spy or assassin who stepped away from the action to lead a normal, quiet life. Steven and Marc were ready to quickly dismiss it when they remembered that they served as an avatar for the Egyptian God of the moon. In all honesty, there was a chance that Jake could be right. 

“Did you know that in Ancient Egypt, Pharaohs didn’t celebrate birthdays on the actual day?” Steven asks as he hands you a dish from the suds. “They celebrated their coronation day since it was when they were born into the role of ruler.”

“Interesting,” you respond as you use the towel to dry the plate.

“It’s a bit sad, though, innit? That other people didn’t celebrate their birthdays. It wasn’t a common thing.”

“Well, I mean, I guess people make a big deal out of birthdays and place a lot of pressure on them. Maybe the Egyptians had it right.”

“But it’s an important day, you know? Someone fantastic was brought to the world, that’s worth celebratin’.”

You have a feeling you know what he’s getting at. You choose to remain quiet.

“You’re worth celebratin’, (Y/N).”

You feel tears sting at your eyes, and you suck in your bottom lip to prevent yourself from crying.

“Why haven’t you told us when your birthday is?” he pleads softly.

You dip your head and shrug. “My birthday . . . I don’t know,” you mutter. “I have a lot of mixed feelings about it, and I don’t know how to say them without sounding whiny.”

Steven tilts your chin up with a sudsy finger so your eyes lock onto his.

“We’re all ears,” he says tenderly.

You let out a sigh, but Steven’s finger refuses to let your gaze leave his.

“No matter how old I got or whatever new friends I made, my friends and colleagues and even my exes always forgot my birthday. I always made it a point to remember theirs, get a gift, a card, whatever, because—it’s the friggin’ day they’re born! And then I always had these small, wistful expectations there’d be something done for me like a surprise, but it was always nothing. Once I got into my college years, I’d have these hopes and expectations of what I’d have done by that birthday, and most of them never came true. My ‘have a first kiss’ goal was deferred for eight years until I was 25.” You close your eyes and give your head a little shake. “I’m just always disappointed by my birthday with other people and myself. Never a real reason to celebrate.”

Steven dries his hands and wipes away yours tears with the pads of his thumb as he pulls you in for a loving hug.

“Will you tell us when your birthday is, love?” Steven whispers into your hair. “Please?”

Unable to resist his tender embrace, you tell him the date, and he pulls back to scan your face. “That’s Thursday,” he states.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It is.”

You don’t expect him to cradle your face in his hands while he kisses you deeply. “Boy, do we have some idea’s stewin’ in our brain,” he beams as he gives you another kiss. “And you know what? Since I missed it last year, you’re gonna have a half-birthday celebration that is gonna knock your knickers right off of you.”

“My knickers?” you laugh, your hurt feelings quickly leaving your body.

Steven whistles and moves his hand like a plane to emphasize the absolute absence of panties you’ll have before he hops up and rubs his hands together in excitement. 

“Oh,” he says as he holds up a finger. “This is why we couldn’t figure out your birthday, right? You’re not secretly a spy or assassin?”

You laugh at the implication, the sadness rolling off of your body. “Jake’s idea?”

Steven nods. 

“Well, I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. And then there’s the issue of getting rid of the body, and we’re on the fifth floor—.”

“See, I know you’re jokin’, but part of me is actually a little spooked right now,” Steven says.

“No, hon. I’m not a spy,” you giggle, moving to kiss his cheek and push his curly hair back. “Sorry to disappoint Jake.”

Steven breathes a sigh of relief and dips his head as you hold onto him. "Oh, thank the gods!"

You’re vaguely aware of the shifting on your mattress as you continue to enjoy a cozy slumber under the comforter with your head on the pillows. After a bit, you feel another shift on the mattress along with the warmth of another body whose smell you know all too well. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” Steven whispers with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You let out a tired moan as you roll into Steven’s body, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying your face into his chest as you try to pull yourself back into a deep sleep. 

“Come now, I’ve made you your favorite. And I have a nice big mugga mornin’ Joe with your name on it,” he encourages.

You unbury your head slightly, looking up at him with still heavy eyes. He smiles as he looks down at you, kissing your forehead.

“I knew if the kisses didn’t do it, the coffee would,” he chuckles.

As you sit up in bed, Steven twists his torso and places a breakfast tray on your lap, presenting you with waffles, fresh cut fruit, and veggie sausage.

“Thank you, hon,” you tell him, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Anythin’ for the birthday girl,” he hums, placing a kiss on your neck that sends goosebumps throughout your body. “I still wish you could’ve taken the day off.”

“Trust me, if I didn’t have these big meetings, I’d probably just stay in bed with you three.”

“Don’t give Jake any ideas—he’d find a way to make those meetings cancelled,” Steven chuckles, stealing a strawberry for himself. You know there’s nothing particularly aphrodisic or phallic about a strawberry, but watching Steven’s lips move around the red fruit and how his tongue licks away the juice sends your head spinning. Steven catches you looking at him and smirks. “Yes, love?”

“Oh, nothing,” you blush as you move to take a bite of the waffles in front of you.

“Mm, likely story,” he hums as he licks his lips once more, bringing his lips to your pulse point for a chaste kiss.

“I don’t know that I’m gonna be able to finish these, hon,” you chuckle as you take a closer look at the stack. “You made eight?”

“I’ve seen you devour a stack of waffles with no issue before.”

“Yeah, on a weekend where I don’t have to go do a full day of work later.”

“Then lucky for you, I am here to help,” he smiles, stealing your fork to snatch a bite of waffles for himself. “Bloody hell, I’m a good cook.”

We continue to sit in bed and eat the fluffy breakfast food until you have to get ready for work. As you fix your hair in the bathroom, Steven takes care of the dishes; he finishes drying them as you move from the bathroom to put on your clothes. As you slide on your sweater, Steven shuffles into the bedroom.

“Let me walk you to work today?” he whispers as he lifts out the hair tucked into the collar of your sweater. 

“I want to say yes, but then I wouldn’t want to go in or have you leave,” you respond just as quietly. “Especially after a morning like this one. It’d be the bed predicament on the sidewalk.”

Steven brings his lips to yours slowly as you wrap your arms around his waist. The kiss is tender and lazy, much like how you wish you could spend the day with one another. Steven lets out a defeated sigh as his lips part from yours, resting his forehead against yours.

“Text me when you get there?” he asks as his fingers play with your hair.

“Of course,” you tell him. "Love you."

Steven hands you your purse, letting you adjust it on your shoulder before he places more quick kisses on your lips, murmuring a "Love you more," as you attempt to make it out the door.

“What?” you chuckle as you put your purse on the table by the door. Jake is leaning on the kitchen table like a puppy that needs to be let out.

“I can’t wait for my girlfriend to do part two of her birthday?” Jake smirks as he suavely moves over from the wooden surface and meets you at the door, his hands on your waist as he plants a passionate kiss on your lips.

“And what would part two be, exactly?” you smile as you bite your lip, keeping them just out of reach of his so you don’t spend the rest of the night making out in the kitchen—although, you wouldn’t be opposed to it.

“I can’t give away all of the details, mi corazón. Now, go to the bedroom, put on what’s laid out, and then we’ll go to part two.”

You smirk at him and scrunch your eyebrows playfully as you try to figure out what he has planned. You do as he asks, nonetheless. Lying on the bed, you see a beautiful sky blue satin dress with an asymmetrical hemline and silver strappy heels. You slide on the dress and it fits like a glove—so much like a glove, you can see the line of your underwear underneath the fabric. Lightly chuckling to myself, you slide off your panties and take off your bra. Usually, you’d be opposed to going full commando, but when you see yourself in the mirror, everything looks better—the dress was made to be worn on your body without undergarments. You slide on the heels to finish off the look and quickly comb your hair to revitalize it from the day. When you meet Jake back in the living room, he licks his lips and smirks as he looks at you, giving you bedroom eyes as you move closer to him.

“Now will you tell me what we’re doing?” you coo as you run your hands up and down his chest.

“No,” he smiles as he pulls you in for a searing kiss, squeezing your ass for scientific reasons, you’re sure.

“You’re not wearing anything underneath this, are you?” he breathes against your lips.

“Not a stitch,” you hum as you move his hands off your rear, taking a step back and opening the door with your things in hand. “Lead the way, Lockley.”

He gives you a bedroom smirk and mutters a string of Spanish curses and erotic notions under his breath—something about not realizing how sexy you’d look and what he’d rather be doing to you.

“Don’t worry, babe, I think all of you boys will be able to do those kinds of things later,” you assure him as you pull him down by his tie for a kiss. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Not when vice looks as good as you in satin.”

Jake captures your lips in a passionate and lusty kiss that still maintains an air of chastity to it—his mind on the mission of the surprise, but his heart veering towards your shared bed.

“Come on, cariño,” he rasps as he takes your hand and leads you out of the apartment and down the stairs.

“I don’t even get a hint?” you try again as you walk along the sidewalk.

“Tell me what you think we’re doing.”

“Really? Twenty questions on my birthday?”

“Play along,” he chuckles.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically as you lace your fingers with his. “It’s definitely somewhere fancy?”

“Is it, though?”

“I’m dressed to the nines. I don’t see how it can’t be somewhere fancy.”

“Or I wanted to show you off.”

“Okay,” you say, processing Jake’s cheeky remark, thinking of all the possibilities. “Well, dinner would be too obvious, so it clearly can’t be that.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “Come on, cariño, I thought you knew me better than this.”

“Ouch, gut punch!” you say, poking at it side. “I’m still thinking. You are an expert at being sneaky, I’m trying to process my options.”

“Well, you should come up with one soon. We’re almost there.”

Knowing the area, you scan through all the storefronts you can bring to your mind, when something clicks with your ensemble.

“Jake Lockley, are you taking me dancing?” you hum as you look over to him, his eyes sparkling in the dim London light.

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” he chuckles as he guides you to the left into a little courtyard that is all done up where other couples are waiting to start the lessons. “We’re gonna put those hips of yours to a different kind of work. Just for a short while, at least.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything fun or culinary up my sleeves,” Marc says as the two of you walk hand in and through the quiet park, the path lit by beautiful old street lamps.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” you tell him. “I know how much effort you all put into today. It’s nice to wrap it all up with dinner and a little stroll.”

A gentle breeze begins to pick up, and Marc immediately shrugs off his bomber jacket to place on your shoulders. You want to protest, but you love having things that he wears on your body—the warmth form his frame, the smell of his skin and cologne, the silent gesture of love.

“Thanks, baby,” you tell him softly as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Did you have a good day today?” he asks, matching your tone. “I know you mentioned your meetings—.”

“Yeah, the meetings from hell,” you sigh as you roll your neck, the mere thought of them bringing tension to your body. “Not only could they all have been emails, but they were ridiculously long and were so unproductive that we knew less by the end than we did at the start. Debbie led both.”

“Oh no, not Debbie.”

“Mmhm. Don’t get me started with that one.” You let out a long sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. “But it’s all worth it, because I get to come home to an amazing system of men who love me.”

He rests his cheek on top of your head. “We love you, too, baby.”

“How about we go home and take a bath? Wind down from the day. Get naked and wet together.”

“Mm, two of my favorite adjectives.”

“Maybe we can add some other adjectives you like to that mix,” you chuckle, lightly checking his hip with yours.

Taking a turn off the path of the park, you hop on the sidewalk and make the short walk back to the flat, snuggling close in the old elevator as it drags its way up to the top floor. 

“You want me to put on a kettle for tea or coffee or something?” you hum as you unlock the door, tossing your keys into the dish as you make your way in. “Or are we going to save all the warm water for—what are you doing?”

In your living room, Marc is perched down on one knee, a little open box in his hands as he looks up at me with his rich brown eyes.

“We were actually gonna do this next week,” Marc starts, his voice soft, the edges brimming with emotion. “But we thought this might be a really great way to end your birthday.”

“Baby . . .”

“(Y/N), I don’t think I need to begin to tell you how much we all love you. If I did, we’d be here for a hell of a long time, I’d loose feeling in my legs from the knee down, and you’d offer to help me walk over to the bed, just like how you are always there to help me and Steven and Jake with whatever comes up. You see us as whole people. You make us feel whole. You have the biggest, most caring heart that a person can have, and you love so selflessly . . .” Marc sniffles and furrows his brows as he tries to keep his cool. You take a few steps toward him, kneeling down and wiping his tears away with your thumbs. 

“Marc,” you say softly, his name on your tongue dripping with emotions.

“We can’t imagine our lives without you in it, and we never want to,” Marc continues. “Will you marry us?”

“Of course,” you practically sob, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. He holds you back just as firm, neither of you saying a word. Marc is the one who eventually breaks the embrace, moving to take out the ring out of the box to slide it on your finger slowly.

“It’s a pink sapphire, but it looks purple, and you love purple—,” Marc starts.

“—and gold jewelry looks so lovely on your skin, cariño—,” Jake continues.

“—and it’s a vintage settin’ so there’s no ill-environmental effects,” Steven finishes. “Happy birthday, my love.”

“You guys are sure?” you sniffle, your teary eyes frantically scanning their faces. “Are you sure you guys love me? That this is what you want?”

“Mi corazón, where is this coming from?” Jake asks softly, brushing tears off of your cheek. “Of course this is what we want. We’ve never felt this way about anyone before. We only want you, amore.”

“It just doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream.”

“It’s very real, love,” Steven says, gentle hands on your shoulders as he leans forward to place a sweet kiss on your forehead. “And you already said yes—there’s no take-backs.”

You let out a wet laugh as you move back in to kiss Steven—he always knows just what to say to bring a smile to your face.

“Well, I guess if there’s no take backs.”

As Steven leans forward to kiss you again, and you feel distinct shift just before we part, and you’re met once more with Marc.

“Is it still a yes?” he asks carefully.

“Of course it’s still a yes. I’ve got the three best guys in the world—why wouldn’t I want to make it official?”

Marc smiles brighter than you’ve ever seen in your life. He leans forward to kiss you once more, his arms wrapping around you tightly and picks you up, much to your surprise. The two of you continue to kiss as he walks you to the bed and lays you down on the mattress, only briefly parting from you to brush some stray hairs off of your face.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, his forehead resting on yours, allowing you to feel his eyelashes brush your cheeks. 

“I love you all so much,” you whisper. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Marc gingerly kisses the tip of your nose. “Forever and always.”

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Marc Spector/Steven Grant Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @later-gators12​

[bluem1ngs]

She steps out of the house, closing the front door behind her.

 

It was silent for a brief moment between the two; only the sound of drizzling rain and the night was heard.

 

She takes a deep breath and brushes her hair almost nervously away from her face.

 

He waits for her to say anything, watching her.

She grabs him hard and puts her arms around his neck without saying anything.

“Mia, what’s wrong?”

She pulls away from the hug, holding back her breath while she mulls her response for a while.

“Um, Ana Reyes likes my voice, and she thinks I could be a singer, a real one.”

 

He smiles at her, feeling proud of her.

“Javi said she wants me on tour. I’m so far at his classes, and I’d be back in time for your next season.”

 “So says the great Javier?” He almost laughs defeatistically.

Sighing, she says.

 

“No, Marc, this isn’t about him; this is about opportunity. I have my entire life been the reliable one, and the dependable one, and I’ve always done precisely what’s expected of me—“

 

“Until we got married." he spoke for her after she was done.

“Exactly, and then I finally did something for me.” She looks up into his eyes and lets out a trembling breath. “Something that I wanted, and the world didn’t end, and I have that chance again."

"If you leave me," he begins,

"Marc, our story is not over yet.” She tells him, "This is my chance to see if I have what it takes to have a career in music or if evenings trick is all I get.

 

“And this has nothing to do with Javier?"

 

“No,” she whispers, “absolutely not."

He almost gives off the impression of being dissatisfied.

 

“Then why haven’t you asked me to come with you?"

She can barely utter a whisper, much less a word, as she stands there, starring at him through teary eyes.

 

“Did you kiss him?" he asks her

 

"Yes.."

She meets his intense gaze and sees as he slowly comes to realization.

 

He almost shakes his head, as in a way of refusing.

He averts his gaze and begins to cross the front yard and porch steps.

"Marc," she shouts, running after him and grabbing his hand to stop him.

Just a few inches apart, the two stand there in the pouring rain.

She pressed their foreheads together as she places her hands on his neck.

“I’m sorry. You have to believe me.. that’s not what it’s about."

Her hands are still on his neck as he pulls away.

"Marc…"

He releases his neck from her grasp.

He looks at her with hurt in his eyes and says, "If you wanna go, go. But if you do, we're done.”

Standing in the heavy rain, she watched him go.

A tiny tap on her bedroom window was heard.

Her eyes met the smiling face of the boy she loved.

She felt herself smile, only then remembering all those nights he spent climbing through her window.

She moved to the window and opened it, allowing him to enter her bedroom.

“Marc, my parents are asleep—“

With a sigh of something like defeat, he kissed her gently & softly.

His hands flattened against the small of her back pressing her to him, lifting her off the ground, he wrapped his arm around her slender, smooth back and gently laid her down on her bed.

He realized then that he could love her forever.

"You know, in the middle of the night, when my parents are home, I've never had a boy climb through my bedroom window." She bit her lip in a beautiful small smile and said, "Marc, you’re a strange guy, you know that?”

He smiles a small smile. His lips mouth quivers like though he's struggling not to laugh. As they look at her, his eyes soften.

That night he looked at her and it occurred to him how beautiful her smile was. He heard melodic quality in her laughter, and her words were full of poetry. She asked him why he had that look on his face, as though it was a shadow falling. The second he tried to tell himself he wasn’t in love was the moment he realized.

"Marry me.” he said.

"What?" She laughed a little, almost as if it were a joke.

"Mia, marry me."

"Marc, stop it." She lets out a breath and sits up, pushing him off her a little.

"Why not?"

"We’re 18 years old." she takes a deep breath and brushes her hair almost nervously away from her face.

"So what?"

She looks at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Marc, it's just not normal for couples to get married so young.”

"To be honest with you, Mia, I don't ever want to with normal. Not with you. I'm not normal, and what I'm feeling is definitely not normal."

She just smiles and looks at him.

"I’m serious.” he sighs.

"I know you are." she looks into his eyes as she whispers.

"Okay, so let me say it again," he sighs heavily, “I could love you forever.”

"I could too, but your career—“

"So why can't forever start today?”

With a smile, she gently nods her head.

Alone, he strolls through the streets of Barcelona.

He finds himself at the picnic table by the ocean where they had their first date.

“What are you doing?” she laughs

Without uttering a word, he walks behind her and clips the locket necklace around her neck.

She smiled as she glanced down, brushing the locket, then gazed up at him.

He tells her, a smile beginning to appear on his lips, "Don't say I never gave you anything."

Without thinking twice, he turns around and runs back to their home.

He entered through the front door and called her name, but nobody else in the house answered, only him.

His face falls, sorrow and dismay taking over as he notices the locket necklace he gave her resting on the bedside.

Gazing at the photo of the two of them inside, he holds the necklace in his hand.

As she draws closer to the bus, Javier turns to face her and smiles at her arrival.

He takes her baggage, and she boards the bus, taking one final look at the city she once called home.

His heart was broken, and everything hurt.

He collides with the lamp table.

His tears have made his eyes hazy, so when he bumps into his desk, it simply aggravates him more. His hand slams on the rough wood of the desk and hurls the nearest object beside him. At the sound of cracking glass, he turned around and glanced down at the floor, looking at the framed picture of him and Mia that had been on top of the desk.

He picks up the picture and ignores the countless shards of broken glass, just staring at it.

His eyes began to gently well up with tears. It almost made him laugh, at himself for being so foolish and at the idea that he had really believed.

Hellooo this was just an idea I’ve had and will definitely make more parts for this story !!

[batsplat]

as our resident Casey expert i wonder what do you think would have happened if marc and casey competed against each other? since casey retiring is so important for marc coming into motogp im always thinking abt the what ifs...

my initial instinct with this hypothetical is always 'that sounds horrible', though I do have more thoughts and opinions about it than that! marc obviously would have loved the chance to race casey, and casey has even been one of his picks of 'guys he would've liked to be teammates with' before, so, you know, clearly something there - and he does very much respect casey as a rider. I think it's quite likely that by the time marc entered the premier class, casey had already developed... I don't know if wariness is going too far, but maybe a little bit of unease or caution where marc was concerned. marc already very much had a reputation based on his 125/moto2 track record, and some of these incidents were controversial enough that the motogp riders commented on them. so take the phillip island 2011 incident where marc rode into the back of another rider:

the valentino quote serves as a bit of a benchmark here, given he was generally pretty pro-marc. yes, casey's phrasing is perhaps a little harsher, but unsurprisingly none of the riders were big fans of marc's behaviour in that particular incident

on the other hand, it's not like casey never sided with marc. take catalunya 2012, where marc was slapped with a controversial post-race penalty:

yes, casey's main complaint was about inconsistent stewarding - but still, he believed marc had been unfairly treated here. feels like these incidents were some of the only things casey and valentino actually agreed on in those years, so that's nice

that being said, it's hard to see how casey wouldn't have his issues with marc and marc's whole approach to racing. I did include some thoughts on the teammate question here, but mainly I'm going to pilfer the relevant autobiography passage:

"if a rider doesn't care about his own safety then it stands to reason he doesn't care about anybody else's either"... there's nobody really who embodies the 'doesn't care about his own safety' maxim better than marc. he was the young rider desperate to win, and I can't imagine casey would have enjoyed actually racing him much. casey mostly didn't enjoy racing valentino, after all, who is a generally a lot more selective with his aggression than marc is (though casey did have to experience some of the worst valentino had to offer in that regard). casey talked in his autobiography about getting a sense when he just wasn't really able to trust another rider on the track, how much it bothered him - and that exact lack of respect is something that's been pretty closely associated with marc. that doesn't mean he would immediately declare marc his enemy... he'd just want marc to change, to learn, to grow up, to start treating his competitors with a little more respect. the way casey talks about young riders, there is a sense in which he has more time for them than he does for valentino - whose lack of respect casey views as more integral to who he is as a rider. valentino isn't a bully on track due to the exuberance of youth, he's a bully on track when he thinks he can use it as a tactic of intimidation. then again, marc by this measure is worse... and I think very quickly casey would have grown pretty disenchanted with how marc approaches all his wheel-to-wheel racing, especially when it becomes more and more clear marc does not feel particularly inclined to change

it's always important to remember how recent the trauma of losing simoncelli was for the whole sport, and it coloured both dani and jorge's wariness of marc... but also (in my opinion anyway) their restraint in how they dealt with him. how they tried to stop themselves from actually making an enemy out of him, in part because they'd just had an experience of harshly criticising a rider for a whole year and then having to process his death. both dani and jorge actually had more public and more serious disagreements with simoncelli than casey did, but I reckon there would have been an element of that restraint with casey too... on the other hand, his experiences with marc would have left him feeling even more alienated from the sport than he already was - at times frustrated (like jorge was) less with marc directly but more with the regulatory bodies for not holding marc back, for not giving him a race ban or whatever to teach him a lesson. that being said, marc's shamelessness vs casey's stubbornness means that if they had direct on-track encounters and casey didn't like marc's post-race response... well, I certainly think that'd end up being a pretty tense situation, even if it falls short of active hostilities

worth including irl!casey's take on marc in 2013:

which, you know. it's not just that marc's a hard racer - casey is accusing marc of deliberately wanting to make the defeats extra painful for his opponents, of wanting to not just beat but humiliate them. anyone else that reminds you of? someone who is as motivated in securing his psychological victories as his actual ones? perhaps someone who has a bit of a history himself with casey?

let's bring in valentino. it's not that casey would really have begrudged marc his friendship with valentino, and he generally kept his hatred of valentino quite 'clean' in that he wasn't conducting any proxy wars or anything (for instance, I don't get the sense the vale/sic friendship ever affected his view of simoncelli... though I have very little to go on here either way). also, if nothing else in this timeline changes, we're assuming valentino in 2013 is fairly clearly the... fifth? best rider? kinda depends where dani would have landed I suppose (casey's retirement announcement did save honda from a bit of a headache)... but anyway what this means is that valentino probably wouldn't initially have been much of a competitive threat to casey. mostly he would have been consigned to the sidelines

that being said, I doubt casey would have massively enjoyed the whole laguna seca saga. unfortunately, we don't even really know what real life casey's stance on the copycat move situation was... though if I had to guess, in this timeline I'd say his position would've been, a) marc could and should have carried out that overtake two corners later, there was no need in that race situation to take that risk, b) still, it was valentino's slight error as he attempted to reclaim the position (in what was a pretty aggressive manner, it has to be said) that led to them both ending up off-track and fuck that guy, and c) the problem with 2008 wasn't just or even primarily the corkscrew overtake and it's annoying that that's the only bit everyone talks about. of course, there's also the question of whether casey would have bought marc's explanation that it was totally by coincidence that the overtake happened there... and again, complete guesswork, but my sense of casey is that he would have assumed marc was being at least a little bit dishonest. (which, you know... laguna's not an easy track to overtake at, but marc did prove with the bradl move that he was perfectly capable of overtaking after turn 8 - might not have been planning on the off-track excursion, but he was still attempting to overtake just ahead of a blind crest that happened to feed into the corkscrew lol.) I think casey by his honda days had calmed down a bit (though he still certainly had some conspiratorial tendencies), but I also don't think it's a stretch to imagine that he would've felt like he was a victim of a joke between the pair of them... not ideal

overall though, I reckon casey's main frustrations would have been less with the move itself and more with how it was discussed. in the presser, while joking with marc, valentino does take the opportunity to get in a jibe at casey for old time's sake. there's this clip, where he directly addresses livio suppo (at ducati in 2008, by then at honda) - specifically about how both casey and suppo criticised him for that overtake. in response, suppo says something about how he's grateful to marc because they finally got payback. valentino is later asked directly about casey's complaints in 2008 in this clip, and replies with the following:

would valentino have said this stuff with casey still in the paddock? well, yes! honestly, given valentino did very quickly lay off needling casey once he had retired, there's a good chance he would have said something worse. and marc would have laughed along at the whole thing. I don't know, I just don't see casey taking particularly kindly to that... he can hold a grudge, that man can, and at a certain point he'd probably be increasingly less willing to give marc the benefit of the doubt. interesting situation though, laguna seca '13 + casey is a very juicy scenario that could play out in several different ways

but I'm guilty of burying the lede here - there's a far more obvious reason than anything I've described above for why the casey/marc relationship would have turned sour. it's the simple fact that they would have been teammates which would do the damage all on its lonesome; they have radically different conceptualisations of how that dynamic is supposed to work and would inevitably have clashed as a result. the one commonality they do have is they don't see their teammates as potential friends, which is... also not helpful! I think they'd probably initially be fine on the interpersonal level - and, actually, given how the casey/valentino relationship played out and marc's general approach to his rivalries, I can see marc/casey more or less being able to maintain a minimum standard of politeness towards each other even at their worst. like, I still think they'd be able to smile at each other and do some small talk when face-to-face, but I also think everything else would be a complete disaster. I talked a bit about how marc approaches his teammate relationships in this post - and I'm not going to rehash too much of what irl!marc got up to, but I'll include some bits relevant to casey

from marc:

related to casey:

and dani comparing the two:

we do obviously even have actual real life controversy wherein casey thinks marc felt threatened by him and forced him out of honda... and this in a timeline where they weren't even direct competitors! if this is the level of tension a test rider role can generate, then if they'd actually been teammates...? yeah, no. casey thinks that teammates should cooperate - and he thinks that riders enforcing divisions within the box are essentially doing so because they are "afraid". marc has openly admitted to lying about what parts he likes to make sure his teammate doesn't get any edge over him. this is the thing, right: marc might think casey is a cool rider, would've liked the chance to race him and even be teammates with him... but this is the stuff he did to dani, who was one of his literal idols! this is his understanding of competition - (like valentino) he might love the fight, but simultaneously he'll do pretty much whatever it takes to win, because he considers this stuff fundamentally part of the game. casey does not. to casey, this kind of victory is dishonest. any kind of gamesmanship is a sign of weakness... the victory is worth less if you're accomplishing it like that

now, hey, maybe marc would never have been able to go as far as he did with dani because he wouldn't have the kind of performance edge that allows you to definitively impose your will within the team. I think it's a popular interpretation that marc wouldn't have won the title in 2013 if casey had been there, which... I mean, I think it's true that it would have been less likely - in that in a season with that much volatility, the more plausible championship contenders you have the less likely it is that any single one of them takes the title (same goes for instance if you add in a valentino who had not gone to ducati for two years and would have presumably been more competitive in 2013). but it's not like casey would have been the defending champion and the clear class of the field... partly due to injury, he ended up finishing in third in 2012. jorge and dani didn't win the 2013 title in part as a result of their own injuries, and who knows how casey would have fared... like sometimes it's just luck of the draw really. you can be the better rider and still not win the title, shit happens. I think for as long as a more or less healthy-ish casey stays in the sport, it would have been unlikely that marc establishes quite the same performance edge as he did over dani... but, well, if anything that would have meant he would have fought even harder out of perceived necessity to win the internal honda wars

it's the kind of thing that can make a relationship quickly deteriorate, especially with a prickly character such as casey, and it's entirely plausible that dynamic would have become strained at best and horrendously toxic at worst... sooner rather than later. and the thing is, this environment would affect marc considerably less than it would casey. again, it's the fact that he relishes the fight... he's very good at shrugging off (most) criticism and thrives in that kind of tension. the emotional fatigue that this scenario generates would be painfully lopsided, where casey offers harsh criticisms and means them and is endlessly frustrated with marc's approach, while marc... doesn't really care. at least dani also had a questionable manager who was conducting behind the scenes warfare on his behalf - casey doesn't want to play these games at all. he just wants to ride a bike, and marc is never going to allow him to live in peace as long as he's an internal threat. if casey were exposed directly to all of that from marc, I doubt he'd walk away from the experience with a particularly positive impression of him

does he walk away? I think there's a decent chance that casey would have ended up so disillusioned with the whole thing that this would have been what pushed him into retirement. if he wants to get out of that mess, let's say after two years, his options would have been pretty limited. yamaha is closed off and I'd struggle to think of a scenario in which either jorge or valentino would have been particularly interested in a direct swap (also, if you're sick of being marc's teammate, you're probably not gonna be jumping at the chance to be valentino's instead). I suppose you could go back to ducati (which he did return to as a test rider so it's not like those bridges were permanently burnt), and maybe casey could do something special even with *gestures* that version of the bike. really though... I think enough would have been enough for him. regardless of the actual balance of success between the pair of them, my guess is marc wins that war because he's happier to get nasty and because he wants it more. casey has his two to four titles... he's done. let him go fishing

[1-800marvelqueen]

The Door At The End Of The Hall

Marc Spector x fem!reader, Steven Grant x fem!reader

Part Two

WC : 1.7K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mention of guns, violence, fighting, death, blood, etc.

If there's any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

No no no. 

He couldn’t go back there, he couldn’t relive that moment. He couldn’t sit there and watch as you-

But Steven was already running towards you. Towards the memory of you.

Marc had already gone back through his childhood, through the death of his brother, through his mothers abuse, through his death and rebirth as Khonshu’s avatar. Wasn’t it enough? Wasn’t all that he’d shown Steven enough to balance the scales? Why would fate be as cruel as to force him to relive this moment again?

He could hear you yelling in the distance, the very sound of your voice hurts his chest, it rings in his head. He really doesn’t need to follow Steven into the temple, he remembers every single detail of this moment, this memory.

That’s all you were now. A memory.

He remembers it down to the smallest sounds and smells, down to the specks of dust and sand in the air. But this isn’t something Steven should witness on his own. As much as Marc doesn’t want to enter, Steven needs him. 

It was a mission gone wrong. Khonshu had ordered him to go against some pretty dangerous people, a cult of sorts. He knew it was extremely dangerous, that there was a chance Khonshu’s ability to heal wouldn’t save him. That’s why he hadn’t told you about it. 

You were an avatar. You served Sekhmet; the destroyer of the enemies of the Sun God Ra, the Egyptian goddess of war, plague, and chaos. Marc knows that you were the perfect fit to be her Avatar, your embodiment of all that Sekhmet stood for was so accurate, so precise, that if anyone had ever told him you were the Goddess herself disguised as a human, he wouldn’t second-guess it. 

But just like your Goddess, you were hot-headed and stubborn. Once an idea had gotten into your head, it was hard to get it out of there. He hadn’t told you about the mission, he wanted you safe and far-far away from any danger he may partake in, he always did. But Khonshu, being the sneaky bird bastard he is, told Sekhmet. And therefore Sekhmet sent you to aid him. 

How could you ever turn down the chance to protect your loved one?

He enters the cave to the sound of fire whooshing, Marc ducks just in time as a man engulfed in flames stumbles past him, trying desperately to put himself out. If he wasn’t so emotionally drained, he could almost laugh at the sight. When you had first met him, you’d told him you had a fiery personality. He thought you were just saying it in the cheesy way that everyone else did. 

But then you had proved him wrong by lighting the sleeve of his shirt on fire without so much as lifting a finger. 

He thinks he had fallen in love with you at that very moment. 

His attention is pulled to the scene in front of him. He’s on top of some dangerous scaffolding, the planks under his feet looking like they could collapse at any moment. You’re down below, fighting bravely. He can’t make out the features of your face with the mask of your avatar garb covering it. But Marc doesn’t need to see your face to remember what it looked like. He’d spent so many nights laying with you, nights that were fruitless when it came to sleep, he’d trace the features of your visage while you slept. Memorising every scar, blemish, the way your nose would crinkle as he would brush a sensitive spot, the flutter of your eyes under your lids as you entered the deepest part of your sleep, while he remained awake. 

He looks at you as you fight, the spear of Sekhmet is in your hand as you battle it out with a man who wields a large knife. Steven watches on a few feet in front of him, confusion written all over his face.

“Marc, who is she?” hand lightly gesturing towards you as he casts a few glances over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off of whatever was going on. When he doesn’t get a reply Steven turns to look at him, he grows concerned at the fact that Marc’s attention isn’t on him, nor is it even on you, it’s on the man who walks the scaffolding. Someone Marc had tossed to the side to deal with another in front of him. He wonders, if he hadn’t thrown the man to the side, if he’d just taken him out immediately, would you still be here? 

The man bends down to grab the gun Marc had wrenched out of the hand of the man he was currently fighting, the one he had tossed over his shoulder. 

Big mistake.

Steven speaks once more when he sees the man bend down to pick up the gun, aiming it towards Marc. “Marc what is going on,” eyes wide as he turns towards the shell-shocked man, who now had tears welling in his eyes. He places his hands on Marc's shoulders, giving him a few rough shakes. “Marc, answer me! What is going on?” 

At the sound of an exclamation of pain he turns back, thinking it was Marc that had just been shot. But no, Steven watches as the man above turns his aim from Marc to you as you spear through one of his companions. He shouts out while Marc drops to his knees next to him. The man pulls the trigger and the bullet goes flying through the air. It pierces you in your thigh, you stumble. He fires again, it lodges in your stomach. He shoots a third time and Steven watches as it goes straight through the right side of your chest. 

The man goes to shoot for a fourth time but is stopped by Marc. He’s stabbed and thrown off the scaffolding. Marc quickly dispatches the rest of the people in the room. 

He rushes to your side.

Steven can hear the utterances, the string of “No” that is repeated over and over again by Marc as he scoops your upper-half into his arms, cradling your torso against his. He whispers your name, mixing it into the plethora of ‘no’s’. Steven briefly thinks that it’s one of the prettiest names he’s ever heard. He watches as Marc frantically begins pressing his hands into your wounds, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. 

The mask covering your face slips away and Steven can’t help but think you’re one of the prettiest people he’s ever laid his eyes on. He watches as the hand that was pressed against your stomach comes up to smooth your hair away, blood smearing on your forehead with the motion. 

Steven gets the answer to his previous question of who you are when Marc's hand slowly caresses down your face to hold at the bottom of your jaw, and a gentle kiss is placed upon you, between your brows. 

“No,” Steven whispers. Voice wavering as the realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. Watching the way that past-Marc is desperately trying to hold you together with his hands, to heal you with his touch, and the way present-Marc crumbles next to him, the tears that spill down his face, his hands clenching at his sides, his shoulders shaking with the attempt to hold in his sobs. 

This was some of the most emotion he’d ever seen in Marc. 

He watches as you place your hand overtop the one that presses into your chest, your hand trying hard to envelop Marcs’, squeezing with all the strength that’s left in your body. 

Steven thinks he can almost feel the pressure of your hold on his own hand. 

Marc knows he himself definitely feels it. 

“Marc,” kneeling down next to his broken counterpart, “You loved her didn’t you?” Steven receives no words, only a curt nod, he watches as Marc looks away, his eyes clenched shut tightly. “I’m so sorry Marc, I-I would’ve never brought us here if…” 

Steven looks back to see your hand lift to gently touch against Marcs’ cheek, a soft look in your eyes as you attempt to embrace him one last time, face nuzzling into his chest, a gentle kiss placed where his heart would be. 

“Steven I don’t want to be here anymore.” 

Marcs’ voice is quiet, he sounds so different than he normally does. Gone is the confident, self-assured man, the one who never lets anything ever bother him. The man who’s hunched over next to Steven is hollow, and it’s at this point Stevens’ understanding of why he was created in the first place is truly solidified in his mind.  

He can’t find it in himself to argue with Marc, uttering a quiet ‘Lets go’. Placing an arm around Marc's backside, Steven hoists him up, carrying him back towards the door. He casts a glance over his shoulder just in time to see your head flop backwards, neck no longer supporting its weight as you finally give in, all signs of life gone. 

He can hear Marc pleading, to whomever he can think of first. Sekhmet, Khonshu, anybody.  He’s pleading for you to come back, to open your eyes, to not leave him.

 The cries and begs slowly get louder and louder. Steven can feel tears in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. It’s only when Steven and Marc reach the plain white door does he hear a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching scream echo from the mouth of the cave. 

The guilt overwhelms Steven, curse him and his curious mind. He regrets coming in here, dragging Marc after him no matter how much he begged to not enter the room. The tears fall as they reach the stark white hallway, and it’s at this point Steven wished he had never gone in. That he had never even thought about going near the door at the end of the hall. 

~

Originally posted June 2nd, 2022.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Moon's Light

Summary: Moon Knight comics universe: After everything they've been through, the hardest war has always been of the past. First Night of Hanukkah shouldn't be this hard.

Pairings: Gen fic

Warnings: Briefest of mentions of anti-semitism.

Word Count: 1,242

------

It was never that big of a deal. 

He knew the stories and had tried to grasp the concepts and history behind the holiday. 

It just wasn’t a high holiday. His father had waved a hand away as he continued to study and prepare for other things. 

Young Marc Spector had watched his father do his public duties. It was all a show, wasn’t it? Competition with more prominent holidays that he had no part of, but was still expected to observe somehow. 

Blue and white decorations that mimicked the green and red garlands. Stars getting lost in the snowflake designs. Twinkling light on houses that shown brighter and longer till they made those little lights in the window mean so little. 

Stepping out of his little sheltered street to the bigger and wider world and his little ‘hat’ had been knocked off his head more time than he can remember. 

It all only added to his anger. Anger that fueled his violent blood. It was easy enough to forget things when he left. There was no day of rest when getting shot at. There was no fasting when the energy was needed to battle some villain or army. Kosher was a laugh when he was crawling through the desert eating anything he was given. 

It was a choice at first, being the man out as he refused things or muttered prayers to himself, then it was rejection as he turned face up to the sky as he ate, as he worked, as he started his first campfire to stay warm. 

Did that make it more prominent? Telling the world ‘I am doing this despite you’ was still acknowledging that ‘you’ existed. 

In time, he gave it all up. He was Marc Spector Mercenary. Marc Spector a man without a home. A man who moved from place to place because he was unwanted, unwelcome, and hated. 

And in the end, did this not make things even closer to who he didn’t want to be? 

Give it to Jake. 

It had taken him a long time to get Jake to talk to him. The rejection had been mutual. Or perhaps, Jake had simply been waiting for him. Jake settled into comfort and pleasure. He kept the fire kindled and did what he could without forcing them back into something that would hurt too much. He watched friends fade away and even old enemies disappear with a sense of something part of himself falling away with them. 

The years filled up with pain and it was getting harder and harder to cope with memories of who he was supposed to be. 

Give it to Steven

Steven took it. He judged the past and did his best to be the better man. Charity to make up for Marc’s mistakes. Or so he claimed. He struggled to make the life make sense. So little of it made sense. So much of it was filled with ghosts of what was supposed to happen. Notions of something he was supposed to do. A sense of something in his blood that filled him with a great sense of unrest. 

Now, after so much and so much chaos that dug around in his heart, they all slowly took a deep breath. 

Marc, for it was always Marc, stared down the offender with such concentration that perhaps it would fade away if he focused hard enough. 

Time had changed, but things had not. The things that had made the boy Marc so angry were still there. His brother was dead, angrier than even he had been. His mother long gone, never knowing the real Marc. His father was gone, taking with him any chance of reconciliation. 

There was still hate. There was still blame. There was still all the things that had hurt them. The only difference was time. 

Time for him to search his soul and know himself. Time for him to make peace with Jake and Steven. Time for him to understand his position as Moon Knight. 

Sun’s going down. Jake prodded.

It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big holiday. 

So why was it so hard? Why did it suddenly mean so much right now to him? 

Let me do it. Jake reached for the matches but Marc turned away, moving their hands to his hips as he took another slow breath. 

We don’t have to do it. How is it any different from all the other years we ignored it? Steven shrugged, acting indifferent though Marc could feel the sway of his heart. 

“We have to.” Marc gritted his teeth. 

Why? Jake and Steven asked. Why do they have to? Why does Marc have to be the one? Jake would happily carry on. Steven knew the ritual. It was so organized the way he liked it. 

“Because I exist.” Marc looked out the window. “Because I’m still here. Despite it all… I’m still here.” 

He took the match book and tore off a stick. It was far from the long and beautiful matchsticks his father had used, but this felt so much more representative of Marc Spector. 

He struck once and almost seemed surprised to see himself suddenly holding the small flame, feeling the heat and lighting the room. 

He lit the candle, small as it was. It was not the Hanukkiah of his childhood. It had come in a little box boasting “full menorah kit” in big block letters. Simple and silver, it still stood sturdy. 

A shaking hand picked up the small helper candle. 

“We are still here.” Jake stepped in and took a moment to look at the candle before he moved it to the fist candle on the right. He held the light to the small wick and made sure it was properly lit before he set the candle back in place. 

Steven pulled the memory up from so long ago. He had looked it up earlier the moment he had seen the kit in Marc’s hand. Ever prepared, he had made sure the words were still there. 

He needn’t have worried. Some memories never faded. Some words lingered as if they were tattooed across his heart. 

Maybe his tongue was a little slower and maybe his voice was a little softer, but still the tune carried. 

Three prayers for the first day. Three souls welcoming in the light. 

The song followed and Jake carried it as if it were a joyful tune he’d just heard yesterday in the bar. 

When all was done, they sat in the light, watching the candles drip and burn down. The smallest menorah in the window of the Midnight Mission. 

Outside, someone stopped and gazed at the window. Marc pulled his mask down back into place. 

This was Moon Knight’s neighborhood, Moon Knight’s mission, Moon Knight’s protected people, and this was Moon Knight’s light. 

The person was a teen, hands in pockets and head down. He gazed at the menorah for a moment then looked up to the man in the white suit. 

“Chag chanuka sameach.” The teen gave a small wave. 

He licked his cracked lips, wondering if the words would hurt. “Chag chanuka sameach.” They came easily and he smiled as a relief washed over him that threatened to overwhelm him. Not because he still knew them, but for reasons he couldn’t explain. 

Moon Knight turned to open the door. The Midnight Mission was open. Now, more than ever, he had something to protect. 

[ray935sworld]

Burning house (post rosquez divorce)

TW: TALK ABOUT PAST ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR/ RELATIONSHIP

„The first months without you were terrible" Marc looked up in surprises when Luca Marini suddenly sat down near him.

They were alone, no one in earshot, no one around. Just them and the darkness the nights of the race weekend bought along.

Marc had the urge to ask what he was referring to but his heart knew what the younger man was talking about. Him and... Luca's brother.

„He wasn't himself. He was a pain in the ass to be around. He was always complaining and criticizing everything we did, made us train far too much... And those were the better days. He made Cele cry several time... Franky got hoarse once from screaming back at him. I... I was scared of him a lot back then"

Luca talked with a soft hit sad voice. For him it was one of those nights that haunted him from time to time again. It used to be more often when he was young. Now it was only once every few months.

He couldn't concentrate. All he heard was shouting and screaming. He saw the eyes that were always filled with love, adoration and fun being cold and empty, only flooded with hatred.

He had gone out to get some fresh air and clear his mind. Finding Marc and telling him wasn't really his plan, but now that his mind was flooded, he couldn't help it. After all, Marc may be the only not slightly biased person to talk about that.

„Why didn't they just leave? You know I would have helped you. All of you." Marc asked. „He was their best chance to get here" And he would never leave his big brother.

A part of the Spaniard wanted to go to Italy and scream at the retired legend. To treat teenager that depended on him in a way he had been treated. But it would be a decade now. Most of those teenagers were now closer to turning 30 than to being 20. There was no reason to yell now.

„Your brother hadn't been himself for a long time when I left" he sat the record straight. „He was too focused on his archivements and when it didn't work he wanted, he let everyone suffer through it. He blamed me for thing I had no control over and got... aggressive... As you know."

„I know. I didn't mean to... Make you feel guilty or responsible or anything. I just... Wanted to talk about it"

Marc swallowed. He knew that wasn't Luca's intention and he was aware that he had been Vale's punching bag at the time. He had feared he would take it out on the younger ones but at the end, he had to take the risk.

„I know... But I'm sorry I couldn't safe you."

The first time he had seen Morbidelli with a bruise on his cheeks, knowing the then moto2 rider had a too calm personality to get in a fight, he felt like throwing up. He made Alex find out what happened to his then teammate. Apparently he had gotten in trouble in a bar when some douchebag didn't take no for an answer from a girl.

Marc's anxiety made it hard to believe.

„You shouldn't had to" Despite the Italians word that started some comfort, he couldn't help but remember the reason for his decisions.

„You knew the house was burning..." he said with a sad look in his eyes „I had to get out"

[commander-writergirl]

Passover Lesson

Synopsis: Marc still had trouble when it comes to the smallest things in Judaism. But Steven and Jake are there to remind him that you would never hurt him and that being there for you can be more powerful then the trauma left behind.

Pair: Marc Spector x Jewish!fem!Reader, Steven Grant x Jewish!fem!Reader, Jake interaction

Rating: PG-13

Warnings:  light angst

Word Count: 1,263

Notes: Once again please keep any negative comments or antisemitic comments far far away from here.

Tag: @romanarose​

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Jake rummaged around the kitchen looking for the bagels he had hidden.  None of the boys enjoyed Passover, Marc didn’t remember one happy moment of the holiday except for the meals at the beginning and end of the week.  

“Come on, I know I hid them.” Once Jake looked through the last cabinet without a piece of bread in sight, he slammed the door. “Fuck!”  

He turned to see you leaning against the door frame with arms crossed and a brow raised. “Seriously? You didn’t think I learned how to find things hidden in my apartment.”  

You said it as more of a statement than if Jake was questioning your intelligence. But then again, this is what he gets for showing you Marc and Steven’s hiding places for food... which means they were also Jake’s hiding spots.

“I was hoping you would leave them alone.” Jake gave you a sly grin.  

“Jake, I told you just like I told Marc and Steven: If you want to eat bread, do it outside this apartment. I don’t care if you three keep Passover with me. But respect me enough to not do it in the apartment.” You walked over and stood in front of him.  

“We told you it was a bad idea.” Marc grumbled.  

Jake ignored him, “Can you at least tell me what you did with the bagels?” Jake asked you.

“I burned them in the fireplace, cause you brought them in after I already did my full clean.” You said smiling at the look of horror on his face.  

“You burned bagels?”  

“They were store bought Jake, get over it.” You gently patted his cheek and began to grab things for your breakfast. “Want me to cook you something before work?”  

Jake blinked and watched you for a moment. He knew you were sweet and caring and stubborn but now he was slightly intrigued to find you terrifying under all that.  

“Sure,” Jake took his cap off and went and sat at the bar. He watched you as you cooked moving around the kitchen humming to yourself.  

“We told you she was cute.” Steven said.  

“Shush, she doesn’t need all three of us being in love with her.” Jake mumbled to the other man.

“Steven said nothing about love, Jake.” Jake could feel Marc smirking at his use of the word.

Jake groaned and laid his forehead against the bar surface. He sometimes wished he could just beat up his feelings, but he was learning that holding all the trauma made it hard for him to be good with people. And the one person he needed to be better with was you.  

“Here’s your food.” Jake lifted his head to watch you slide a plate in front of him. He blinked a few times. He always liked his eggs over easy. Something the other two didn’t want and yet here laid a perfect pair of over easy eggs and turkey bacon, laid out for him.

He looked over at you to see you cooking your own eggs. Maybe he was falling for you, but he would keep that to himself until you showed you shared the same feeling. And if you never did, he would take what he could get from just being in your life and able to protect you.  

As the week went on Jake found himself fronting more and more. It confused him until he realized Marc was treating this like being sick and Steven was trying to push you and Jake to spend more time together. But you were busy, and Jake took this chance to do more work. Meaning you only saw each other for breakfast and dinner.  

And Jake did what he always did, he made himself a bed on the couch. He never wanted to push your boundaries and he knew where you both stood on the relationship front. Though it seemed things were changing by about the fifth day.  

Jake was asleep on the couch, music playing in the background to tune out the others. He woke up when he felt a weight on his chest. He slowly opened his eyes to see you moving to curl into his side. When you looked up at him, you started to move to get up.

“Sorry,” You mumbled trying to get up, but Jake simply pulled you back down.

“You came out here for a reason, what is it?” Jake asked as you nestled back into his side.

“Bed was cold.” You mumbled nuzzling against his chest. In the back of your head, you could hear your little voice reminding you that this was Jake. Jake who went the extra mile that Marc couldn’t. Jake who didn’t love you, but at this moment you didn’t care. He was warm and comforting and you were so tired, and you just didn’t want to feel alone.  

Jake stared at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at you to find you fast asleep. He smiled lightly and brushed your hair away from your face. “Dulce luz de las estrellas.”  

His sweet starlight.  

[asterouslyaesthetic]

concept: kid lucina with grima, but a grima who IS robin—no possessions involved, the closest it gets is to an evil alterego that manifests out of robin's desire to be good and not what her mother fears will be her future

like sample first conversation:

Lucina: "Mommy, mommy! There you are."

Grima, visibly shaken by her appearance and having flashbacks: "You're mistaken, child. I am not your mother. I am the fell dragon who bears her likeness."

Lucina: "Likeness? Oh, like Morgan and Marc! You're her sister! I get it now."

Grima: "That's not it. I am your mother—"

Lucina: "So I was right! I knew it—of course, I know what you look like, Mommy. But why am I not a dragon if you are?"

(she is, but i headcanon the bloodlines did a number on her ability to transform)

Grima: "...Ask your father."

Lucina: "Daddy said to ask you."

Grima: *incoherent curses* "Really, Chrom?"

basically, saying no to a kid lucina is extremely hard and she fulfills a similar role to regular m!morgan. but since lucina isn't quite aware of what's going on, she drags grima everywhere—she just thinks mommy and daddy are having a big fight, like how one of her friend's parents did

it comes to the point where grima no longer throws venom at older lucina nor does she engage with her, because the memories of when they were happier far overpower what she vaguely remembers of their past feud

it freaks lucina out deeply

(she also ends up talking to chrom about it, because it feels so wrong for this to be happening, because this monster ruined her world and took away everything she loved

but now there's visible confirmation that her robin-ness is taking the wheel and the kids aren't nearly as unified on that front as the shepherds.)

why, you might wondering, is that the case? i'm glad you asked because i will tell you very happily

so feh posits the idea that grima is equal parts man hater and equal parts chrom lover.

her lvl40 confession has her dare the summoner to find someone who would accept her, warts and all, and in a few of her lines, she references the idea that she wants to be accepted

then comes the halloween tt+ with s!chrom and h!grima. grima is clearly haunted by her successful murder attempt of her husband, while chrom, whose first appearance has him beg robin to escape and to keep herself safe, is interested in being her friend, claiming that she's robin, so long as a part of her lingers

here is where it slips into headcanon territory, BUT i think that it makes sense for bad future timeline!robin to be more grumpy and angry than her canon timeline counterpart. our robin has no memories of any traumatic events, save maybe physical ones that bleed into her actions.

she's a blank slate and she's molded entirely by her gratefulness to chrom and to the shepherds, rather than any separate life experiences.

but bad future timeline robin likely grew up in hiding, being fearful of the constant threat of turning into grima, and likely resented the grimleal for ruining her chance at an idyllic childhood. she might've been more cynical, balancing out to be more neutral after emmeryn's death

anyway, the point is, robin's lack of memories and lack of lack of a chrom compels her to reject grima. but bad future timeline's doesn't have those things.

older lucina has a lot of baggage associated with her, because she tries to kill grima, while chrom is associated most strongly with his death.

and for a grima who is robin, just all the worst amplified (assuming they're the same entity), nothing is going to be more important than the happy times she had

aka shepherds and chrom and when lucina was younger

she might not warm up to her baby right away, but it will happen.

[bouquins]

love at first check: a tale (pt. five)

finally, an update!

I | II | III | IV

It is safe to say I never once imagined that I would one day escort one of the most recognizable figures in American sports to an outdoors chess club in Baltimore a scant few days before said astronomically famous man was scheduled to play against longtime franchise rivals at their home turf. Yet, here I am, scurrying through downtown Baltimore to attend the early morning iteration of an outdoors-only chess club, right outside War Memorial Plaza, with a hulking man beside me hellbent on checkmating a king or two. Only a few weeks ago I had told him about a few chess hotspots in town, and he jumped at the chance to attend one before his own much more physically demanding match later.  

As we scan across the plaza to find the club, I look back on how I came to this peculiar junction. Joe and I, after much earnest exhortations on his part and hesitations on mine, finally managed to create an itinerary he could squeeze in among his professional obligations. In between Joe's questions on why Baltimore loves flamingos or comments on how the Ravens should be the Crabs, and even advice from Alice on how to dress to impress, I somehow managed to keep my cool even when the MARC train left D.C. and pulled into Baltimore that sunny October afternoon. It wasn’t hard to spot Joe at the station; although he wasn’t dressed as flamboyantly as his earlier public appearances, being the tallest and bulkiest person in the vestibule made him stick out like a sore thumb as I saw him pace on the tiles, waiting for me to arrive. Any sense of calm I tried to cultivate was destroyed the moment he made eye contact. His intense gaze towards the arrival clock at once transformed into a soft smile once he became aware of my presence.  

“Hey, you! I thought I’d pace a hole in the floor before you got here,” Joe joked and motioned to hug me. I melted into his chest as he squeezed my back. “I finally met the chess queen in person,” he said into my ear, and the rumble of his voice made me look up into his eyes and smile.  

“Well, maybe if the train got delayed for an hour or two, then maybe you’d make some headway.” Joe met my gaze and laughed. The chuckles made my nerves fade, but the air was still full of tension. I couldn’t help recognizing it as the same friction one feels on a first date-nervous, yet hopeful, and hoping neither one shows a bad hand.  

Wait—a date?  

Alice would be happy to hear that her insistence that this occasion ought to be considered a date had finally wormed its way into my brain.  Now the mere friendliness we had just shown each other had taken a more romantic tinge: was Joe’s smile only a smile, or did I see him lick his lips in anticipation? Was his gaze filled with longing?  

Joe broke my musings when he asked, “So, where’s the chess haven you’ve been hyping?”  He still held me, and I was distracted by his hands which still caressed my back. I felt my face redden when I finally remembered we were still standing in the middle of a train station. “Oh, it’s the War Memorial Plaza just up the way—we can just walk up there if you don’t mind some walking.”

“It’ll be the easiest exercise I’ll have all weekend—of course I don’t mind!” Joe gave my back one last pat before releasing me and followed me to the exit. I was about to open the door myself when he grabbed it before I had a chance, giving his best impression of a doorman.  

“After you,” he said with an exaggerated bow. I couldn’t help but giggle when I curtsied back.

Not a bad start at all, I think as we leave the train station and start our pilgrimage to the War Memorial Plaza. Not bad at all.

_______________________

“If I get beat up by a bunch of Ravens fans, I’m definitely going to blame you,” Joe mutters as we reach the center of the plaza, already bedecked with upright folded chairs and portable chess sets warming in the sun.

“Well, you not wearing Cartier helps you blend in,” I say as I elbow Joe in the side as we approach the group clustered towards the plaza’s center. As we search for an open table to play, a familiar voice calls my name just behind me. Joe and I turn around to find tall, lanky man wearing a Carhartt beanie and oversized glasses approaching us and narrowing his eyes toward Joe in curiosity.

“Hey, Keevy—uh, and guest—glad to see you could join us!” The man offers his hand to Joe, and they shake hands before I formally introduce my friend.

“Hey Eli, this is Joe—he's visiting from Cincinnati for the weekend. We met playing chess online, so I’m just showing him around town.” I gaze up at Joe, and he looks down at me with a soft smile and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Joe, Eli runs the chess club!”

“It's always great to see new faces out here—I hope Keevy won’t give you too much of a hard time!” Eli nudges Joe in the ribs. Joe frowns down at Eli in confusion and I can’t help but snicker a little.

“Anyway,” Eli continues, completely ignoring the look of annoyance on Joe’s face, “you two have fun!” Eli turns on his heel and walks off to a pair sitting near the limestone horse statue, overlooking their moves.  

Joe and I look at each other and I give a small shrug. “Time to play some chess, I guess.”

[justagirlinafandomworld]

It definitely does NOT feel like December should be over! But here we are, wrapping up the year of 2022 with December's reading list. This list is full of gems, I had such fun reading them and I hope you have a chance to enjoy them as well.

I want to give a great big THANK YOU to all the writers on this list! I was a bit of a Grinch this year in RL and your fics pumped my heart full of love, warmth and cheer.

This list is alphabetical by fandom (mostly), then by character. Summaries and warnings are included as provided by the authors.

Read what you like and share what you love!

2022 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

Marvel

Strategic Fit by @indyluckycharlie Corporate AU!Bucky Barnes x Co-Worker!Reader Bucky knows better, he really does, and the last thing he wants is to give you more reason to hate him, but when he overhears an rather interesting conversation of yours, he just can't help himself.Warnings: Smut (minors do not interact). Explicit dirty talk, phone sex, male masturbation (but trying to hide it). May be considered noncon since Bucky's eavesdropping without permission and getting off on it (although someone else might be getting off on it too 👀) References to female masturbation and oral sex. Some light dom/sub vibes. Enemies to lovers, kind of.

A Piece of Me by @negans-lucille-tblr Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Bucky doesn’t want anything for Christmas, but you still manage to make it special.Warnings: Christmas, grumpy Bucky, moody Bucky, getting drunk, gift exchanges, lingerie, smut, fingering, p in v, orgasms, fluff

Marc's Praise Kink by @softlybarnes Marc Spector x Reader Anon: ill say it once and ill say it again, when marc spector gets comfortable enough around you, the praise kink is gonna come out and it's gonna come out hard, and lemme tell you, there's nothing that man loves more than being told he's doing a good job and hearing how good he's making you feel - i'm literally not taking any arguments about thisWarnings: Smut.

Remember me, love by @writingsoftheloser Sam Wilson x Reader When Sam and Bucky found themselves imprisoned, an old friend shows up to help them. And Sam definitely remembers them. Warnings: there’s some angst, fighting, swearing and a bittersweet ending

Destressing by @kittenofdoomage Steve Rogers x Female Reader Prompt: Steve has been such a good boy and deserves a special treat. Warnings: smut, fluff, slightly subby Steve

In The Moment by @kittenofdoomage Steve Rogers x Female Reader Prompt:  fill me up plz. Warnings: smut, rough smut, public smut

Knowledge Man by @maladaptivexxdaydreaming Librarian!Steve Rogers x Female Reader concept: With him, your words are becoming novels. warnings: tiny plot in library with just smut, semi-public sex, oral and fingering (r receiving),nicknames ─ Dove,

Supernatural

In Spite of What My Heart Says by @princessmisery666 Dean Winchester x Female Reader You’ve avoided Dean for a while, but there’s so much that’s been left unsaid. He catches up to you and you’ll happily distract him to put off the inevitable difficult conversation. Warnings: smut, choking, rough sex (sort of!), p in v, unresolved angst, language. 

The Longest Time by @princessmisery666 Dean Winchester x Original Female Character (Wynter) For the longest time, Dean hasn't allowed himself to dream of a future, but Wynter changes things.Warnings: fluff, flangst.

Just Like A Pill by @princessmisery666 Dean Winchester x Female Reader Sequel to “In Spite Of What My Heart Says”. Y/N has no choice but to go to the Winchester’s for help. But after ditching Dean at the Christmas Market and still not having spoken how will it go down? Will they finally say all the things that need to be said?Warnings: Angst, language, mild smut, mention of Dean dying, Demon!Dean mentioned.

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas by @deanwinchesterswitch Dean Winchester x Original Female Character (Nicole/Nico/Nic) Dean’s holiday spirit is nowhere to be found. Fed up with his Grinch-like behavior, Nicole is determined to open his heart again to the wonders of the world around them and help him find joy in the Christmas season.Series Warnings: FLUFF, a tiny bit of angst, implied smut, slight canon divergence

Evermore by @deanwinchesterswitch Dean Winchester x Reader Living without Dean is an unbearable endeavor.Warnings: ANGST, character death-no graphic detail

Twofer by @kittenofdoomage Dean Winchester x Female Reader x Original Fictional Character (Lucy) Prompt: 2 for 1.Warnings: oral sex, threesome (F/M/F), reverse cowgirl, mentions of bad break-ups

Samnesia Series by @princessmisery666 Sam Winchester x Original Female Character Brooke is a calming distraction from the chaotic mess of Sam's life. When a hunt keeps them separated for over a month, Sam returns to find she no longer remembers him. The need to find out what happened while he was gone sends Sam on a case that will change the course of his life. What he discovers along the way will change the way he looks at love. Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, slow burn, language, stalking, mentions of cheating, kidnapping, shitty friend, canon level violence mentioned. 

Duck Dean Afternoon (4 Parts) by @mrswhozeewhatsis Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader A/N:  It was born from @helvonasche saying “It’s like fucking a duck for taffy,” after which she had to explain why fucking a duck for taffy was such a stupid idea.Warning: This is crack. So many things you never wanted to know about duck dicks are in this. 

Opportunity Knocks by @kittenofdoomage Dean Winchester x Female Reader x Sam Winchester Prompt: Eager to please both. Warnings: double oral penetration, threesome, implied double vaginal penetration

Other Fandoms

Practice Makes Perfect by @kittenofdoomage Geralt x Female Reader Prompt: she’s been practicing and wants to show him what a good girl she can be. Warnings: sex work, brothels, oral sex

Clueless by @supernaturalgirl20 Din Djarin x Female Reader Request: for idiots in love. “You’re so cute. What did you just say? I said you look like a boot.”Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, Din being clueless, Established sexual relationship, live sick idiots, mild reference to smut.

Happy Reading!

[l3m0ncyan]

New at Life | Chapter 8

Steven Grant/Marc Spector x latina!teen!reader

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Note: I hope yall can read Spanish lol

Warning: Angst, grief, death (gasp)

———————————————

The drive to the desert was quiet aside from the music playing that was low. Since they were in Egypt, most of the music that was being played was in Arabic. Layla and Marc were able to understand what each song was saying but Y/N was in the dark. However the beat to them were catchy and she would find herself bop her head.

Looking outside the window, Y/N saw how the buildings were the only things that lit up the night. As they kept driving though, she could see that less and less buildings were appearing. Meaning that they were headed the right way to get to the desert.

She looked over to Layla and Marc who were talking to each other. Marc was looking at his jacket which had holes, “This was my favorite jacket too”. Saddened he threw it to the back and then took off his shirt which was also ruined. Discarding the shirt to the back too, he reached over to a duffel bag that was next to Y/N.

Y/N stared at him envious, he was able to change out of his sweaty clothes while she had to stick with hers.

“Lucky” she looked at him unimpressed.

He looked at her and smiled cockily, “You should have brought your own clothes”

“I didn’t know we’d be staying overnight at the desert”

“Technically, we have been staying overnight at the desert. You know, Egypt is all-“

“You know what, I’m glad your favorite jacket got ruined”

Marc gave a small laugh and looked back to the road, “If you want, you can borrow some of my clothes, they should fit”.

Y/N looked at the duffel bag and then back to Marc. With out much thought, she grabbed the bag.

She looked through it and found a military green tshirt plus a brown jacket. Since it was getting a bit cold, she decided to take it.

“Alright y’all don’t look!” She yelled out causing Marc to close his eyes and place an arm on top of his eyes.

Taking her chance, she took off her top and tossed it to the trunk. She pulled the shirt over head and pulled it down. She noticed how it was a bit/quite oversized, but she liked it since she was now comfortable. The jacket she put on and it was actually warm.

After wearing it she noticed that the shirt was a bit itchy and rough. “Yo Marc, do you wash your clothes?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Cause it doesn’t feel like it. Do you even use softener?”

“Alright if your gonna be judging, how about you put back on your sweaty shirt?”

“Just kidding. It’s nice. Yup” she quickly said and smiled to convince him.

Layla gave a small laugh, “He doesn’t, I used to fold his clothes and they were hard as rock”. Marc looked at her offendedly.

“It’s true” she laughed.

Y/N saw how the two looked into each other’s eyes and noticed how much love they held for the other. She smiled but then remembered about how Marc was staying away from Layla for a while. Then wondered why did the two even decide to marry. Actually how did Layla fall for him?

“Uhm, so like, I might be getting a little to personal but like…how did you two meet?”

The two paused, looking at each other. Marc looked at her and then down, disappointed not at her but at himself. Layla looked at him with a sympathetic smile and squeezed his hand. Y/N noticed that Marc didn’t pull away. At first she thought that she might have have made things awkward but she might have actually made things better.

“We met at a bar” Layla said after a long pause.

Y/N fixed her posture and listened closely.

“I was working on archeological business which shall not be named” she smiled at the rear mirror, “when suddenly I get a drink, told that a man bought it for me”

“I look across from the room and I see this awkward and mysterious man staring back,”

“Awkward?” Marc smiles.

“Yes awkward, you looked like a boy from grade school who was waiting for his crush to read his handwritten letter”

Y/N laughs, “Wait really?”

“Yup, but he gets the courage and walks over to me. Tells me about how I caught his eye, can you believe it? Out of all the women there”

“How couldn’t I?” Marc looks at Laylas hand, hesitating but yet still holding it, “You’re the most interesting and smart woman I’ve met”.

Layla smiles and squeezes Marc’s hand in return.

“After that, we talked more, went on a few dates and got together. A couple of years after, he asks to marry me”

Y/N looks at them and smiles with delight on their love story. Especially since she didn’t know Marc was a romantic. She then notices that Layla frowns and slowly lets go of Marc.

“But a few years after we marry, he leaves without a trace, without letting me know” Marc looks at her apologetically. “Layla, I’m sorry-“

“Let’s just stay focused on the mission”

Layla focuses on the road and ignores Marc’s eyes that are filled with pity and guilt. The trip becomes quiet and awkward. Y/N looks at both of them but before she can say anything her phone goes off.

Scrambling to get her phone from her pocket, she looks at the caller ID. ‘Madre’ it reads, she looks at Layla and Marc apologetically, “Hey sorry, uh I gotta take it, it’s my mom”

The two nod and look to the road as a gesture of privacy.

Y/N breathes in and looks at the green button. Why was her mother calling at this time? Gathering enough courage, she answers and raises the phone to her ear.

“Bueno?”

“Honde estás?” Her mother answers with a stern voice. Y/N feels like her heart skipped a beat but continues to try to keep the facade.

“En Londres? Donde mas?”

“Crees que soy pendeja?”

Y/N feel her breathe stop. Her mother was angry and even thought she was very far away from her, she felt like she would come through the phone and slap her.

“N-No”

Marc and Layla notice the sudden change in Y/N but continue to listen.

“Di porque tu prima me mando un video donde estas en Egipto, peleando con un grupo de señores con…poderes”

Y/N stays quiet, “Cual video?”

“Ay! Eres mensa o que?!” Jumping at her mothers raised voice, she sees that she is sent a link to a video. Following it, she is shown from shaky camera work from earlier where they went to Mogart and fought the many groups of bodyguards. In the video, it showed how Y/N uses her powers to beat them and knock them unconscious. Without context, it probably looks like Y/N has been hanging out with the wrong group.

The thing that she wondered was who recorded it and how did it get big so fast?

“Lo viste?!”

Forgetting that she was still on a call with her mother, scrambled to put her phone back to her ear.

“Si, si….” Y/N repeated not in an annoyed way but in a scared one.

“Explícame esto!”

Y/N tried to think of an excuse but how would one explain to their mother that she got powers and is now trying to save the world from an evil cult. The easiest one would be to say she was now part of the mafia.

“Es que…no me vas a creer” she rubbed the back of her neck. In the corner of her eye she saw Marc staring at her and gesturing to her if she was alright. She gave a quick smile and nodded. However Marc didn’t really believe that.

It was quiet on the other line and Y/N felt the air become more dense. Suddenly she heard quiet sobs and sniffles. Hearing her mom cry her hurt her heart, “Mami, por favor no llores”

“No me digas que no llore! Yo pensé que ibas a ser diferente que tus hermanas pero al mejor eres peor!”

“…Que estás queriendo decir?”

“Nos fallaste y incluso trajiste vergüenza a nuestra familia. Todos tus tíos nos están tomando por tontos! Teníamos muchas esperanzas para ti!”

Y/N felt her heart and all blood cells stop simultaneously. She feels her throat tighten, “No- no quieres decir eso…”.

“Me has decepcionado mucho a mí y a tu padre. Cómo pudiste hacerlo después de todo lo que hemos hecho? Quiero que vuelvas a casa a este momento”

The call ends and Y/N is just met with the beeping of the phone. She just stares straight down, still in shock.

All of her hard work and nights of studying, gone down the drain. All of her energy trying to make her parents the least bit happy went to waste.

Y/N felt tears trying to escape, even though she tried her hardest in keeping them in, a few fell. Her lips quiver, she feels so weak with crying in the backseat of a car.

“…You alright?” Marc turns his head slightly to her. She immediately wipes her eyes with the sleeve of the jacket she put on, “Y-yeah I’m fine”.

Layla looks at her with a frown through the rear view mirror. Being a traveling archeologist, she learned a few languages, Spanish being one. So from the recent conversation that the teen just had, she had an idea of what it was about. Layla stared at the road ahead trying to think of how to make Y/N feel more cheerful. She looked down to the radio and then to the reflection of Y/N.

“Is there any music you like?” Y/N looked confused at the question.

“Uhh, not really, well I'm fine with anything, " she said quietly.

Lyla nodded and turned the small wheel for the radio, trying to find a good station. A mix of sound came from the speakers; static, milliseconds of songs that were playing, and ads.

"Oh, I remember this song!" Layla stopped at one station.

She looked at the rearview mirror to check on Y/N, her eyes were tinted red but she seemed calmer. She was looking at the radio and got closer to the front of the truck. Using the front seats as an aide, she pulled herself in between Layla and Marc.

"Wait, I know this song too, my sisters would play it all the time back then" she gave a small smile.

Layla turned the volume up causing the speakers to blare I Want It That Way by The Backstreet Boys. Y/N bumped her head to the beat while Marc just stared off into the distance. Layla however started to sing and soon after so did Y/N.

Layla sung with emotion and Y/N acted as if she was in a music video.

“But we are two worlds apart,” Layla put a hand on her chest, dramatically.

“Cant reach to your heart” Y/N closed her eyes and put hands close to her chest, gesturing her heart.

The two then bursted into the main verse, singing their hearts out. Taking turns in who would say “Tell me why” while the other song the other line.

Marc just chuckled and shook his head. Y/N elbowed him.

“Come on join us!” She looked up to him.

“Rather not”

“Please!”

“I don’t even know the song”

Layla then jumped into the side conversation, “Oh of course you do! You sung it to me when you were tipsy”

Marc stared at her and back to Y/N, sighing he gave in.

“Am I your fire?” He said quietly.

Layla and Y/N beamed, soon enough the three were now singing. Marc was still awkward but through half of the verse, he started to actually sing just like when he was tipsy. One would sing while the other two became background vocals. This cycle would switch around until the trio decided to just sing it together.

The song came to a close, with the three singing the last few words from the top of their lungs.

“I never wanna hear you say! I want it that way!”

As cheesy as it sounds, they had a small laugh after with realizing how they had their own little concert. Specifically in a stolen truck in the middle of the Egyptian desert.

“Jeez, didn’t know you could sing my guy” Y/N shouldered Marc.

“Don’t push it,” he rolled his eyes.

More music continued to play; some Layla and Y/N would sing, Marc would join in a bit, then there was just head bopping.

It was a good change of pace for the three, especially after going through a whole battle. Y/N though was still hurt by what her mother had told her but with the karaoke she felt happier. Probably so happy she was able to fall asleep on the seats. The symphony was now lowered for her with just the soft sounds of the engine.

Layla and Marc made small conversations but in a whisper, careful in not trying to wake up the teen. Marc would then grab a spare jacket that he had inside his bag and lay it over Y/N’s snoring body. He smiled softly but would catch Laylas smirk from the corner of the eye. Then he’d clear his throat and stare straight into road.

“I don’t want her to get a fever” he’d say, avoiding Laylas gaze.

“Marc, we’re in the desert”

“And the desert gets cold”

Marc wouldn’t say it outloud but Layla was right. Y/N had became another person that he cared about. He used to think that she was going to stay away from them the moment she found out about the DID and being an avatar. Surprisingly she didn’t, she wanted to help them. Even with how she almost died from the jackal and from Mogarts guards, she stuck by him. He was grateful, yet he was terrified. They were now at enemies territory, and she was there.

It was like a flashback hit him when he thought this. The cave. The rain. The water. Water coming in. It was rising. And he couldn’t stop it.

What if he can’t stop it for Y/N.

He breathed in and closed his eyes, trying to forget it. He wouldn’t let it happen. Opening his eyes back up, he continued to look towards the sand dunes that we’re coming into view.

——

A couple of hours in, Layla began to yawn but continued to hold onto the wheel. They were now in the desert and were following only the road that was placed.

“I can drive if you want” Marc offered.

Layla shook her head, “No I can still do it,”

“You need to get some sleep in” Marc stared at her.

The two heard shuffling in the back. Marc looked back and saw Y/N squirming and then sitting up. Her eyes were still watery from the slumber and there were marks on her face from the bag she used as a pillow.

“Marc’s right, you should sleep. You don’t know what we might find at the uh…” Y/N tried to think but heard Marc whisper tomb.

“The tomb!” She snapped her fingers.

“Alright” Layla smiled and sighed, pulling over to the side.

She got out and so did Marc. He walked over to the drivers seat and before Layla could get to the passenger side, Y/N won her.

“You don’t want the back seat?” Layla asked her with a smile.

“Nah, plus I feel like you might sleep better there”

Layla nodded and went to the back and laid down. Soon she was deep asleep. Marc continued to drive and Y/N stared out to the sand that flew by.

Marc gripped the wheel trying to think of what to talk about. Thinking about what the two had gone through in the past few days, all the small bits of goodness were drowned out by the fighting. This time it wasn’t just him doing it, he had Y/N helping him. That’s when it clicked.

“How did you get those powers?” Marc looked straight ahead.

Y/N lifted her head from the window and looked to the road and then to Marc.

“Uh, it was a day after Steven, or well you guys, went missing” she hesitated, “I was coming back from buying groceries and I see this guy stumbling into an alley. So I go and check on him”

Marc looks over to her with a half-lidded eyes, telling her that what she is about to do is highly stupid.

“I know! I know! It’s dumb of me but I didn’t want this to be in the back of my mind” she raises her hands up.

Marc sighs and nods, cue to continue.

“I get closer and he is like yelling how it hurts and to stay away from him. I tell him I can call an ambulance or something but he says no. Soon after, I freak out and start backing away and the last thing he does is apologize. I swear I see his stomach glow red and then a blast of light throws me across the floor”

Y/N rubs her arm as she continues to remember back to that day.

“My ears are ringing as I open my eyes and I see that he’s gone. But the most obvious thing to me is the warm and cold feeling going through my body,” she hugs herself, “So I practically run back to the apartment and just go to sleep. Skip through you and Steven coming back and the jackal at the museum, to me I guess waking up my powers at Harrows den”

She looks over to Marc who’s wearing a shameful look.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles quietly, “If I were there you wouldn’t have to deal with them”

“Nah it’s fine. Oddly I don’t regret it, I feel badass with them” she leans back into her seat, “Plus I can be like a sidekick for you”

“A sidekick?” Marc raises a brow and Y/N nods her head rapidly. “Guess i got a lame one then” he says jokingly.

Y/N smacks him on his shoulder, “Hey! I’m serious! Imagine us, Bird Man and the Spider! Wait no we already have a hero with Spider in the name”

“Bird Man?” Marc gave a small laugh

“Well yeah, for Khonshu”

“You know Khonshu is a god for the moon and not birds right?”

Y/N widened her eyes, “Oh! Then you can be Moon Boy! No that’s not right…”

She placed a finger on her chin, trying to think up names. Marc would just listen as she spilled multiple at a time. He then saw the way the match ignited in her head.

“Moon Knight!”

Marc shook his head and smiled, “Sure, but I ain’t no hero”

“I mean you have the suit, the powers, and the mysterious background” she crossed her arms, “Anyways what’s mine?”

“Your nickname?”

“Yeah, I helped you with yours”

Marc breathed in and thought for a second, “Didn’t Khonshu call you Maggot? That’s the one”

Y/Ns face crinkled in disgust, “That’s gross!”

He laughed and looked to the night sky and to the road ahead. He thought of her powers and what they were. They looked like insect legs and the glowed red. So how to make a name for that?

“Why not add Crimson to the name?”

Y/N looked everywhere for where the voice came from. Finding Steven on the rear view mirror, she smiled.

“Yo! I can see you!” She pointed at him which he smiled at.

“I can tell. I heard you two talking about hero names and I had to join”

“We are not heroes” Marc intervened but went ignored.

“Oh! You should be Mr.Knight! You got that suit so it would make sense right?”

“Yes! It sounds sharp!”

The two continued to talk about hero names and ideas for Y/N.

“How about Crimson Spur?”

Y/N looked at Steven confused, “Spur?”

“Yeah, that’s what those little spiky things are called on insect legs”

“Why do you and Marc want to name me based of bugs?”

Steven looked at Marc confused this time.

“I said Maggot and she freaked out” Marc says nonchalant.

Steven rolled his eyes and pondered more. They would say what the powers would remind them of. Marc would continue to say spider or any kind of bug with long spiky legs. Steven would go ahead and say some scientific name which led to him having to explain what it meant.

They then stuck to the idea of squid or octopus but Y/N was not into it.

“That sounds lame”

“What’s wrong with Crimson Tentacle?”

“Steven it sounds like the title of a porn video, also squids are kinda just eh”

“How about Kraken?” Marc jumped in.

Steven and Y/N thought on it and nodded their heads.

“Guess Crimson Kraken will do, for now” Y/N turned to Layla who was sitting up.

“I see I missed your guys hero name choosing?” She stretched.

Y/N nodded, “Yup, Marc is Moon Knight, Steven is Mr.Knight, and I am the Crimson Kraken”

Layla nodded and moved closer to the front, looking straight ahead to the road. Well at this point there was no road, it was just sand.

“We can maybe stop here, I don’t think they’d follow us this far in” she placed a hand on Marc’s shoulder.

Marc nodded and parked the truck. The three got out and we’re met with the soft ground. Trying to walk on it was like trying to walk on the beach or on snow; taking one step at a time. Y/N looked up and saw how the stars were more visible and she looked at them in awe. She felt as if the purple hues would engulf her as she continued staring. That soon ended when Marc flipped the light on the trucks roof on, lighting the hood and anything near it.

Bidding the stars a farewell, she walked over to see Marc and Layla placing the pieces of constellations on the hood.

“This should be like a puzzle right?” Y/N looked at each piece to see if there was anything similar.

There wasn’t. It just looked like someone put dots on random places and called it a day. Layla grabbed one piece and then another, holding them near. That didn’t fit. She placed them down and looked to Marc who was doing the same thing. Then Y/N followed.

The three probably spent about 30 minutes in trying to figure out the map to Ammits tomb until Marc gave up.

Slamming the pieces down onto the hood, he gripped his hair frustration.

“We’re gonna be here all night trying to figure this shit out” he placed his elbows on the truck and covered his face, trying to gain himself again.

Y/N looked at the pieces again but felt her brain about to explode with seeing so many stars in one sitting. She placed them down and rubbed her eyes. As she did this, she swore she saw the same stars as she had her eyes closed.

“You think they might have a completed set online?” She grumbled.

“I don’t think the gods would want the route to the tomb of a goddess to be that accesible” Layla sighed as she leaned on the truck.

The three just stared down at the trucks hood. Just the sound of the wind moving the sand in the distance.

“…why don’t you let Steven out? He might be able to help us” Layla hesitates, “He understands this more than us three put together”

Marc thinks about it but Khonshus booming voice comes out.

“I summon the gods, you summon the worm” Khonshu kneels on the top of the truck.

Y/N looks at him and rolls her eyes, “Alright let me see you do this”

Khonshu ignored her, probably because he couldn’t do it.

“He won’t return the body”

“Marc we can’t wait. It’s okay, just let go” Layla pleads.

“She’s right Marc, like you said, this is time sensitive. We need to get to the tomb thing soon” Y/N looks at him hoping he would understand.

Marc clenched his fists and jaw, lashing out, he grabs the side mirror of the truck. He pulls it off in a fit of anger. Y/N flinches and stares at him grab the pieces of paper from the hood and walk a few feet away with the mirror.

Y/N stares back at the broken mirror and then at Layla, “Drama queen am I right?”. This earns a laugh from Layla, “Very much so”

The two look at him as he talks to his reflection, most likely Steven, and his body suddenly jolts up. His demeanor then turns into a slouched timid one. Steven now being in control again, he kneels down and starts arranging the pieces together while using tape to keep them in place.

Layla and Y/N walk closer and kneel next to him.

“Steven?” Layla calls out.

He looks up and stares into her eyes. As if he’s in a trance. Y/N clears her throat and he turns to her.

“I’m here too” she raises her hand.

“Ah right of course, I missed our time together” he says. He holds out the the pieces and explains how Egyptians used the stars and the sun to navigate their way through the desert. They both listen in, intrigued at the historical facts.

“Et voila” Steven holds up the taped pieces which are formed in a star.

“Oh shit!” Y/N looks at it marveled and so does Layla.

Steven looks at her face and smiles, “It’s uh French”. Layla laughs.

Y/N elbows Steven on the rib, “I think she knows what it is mate”.

Steven mutters an ‘oh right’.

“Anyways what now?” Y/N looks at the two.

Steven stares at the paper star and stands up, with the girls following. “Not sure but-“ he suddenly sees holes which line up into a constellation.

“We should be able to find the coordinates of that constellation, let me scan it” Layla brings out a device that looks like tablet and begins to scan it.

“Yeah but you see the problem is that, Senfu marked the tomb like 2,000 years ago…” Steven explains.

“Don’t stars move positions over time?” Y/N looks at Steven.

He nods, “So unless we know how the sky looked like on that date, we’re buggered”

“I remember that night. I remember every night” Khonshu stares off I to the desert on top of a hill.

Steven looks back at the two girls and points at him, Y/N nodding in understanding. He begins to walk up the steep hill of sand, with the two following. Layla however is still confused. She gently tugs Y/N’s arm and makes a puzzled expression.

“Oh it’s the bird god thing”, Y/N says nonchalant. Noticing Laylas expression becoming even more befuddled, she explains further.

“Bird god decided to show himself to me” she looks back at Khonshu still staring at the distance, “I wonder why…”

Shaking out of her thoughts, she gestures her head to Steven and Khonshu. The two follow up the hill, trying not to slip, well more Y/N, she wasn’t very experienced with this level of sand.

Once they get up to the top, Khonshu is nowhere to be found. Steven and Y/N look around but are only met with their shadows from the bright moon rays.

Steven calls out to him and is met again with Khonshus reverberating voice.

“I can turn back the night sky, but it comes with a cost and I can’t do it alone”

Wind chimes in instantly and Khonshu appears again next to Steven.

“Steven and Y/N, tell Marc that when the gods imprison me, to come back and set me free”

Y/N tilts her head at him, surprised that he is also trusting her. Yet she can’t continue think on it as Steven is wrapped in cloth which soon turns into his iconic suit.

“Oh damn,” Y/N exclaims with a tad bit of excitement.

“Wait what? What’s happening?” Layla asks.

“Khonshu and Steven are about to turn the night sky back to when Ammit was imprisoned” she practically jumps, wondering how that’ll look.

Layla nods and almost seems as excited as Y/N.

Steven then lifts his right hand, following Khonshus action. The sky glows brighter than it did before, showing the different tones more clearly. With the other hand the two begin to move it to the side, as if trying to move something.

Y/N looks yo to the sky and begins to see it rotate as if Steven was spinning a globe. One would get dizzy but Y/N was too starstruck to keep her eyes away. As Steven keeps moving his hand, the night begins rotate even faster to the point where the stars and the moon are shown through only a streak of white.

“This is fucking crazy” Y/N continues to stare.

The sky begins to slow down and stop at the same night sky from that day. Layla immediately bring her tablet up and begins to scan while Steven grunts trying to keep it steady.

Immediately after, Khonshu falls to his knees but continues to leave his arms raised. Unfortunately, his right arm gives up and almost becomes numb, falling to his side. So does Stevens.

Steven tries to raise it again but let’s out a noise of exhaustion, “I don’t know how long to do this”.

Looking over to Layla who is trying find the coordinates, she yells them out and Steven sighs in relief. Dropping his hands down.

Khonshu begins to disappear and Steven starts to become weak at his knees. Y/N tried to go and help him up but his body weight holds her down too.

He suddenly faints and falls numb to the ground. Layla and Y/N rush to his side and shake him.

“Hey hey! Wake up Steven! Marc?!” Layla shakes his body, pleading for one of the boys to come out and sit up.

“Shit, shit, come on guys!” Y/N begins to lightly slap their face. Trying to get a response.

Seeing that nothing is working, Layla looks at Stevens body and then to Y/N.

“Help me carry him back to the truck”

Y/N doesn’t think twice and begins to lift his legs while Layla lifts his shoulders. They both struggle but are able to lift him off the ground. Slowly they try to move down the hill but their grips gives out and drop Steven in the process. Y/N’s eyes widen and look at Layla.

“He won’t remember that” Layla waves off.

Y/N smiles and nods but then turns her head to a light that seems to come their way. She squints her eyes and tries to make out what it is, she sees it’s another truck. Realizing that they’ve been followed, she looks to Layla to tell her but can see that she already saw the sight by the face she was making.

“Help me drag him away” she says quickly, but before they can even grab him, bullets begin to fly their way. Even thought they were missing and landing on the sand, the two freaked out and fell down the hill with Steven.

The truck still in pursuit, missed them by a few feet and begin to drive around shining a light. Layla looks at truck and then turns to Y/N.

“Stay with Steven, I’ll try to stop them” she grabs the shoulders of the teen.

“Let me help!” She says loudly yet quietly.

Layla shakes her head and places a finger to her lips. She begins to run back to the truck and hides on the side and then moves to the trunk. Opening and then going in, she stays low as she hears men speaking in Arabic, saying they saw someone running.

Back with Y/N she feels her anxiety rise up as she looks at Layla being cornered. She looks to Steven who is unconscious and bites her lip.

“Uh, I think you should be fine…I’ll be right back” she races towards Layla but stops a few feet away.

Seeing how the truck begins to close in to Layla who’s hiding in their own truck, Y/N decides to bring their attention to her.

“Oye! Hijo de putas!” She waves her arms around.

The man who is sitting at the top turns to her, yelling to the driver that she was there. The truck begins to charge at her with the machine gun going off towards her.

“I forgot about the gun” she yells as she runs a different direction.

She continues to run, glancing back at the truck. Fortunately, the bullets weren’t hitting, jeez was the shooter bad. She waited for the truck to get as close as a distance. Y/N focused her energy to her right forearm. Finding the perfect chance, she suddenly turns which catches the shooter and river off guard. She then punches her arm up, causing the tentacles to rise up while holding the truck up. She then rapidly brings her arm down which causes the tentacles to slam the truck down, flattening it and hopefully making the two men unconscious.

She breathes out and smiles, walking back to Layla who stares at her with amazement. “You did fantastic!” She raises her hand up for a high five but stops when she sees that one of the men is still awake and trying to move the stuck machine gun towards the two. Layla sighs and grabs a red flare, lighting it then throwing it to the enemies truck. The vehicle instantly explodes and parts come flying.

“Now that was badass” Y/N raises her hand to Layla.

The two share a quick high-five. Layla smiles at Y/N but then furrows her brows to behind Y/N.

“What?” Y/N slowly turns and sees the figure of a man standing behind her.

Freaking out, she uses what’s left of her energy and punches whatever foe is still left from the small battle.

“Ow!”

She looks closer and sees Steven holding his nose in pain. Immediately she feels terrible and apologizes.

“I thought you were another of those bad guys!”

“We’ll im not! Jeez, you have a strong punch, I think you’ve broken my nose” Steven looks at his hand and sees there’s a blood stain.

Y/N has made Steven bleed.

And she felt terrible.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!” Y/N runs to the truck and grabs any piece of cloth she could find and runs back to Steven. “Here!”

She moves Stevens hand and forcefully places the cloth on his nose.

“Thanks love but it’s-“

“Lean your head down! Not back cause it supposedly can drown you? I don’t know!”

She pushes Stevens head down. He chuckled and grabs her shoulder as a reassurance, “Y/N don’t worry, I don’t think your small fisted punch can kill me”

“But I never punched you nor made you bleed dude! Also a lesson to not sneak up on me”

“A very good lesson at that, but it’s alright love it just means you can fend foes!” Steven cheers.

“I guess” Y/N slumps, still feeling guilty.

“Alright I believe it is time for us to get going. Don’t worry Y/N, Steven will survive” Layla says with a hint of humor.

Y/N nods and begins to move back to the truck, this time she was left to the back seat again, while the actual adults were at the front.

From there the car ride was rather quiet aside from the music that played. There would be times that Layla and Y/N would go into a musical number but it was probably only a couple of times. However it wasn’t just them two, Steven would also join. He had more energy when he sung which made the girls happier.

Y/N thought of ways to spice up the car ride by playing a few games. Sadly, the games were reduced to ‘Truth or Dare’ and ‘Never Have I Ever’ since the other ones required more room and surroundings; in this case they only had each other, the interior of the vehicle, and of course, sand.

So there really wasn’t much to do than just lay down and sleep. Y/N would offer to drive so Layla could rest but she would turn it down. Either because she was fine or she didn’t want Y/N to mysteriously wreck the truck.

After hours passed, the sun was beginning to rise. Layla was trying to rush to the tomb before Harrow got to it by stepping on the gas.

“When we get there, I think we will need Marc. We don’t know what Harrow might do” Layla glances at Steven.

He looks like he shrinks into the seat and then looks up to the mirror to his right.

“Actually, me and Marc came into an agreement that when we no longer had Khonshu, he would give the body to me”

Y/N scooted closer to the front and placed her elbows on the seats, “He said that once the whole Harrow business was over with that he’d leave?”

“Yeah but he and I changed our minds and now it’s when Khonshu isn’t here. Which he isn’t”

Layla grips the wheel tight, “So you guys made a deal, where he would just disappear from my life. And you didn’t think I’d be made aware of that?”

Y/N leans back into her seat and hopes the leather eats her whole. The atmosphere became so awkward so quickly and she didn’t know how to get out of it. It felt like she was back at home where her parents were arguing and she was just trying to eat a slice of pizza.

Yet that wasn’t the cherry on the top.

“Oh, well hadn’t he disappeared from your life already?” Steven asks her.

Layla stays quiet for a second and nods.

Y/N is very tempted to slap Steven right now. But oh god is this tension so unbearable. She covers her face trying to hide away.

“His suit was the best feature wasn’t it? Doesn’t even have that anymore” Layla looks straight ahead, “Plus he would want to go at this alone. We’re not gonna do that”

Steven nods, “Nope, it’s just you, Y/N, me, and the open road”

Y/N just squints her eyes seeing what he’s doing. Before she could open her mouth, the truck instantly comes to a halt.

“We’re gonna have to go on foot from here” Layla opens her door and begins to climb out.

Steven nods and does the same. Y/N stares at them and looks around the truck to see what they might need. All they had were spare clothes and a few snacks. She looked to the trunk and found a small backpack. She reached over to grab it and put in the rest of the small food.

Zipping it up, she got off and saw Layla and a Steven waiting for her. She hurried her step, “Got everything, well snacks in case were hungry you know”

Layla smiled, “Perfect, I have a few tools too just in case”

They looked over to Steven who had a backpack as well, “I uh, I have a few items in here too”

They shrugged and nodded and looked to the path before them. There were two canyons that framed a path that looked narrow.

The two walked through, being enveloped by the shadows. All they could hear were crows cawing from above and the sound of a small stream going through. They came upon an arch that had the top be a large rock that snuggly fit in, leaving space to walk under. However, on top of it was a goat that looked down at them.

Y/N scoffed and gestured her head to Steven to look at it. “Will you look at that, you should take a picture of that” he smiled.

She took out her phone and tried to aim it where the sun hit the angle right. With a quick click, she showed Steven the final result and he made an ‘ooh’ sound. Layla raised a thumbs up and said how photography suited her.

“Have you thought of becoming a photographer?” Layla questioned

Y/N simply shrugged, “I don’t know, kinda? But I kinda quit on that”

“Maybe you should look into it more” Layla patted her back.

Y/N smiled and nodded.

——

After almost an hour of walking, the three stand before a large plain of sand. The wind blows across their ear as they feel the small grains of sand. They felt their skin burn from the sun rays, especially now that they were away from the shade that the canyons were providing.

Their eyes pan from the tan canvas to an area that has tents pitched up.

“That must be where the tomb is” Layla informs.

“That’s got to be Harrows guys camp there” Y/N squints trying to look closer.

“Yup, that just means we have no time to lose” Steven looks at the two.

Arriving at the camp, there were many trucks scattered around. Walking through caution, they saw there was a few camels tied down. Steven waved to one as Y/N took a selfie with them.

Walking further in, their eye catched the side of a mountain. There was a small entrance that was framed with what seemed to be sticks to make a cover. Y/N began to walk towards it but felt Layla pull her arm back gently.

“We should first look for supplies” Layla waited for a confirmation before she began to walk off.

Y/N looked around, trying to find a place to start. Steven looked too and pointed to one tent.

“Maybe we can start with that one and then work around?”

“Oh, I was planning on just going off on my own to another one” Y/N pointed to a different tent.

“Well wouldn’t it be best if we stuck together? You know, safety”

“I mean yeah but I’ll be fine on my own, and plus I got this,” she raised an arm up which she then had a black strand appear from it, “so nothing to worry”

Steven tightened his lips and thought. “Alright, just if there’s anything that seems like trouble-“

“I’ll scream for you and Layla!” Y/N yelled out as she began to walk off.

Pulling open the curtains of the tent, she looked inside making sure there wasn’t anyone inside. Stepping inside after seeing she was fine, she noticed how it was a bit cooler inside. Although there was no lights, the sun made an orange glow happen inside.

There were a few beds, not the best ones thought but Y/N felt rather envious of the thought of being able to sleep on a bed. Oh how she missed her bed. There were a few tables that had many things on top like paper and small tools. She looked at each surface; grabbing every bottle to see if there was any water or even looking at any documents if there was anything important. Nothing though.

Where would someone hide suck important things? She already looked everywhere. Not everywhere though. She looked to the beds and went down to see if there was anything underneath. The first two beds, she was only met with messed up looking shoes or just sand. However on the last one she was surprised to see a small box.

Pulling it out from under, she was glad that it had no special lock or code. Inside she found what seemed to be letters and a small golden telescope. She shrugged and took the small golden thing but then turned to the papers. Taking one in hand, she tried to read it but it was no use. The letter was in Arabic.

She looked through the rest and it was no use. Still, there was something that laid under one of the letters. Maybe it was info for the tomb but it wasn’t. It was actually different.

It was a Polaroid picture of a family. There was a man who had a beard, almost in his middle years. He held a closed mouth smile. Next to him was a woman around the same age who had long black hair. She also had a closed mouth smile but it was more warm. Infront of them were two small children, a boy and a girl. They held a great big smile, showing their teeth. Each one having a few feature from each parent.

Y/N smiled but then frowned. She kept thinking of Harrows men as just Harrows men. Yet she forgot that they each have a family and come from somewhere. They most likely had people waiting for them back home. Waiting for them to say that they helped “save the world”.

She wondered if how this man’s family was feeling. We’re they worried? We’re they proud? Do they hope for him to get back?

Suddenly she thought of her own family. We’re they worried? We’re they proud? Did they hope Y/N was coming back? Or were they maybe glad she left?

This man’s family probably couldn’t wait to see him. But how about her own family?

She felt her eyes widen when she realized how these thoughts came in. She blinked them away and held her face.

Stop thinking like that. They miss you. They miss you…right?

She immediately put the picture back and closed the box. Sliding it quickly under the bed, she got up and began walking out the tent.

Y/N walked around the camp trying to remember which tent Steven said he’d go to. It was starting to get rather hot, that she had to take off her brown jacket and tie it around her waist, leaving her in the green t-shirt.

She continued to walk through, catching glances of the camels judging her as she tried to find her friends. Fortunately, one of the tents that she opened she saw Steven with his back facing her. He was looking at his reflection from a mirror and talking to it. On it, Y/N saw how the mirror would distort from Steven talking to what seemed to be Marc.

“You’re in love with my wife?”

“I really appreciate your concern, mage. I really do. But we’ve got it from here” Steven says almost with a bit of sass.

“I swear to you Steven. If you lay one finger on her! I’ll throw us off a cliff!!”

“I’ll call you” Steven says and turns around.

Not expecting Y/N to be there, he jumps. She raises and eyebrow and smirks.

“What was going on there? I could barely hear but it sounded like something about Layla?” She tilts her head to the side.

“Jesus I didn’t know you were there…Uhm it’s nothing important. Just Marc being sensitive about me being on the reigns of the horse” He flared back to a reflection.

“Right…It’s your guys business,” she raises her hands up, “Anyways, I wanted to see if you found anything”

Steven pulls out two flashlights from his bag and shows them to Y/N, “You?”

“Just this golden telescope but uh…I still don’t know if should keep it or put it back”

“Why’s that? I say keep it as your first treasure of this mission” He smiles.

Y/N purses her lips and looks to the floor, “Yeah, I’ll keep it”

Steven looks at her confused, seeing that she looks guilty about taking the small trinket. Not knowing about the backstory it had.

“Y/N is everything alri-“

“Steven! Y/N!” Layla begins to shout from outside.

“That’s our cue” Y/N walks out of the tent and to Laylas way.

Steven sighs and follows behind. Before it was easy telling each other anything but with what has been happening with Harrow, it has become difficult. He was set on trying to finish this soon so he and Y/N could go back to living everyday lives.

Layla waits by the cave with a pair of safety belts in hand with one she is already wearing.

"What are these for?" Y/N looks down as Layla begins to help her put one of the safety belts on.

"Well it turns out," She breathes out trying to tighten one of the gears, "we will have to jump down a hole to get to the tomb"

"Wait what?!" Y/N pulls back causing Layla to loosen her grip, "I thought it was just waltzing in and the tomb being there!"

"Yeah but then that would be too easy for thieves, wouldn't it?" Steven scrunched his nose.

Y/N looks at him, then at Layla, then at the darkness of the cave.

"If you don't want to go, you don't have to. You can maybe stay here and be on guard" Layla looks into Y/Ns eyes.

"What? She can't just stay out here. What if Harrow comes?" Steven's heart almost stopped with just the thought.

"Well no offense, but she's the only one with powers left, so I think she'll be able to at least run away to safety if that were to happen"

That is true, she is the only one left with powers. Meaning what if Harrow gets to them first. Who would protect them?

"Its alright, I'll go"

"Y/N, if you are afraid to go, you don't have to-" Layla places a hand on her shoulder.

"No, it's alright. Plus I'm the only one with powers left and you guys won't have me there to protect you" She smiles.

Layla gives Y/N a grin and continues to fasten the safety belt on her. After she begins to help Steven, which is rather an awkward moment since there is tension there. A romantic tension.

"You smell like him" Layla looks at Stevens lips and then to his eyes.

Y/Ns eyes widen and she slowly begins to look away, immediately finding interest in her bag. However she sneaks in glimpses to see what is happening, which she is surprised to see Layla trying to lean in for a kiss.

Sadly, Steven moves his head away, "Marcs trying to protect you from Khonshu"

Layla backs up and looks at him dazed, "What?"

"He thinks Khonshu Wants you for his Avatar, and he won't let that happen"

Y/N sighs at the disaster, "Great to ruin the mood".

"Well I don't need protection, I need honesty" Layla grabs a glove angrily and begins to put it on. She then begins to fasten Stevens's safety belt.

Suddenly Steven grabs Laylas shoulders.

"Wait..." Y/N looks at them with a puzzled look.

Steven then goes in for a kiss. Y/N gasps loudly and stares at them with her mouth ajar.

The kiss looks rather awkward but its a whole different pace for the day. They separate and Layla looks at him with an awkward smile, "Im gonna go down first, before I belay"

Layla begins walk to the cave and into the hole.

Y/N stands up and begins to slowly clap, walking closer to Steven. "Damn Steven my boy, I thought I would be the one to get my first kiss, guess not" she laughs.

"Oh shut it...do you think I made things awkward?"

"Well...kinda? She didn't slap you so that's a good sign I think. There is bad news though" she crosses her arms.

"What?" He cocks his head to the side

"Marc won't be liking this, he might be fuming in there," she says with a British accent.

Steven opens his mouth but is met with his fist plunging into his face. Y/N looks at him with shock and then erupts in a fit of laughter.

"That's not funny" Steven rubs his nose, "I have been punched twice now"

"It is kinda but hey I apologized for the first one!" Y/N chuckles as she begins to make her way into the cave.

Down at the hole, Layla walks over to a statue that sits by an entrance. She looks down smiling at the sand and begins to draw a symbol.

“Ah shit!” Y/N yells out as she descends down to the hole. Fortunately she was able to land on her two feet but she continued to grip on the rope for dear life. Layla chuckles and walks over to her and helps her get the safety belt off.

“Not so scary was it?” She teases Y/N.

“Not really, but falls like that still freak me out you know. Like this one time, I went on this one Jurassic World ride and there was this-,” Y/N pauses and looks at Layla sheepishly, “Sorry, I was about to ramble”

“It’s fine, I’d like to hear it” Layla smiles warmly at her.

“Yeah, but probably some other time since we’re kinda on a tight schedule” Layla nods, Y/N noticing the symbol that is behind her, “What’s that?”

Layla turns and sort of jumps at what she wrote being acknowledged, “Oh, it’s a symbol for my father. He would have loved it here”

“Hmm, I like that,” Y/N turns to Layla with a smile, “I think he’d be proud that you were able to come”

Layla returns a grin and thanks her. Noticing that the atmosphere has become cheesy, Y/N clears her throat and looks back at the symbol.

“So was he into Egypt?”

“Oh he wasn’t just into it, he was obsessed. He was an archeologist and would travel around the globe to find neat things. One of the main places he’d go would be here in Egypt” Layla breaths out as she remember the fond memories of her father.

“Heh, your dad and my grandpa would have gotten along just fine then” Y/N smiles down, touching one of the statues that sat there.

“He was an archeologist too?”

“Not exactly, he was just into history of all kind. Mesoamérica would be his top one but Egyptian history came second. Man, he would talk my ear off about all the facts” Y/N begins to draw the initials of her grandfather near the area that Layla drew, “I rambled didn’t I? Sorry”

Layla shakes her head and comes by, looking at the two figures. She squeezes Y/N’s shoulder, “Both of them would be proud of us right now”.

“Yeah…”

The two shared a moment of silence just staring at the statue infront of them. Y/N never really put a thought on Laylas personal life nor even tried to ask about it. Yet, she didn’t not regret being the second to come down hole and share small moment with her.

Of course moments don’t last this long since not even a second later is there a tumbling down with a scream. It felt like things went in slow motion in those few seconds and Y/N was able to see that Steven was falling. Although it was a small fall, it still pumped an adrenaline and caused her to bring her arms out and cause tentacles to wrap around Steven before he could fall.

Steven looked surprised and looked at the tentacles as they brought him to the ground. The limbs then went back into Y/N and she stood there with a smirk.

“Told you guys would need me” Steven rolled his eyes and dusted himself off.

“Perhaps you were. Did I miss anything?”

Layla shakes her head, “Not really”

Steven nods but then sees the statue behind Layla and Y/N, “Oh how beautiful”. He walks towards it and beams with excitement, “Oh if these came to life and told me to answer a riddle, I would not hesitate”

“I think I’d shit my pants if they did” Y/N tilts hee head as she continues to examine the sculptures.

“Alright, I believe we should start heading inside before Harrow comes” Layla points to the opening.

“Right,” Steven looks at Y/N and gestures her to go first.

The three go through the entrance which leads to a narrow, triangular tunnel. They continue and notice they are lead through turns and circles which leads them to a small room. In it, there is a cube table in the center made out of sand.

Layla shines a flashlight to one opening and then to another, “It’s a maze”

“It’s a-maze-ing” Steven laughs at his own joke.

“No like, there are six paths” Layla walks around the area.

Y/N stares at him, “Good effort, maybe add a bit more cheeriness”

“Oh I apologize, I didn’t know this was going to be critiqued”

Y/N snickers and shines a light around the room, trying to find any clues. She walks over to the small table and inspects it. Nothing.

“Man I would suck in escape rooms” Y/N rubs the back of her head.

Steven mutters ‘6 points’ and begins to draw on the sand on the table. While that happens, Layla picks up a few bullet shells, “What would they be shooting at?”

Y/N shrugs, “Who knows, maybe another avatar is trying to help us”

“Aha!” Steven exclaims and points to the drawing, “This whole structure is-“

“The Eye of Horus” Y/N comes closer to the table

“Look at you, I didn’t know you had any Egyptian facts in you” Steven teases.

Y/N eyes him down, “It’s the only thing I remember from our ex-job” she then looks down to the drawing.

“Ammits final Avatar was a pharaoh” Layla stares down.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is like a protection thingy no?” Y/N points at the doodle.

“Yup, for the royals. I am honestly proud you know this” Steven smiles at Y/N.

Y/N feels fuzzy, smiling back at him. It felt like an actual praise and not some fake thing to encourage you.

Steven begins to explain about the Eye of Horus and what each point represents; the 6 senses. The eyebrow which are for thoughts. Pupil sight. One corner of the eye is hearing. The other is smell. Another is touch. Lastly, the long curvy line is the tongue.

“The avatar would be Ammits voice” Layla looks up at Steven.

Click! The puzzle was solved and the three began to walk through the path that would be the tongue of the eye. It was another long tunnel but at the end they were met with a big and tall room. At the center was a table and on the sides were rectangle openings with what seemed to be mummies. On the walls there were Egyptian paintings.

Layla shines her light on one of the paintings, “Oh those are Heka Priests. They would have been entombed in here to protect the pharaoh”

“What is a Heka?” Y/N shines her flashlight on the mummies by the walls.

“Sorcerers of their time. They’ve been down here for centuries,” Layla then points to the bodies, “These must be the unlucky souls that crossed their path”

“Ahahah…shit I hope these guys are dead” Y/N breaths out.

The sound of gagging catches Y/N’s attention. Steven is covering his mouth and is looking down, “Oh my god”

Y/N walks to see what he is staring at and her eyes widen, “Oh hell no, is that blood?”

The two stares down at the table which has engravings and on it is the scarlet color splattered everywhere.

Layla gets close and examines it close.

“Oh god, are those chunky meaty bits?” Steven gags.

“Oh my god dude! Don’t describe it! I just got over what I saw back at that cliff” Y/N shivers at the memory of finding ‘not’ Marc killing men left and right.

“Right I’m sorry” Steven raises a hand up to Y/N.

Y/N uses her shirts collar to cover her nose from the smell. She walks around the table and finds jars of clay with the lid being shaped as a jackal. Some of the jars however are covered in red stains.

Layla picks up one of the tools that are set on the table, covered in more fresh blood.

“Alright we should keep moving” Layla begins to walk to the other opening and stops in her tracks.

On the floor, there is a trail of blood. As if someone dragged a corpse away from the table.

“Oh nope, nope. Nah dude, do you see horror movies? This is exactly what the dumb people do; follow the trail of blood” Y/N breaths out and begins to hyperventilate.

Steven notices and places a hand on Y/Ns back, “Hey, hey, hey. It’s alright. Nothing will happen. I’ll keep you safe, yeah?”

Y/N nods and begins to control her breathing again.

Steven breaths out in relief and looks around the room. He looks up to the second floor and finds a second opening.

“Look! Should we check it out?” Steven looks to Layla who is rubbing circles on Y/N.

She nods, “Alright you go up there”

“Wait me?”

So there goes Steven, climbing a ladder to the second floor. At the top, it looks like it was an area where the Heka Priests would store some of their items and even just keep the bodies there. Since there was one on wooden table.

“All good?” Layla asks.

“Yeah, oh look here,” he looks to a wall scripture, “It says here that Ammit should be bound to an ushabti. Those statue thingies”

Steven continues to look around and begins to list the different items that are used for the rituals. Obviously, getting distracted.

“Hey Steven!” Layla whisper-yells, “Remember the opening”

Steven says an ‘oh right’ and heads away from the balcony. Y/N who is now calmer, looks worriedly and begins to walk towards the ladder.

“Hey hey, where are you going?”

“Imma go with Steven, I have a feeling something’s bound to-“

“Hey it’s this way!” Steven tells

Suddenly there are gunshots that sound from outside. The three freeze up and look to the entrance that they came from.

“Harrow” Layla looks at Steven.

“What are they shooting at?”

“I dont-“ A clicking sound then cuts off Layla.

“Hide!” Y/N whispers.

“Wait Y/-“ Steven yells but stops when he sees a shadow loom from the tunnel they walked through.

Layla runs behind the table and crouches down. Steven runs to a nearby table as well and crouches down too. Unfortunately for Y/N, she has no other hiding spot but the upward grave of those unfortunate souls.

She runs to one and cringes as she moves one of the corpses to the side, hiding beneath it. Hiding in complete darkness and dead body, she holds her breath. A man looking creature then comes in while dragging the body of a man with a vest. It looks like a man who’s in his middle years and has a short beard. Seeing a resemblance, Y/N feels her heart stop.

It was the man who was in the picture. The one with the family.

She could hear her heart beating faster by the second. In her head she’s hoping it calms down, or else that thing will come for her. Her breaths are slow yet heavy as she stares as the thing takes out a knife. She looks over to Layla who is only a feet away from the monster.

Although it was dark she could see that the man-looking thing has a dark blue skin tone. It wears a golden chest plate with a collar adorned by jewels. It wears withered cloth at the bottom with a belt holding those same jars they saw.

A gushing sound is then heard and the groans of the man. It was obvious what it was doing yet Y/N was still at lost. That was until it pulled something out of the man’s torso and placed it inside on of the jars from before. Giving her a view of the man on the table, the imagery was explicit. From his stomach to his chest he had a long cut and Y/N swore she saw some of his intestines.

She felt her eyes well up with tears, remembering the picture that was under the bed. His kids would be waiting for their dad, not knowing that he was being killed in a gruesome way.

Aside from feeling sadness, she felt disgusted. Again, movies had a way to make you think you’d be able to handle scenes like these in real life. Still, Y/N felt like throwing up. She looks at one of the paintings above and then at the creature. In the paintings, the Heka Priests wear a golden collar with blue beads and jewels on it. Y/N looks back at the thing and notices it has the same collar. Realizing that the monster is a Heka Priest, it makes more sense what they have gotten into.

“What the actual fuck” she thought.

She continues to stare at Layla who is trying to get far away from the Heka. Slowly moving her body to behind the table, Y/N worries more now that she can't see Layla.

Layla continues to crawl away, more focused on the noise she's making than her surroundings, she knocks down one of the jars.

Y/N feels like she is about to throw up her heart as she sees the Heka stop and walks around the table trying to find the cause of the noise. It begins to make a clicking noise more loudly which creeps the three out more.

It begins to get closer to the other side of the table until a creaking from above takes its attention. It looks up at where Steven is hiding and jumps on the table to try to get a better view.

Steven tries to sit still but unfortunately causes the priest to jump to the bottom of the floorboard that he stands on. Steven gasps and stands up immediately. The priest begins to climb to Steven.

Y/N peeks and sees how her friend is about to die and looks around to try to find a way to distract it. The closest thing she has is the corpse that is in her space bubble. She breathes out and gets the courage. Does she have a plan? Not really, she is just hoping a god, maybe Hathor, can come and rescue them. Which doesn't happen.

Y/N pushes the corpse down which leads to a loud thud. The priest looks down and jumps off the small balcony. He lands right in front of Y/N and looks at her. She prepares to fight but another loud sound is met. The priest looks to where the sound of a jar being smashed to the wall comes from and sees Layla standing there.

"Run!" Y/N yells out and Layla listens.

Layla runs to the opening which they weren't going to go through in the first place. Y/N comes out of the hiding spot and breaths in deeply. She looks up and sees Steven looking down.

Y/N climbs up and is met with Steven grabbing her shoulders, "What were you thinking?!"

"Hey, I saved your ass!"

"Which put you in harm's way!" Steven breathes out, "Sorry, just don't do that again you understand? "

Y/N nods and Steven lets go of her. He looks to the other opening he was talking about, "Layla is probably on the other side"

The two walk through another tunnel, this time longer than the others. It was covered in sandstone in which you can tell it was starting to fall apart due to the cracks. The only thing illuminating the way was their flashlights.

Halfway, Steven looks at Y/N and sees how her expression carries paranoia and fatigue. The two hadn't slept in their own beds for about two days now. Y/N used to always joke around or keep a positive vibe but it seemed like the past events had put a pause to that. In spite of her trying to tease him earlier today, he could tell she was trying to distract herself. Steven didn't blame her, the poor girl was only worried about attending college in a new country. Instead of worrying about exams, she was now stressing over the end of the world.

Actually, what was she trying to study?

"Hey, I have been thinking and I realized I never asked you about what you were majoring" Steven looks at her.

She raises a brow, "Why are you asking all of a sudden?"

"Well it looks like we will be walking through this path for a while so might as well make small talk," He gestures to the lit tunnel, "Also because I am interested"

"...Nursing"

"Ah, so you want to be a nurse. That sounds fun" He grins at her but she only gives a half smile.

"Yeah... it's pretty cool"

Steven's eyes drew together, "It doesn't sound like you think it is"

Y/N looks down, "It...I mean it doesn't really matter, it makes good money"

"...Shouldn't you choose something that you like?"

Y/N stays quiet and shrugs.

Now that Steven thinks about it, he noticed how she was still a bit more cheerful until that phone call from last night. That's when Y/Ns mood went down.

"...So I may not fluently speak Spanish but that phone call from last night...it didn't sound like good news"

Y/N's shoulders become tense, "It was nothing, just family stuff you know"

"Alright, if you don't want to say, I won't force you. Just know I will gladly listen if you need to let a few things out"

Y/N breathes in and thinks for a while, "...I guess it was obvious huh?"

"Very"

She smiles and hesitates, "My mom saw a video of me using my powers to fight those guys at Mogarts place"

Steven's eyes widen but doesnt say anything which Y/N takes as a sign to continue.

"She asks if I'm in a gang or something. I of course say no. She tells me how I have disappointed her and my dad. That I'm just like my siblings, a disappointment"

Steven's brows wrinkle, in anger maybe, "Did you explain to her what was actually happening?"

"Tried to but she was full-on crying. So now she wants me to immediately head back home and study close” Y/N finally looks up to Steven.

“Well I can’t stand by that of course. Who else will share the afternoon gossip with me?” He elbows her gently.

Y/N laughs, “I mean, no one else can beat me…besides I’d be bored back at America”

The two begin to make their way out of the tunnel and into a room.

“It seems that the only way to prove to her, is if you do something great. Might I add something that can defeat a bad man and make you look like the hero” he gestures to what is inside the room.

The two carefully walk in, stepping over a stream that flows into a large square in the center. Many pillars stand with more painting on them while there are a few sculptures.

“A tomb gif for a pharaoh” Steven gapes at the scene, “Oh! Look at that! There’s Thutmose II and Nefertiti”

“Wait Nefertiti!? I think shes one of the greats no?” She shines a light at each tomb.

“Yup, which means the treasure we’re looking for should be here”

“Wait wait, we’re in an Egyptian tomb…last time someone came in they died unexpectedly…dude are we going to die?”

Steven scoffs, “Probably not…I hope”

They slowly walk up to the square, stepping on stones to avoid falling into the water.

“So you kissed her”

“You heard that?” Y/N whips her head around.

“Yeah it’s just Marc”

“Ohh, he must be angry with you then”

Steven nods and looks down at his reflection on the water. “What are you gonna do? Drown us?”

“I should”

They climb up the square and lay eyes on a sarcophagus. Steven gets closer and begins to inspect it, muttering about Macedonian.

“It can’t be…” Steven stares down at the sarcophagus.

“Wait what?”

“I think we’re looking at the long lost tomb of Alexander the Great”

The tomb is what King Tuts looks like except more withered and not as bright. Except the gold being the thing making it stand out.

“Oh my god! Let me take a pic- wait is that allowed? Would I get cursed?” Y/N holds her phone to her chest.

“Us being here is probably already a no-no rule”

Steven looks down and bites his lip, “There are so many alarms telling me to not open this thing”

“You want Harrow to get to Ammit first?”

“Oh I can hear him now” Y/N looks at a nearby reflection of Marc, “Hey my guy, been long. Definitely had no part in keeping you hostage by the way”

“Yeah, missed you too”

Steven places his palms on the lid of the tomb and begins to push. Seeing him struggle, Y/N moves to his side and also begins to push the top off.

Inside, a body wrapped tightly in cloth lays there. Its arms are crossed and on it is a piece made out of gold with two circles connected by wings. By the torso, there is a golden axe with designs on the blade.

"We are definitely cursed now" Y/N breathes out

"Well if you keep saying it, you might just manifest it," Steven says in an eery tone to try to freak her out.

Y/N pauses and stares at Steven.

"You'll be fine don't worry, is the ushabti one of those things?"

Steven shakes his head, "Well if you were trying to hide it for all eternity, you wouldn't want it to be this easy to find"

Y/N snaps her fingers and points at Steven, "Wait! You know how the tongue is a symbol for voice and it's also the thing that brought us here? Wouldnt the ushabti be hidden in the mouth or something?"

"Alexander was the voice of Ammit, yes!" Steven exclaims but then slouches seeing the corpse, "Oh dear..."

It doesn't take long for Y/N to understand and looks down at the body, "That's all you buddy" she pats his back.

Steven breathes in and begins to rip the wrappings from the neck up. Alexander the Great's skull is then unveiled.

Steven then grabs the jaw ad opens it up. Seeing that there is nothing in the mouth, Steven begins to slowly put his whole arm down the body's throat.

"Thats right, get in there"

"Maybe just pretend you're touching a bowl of spaghetti?" Y/N rambles and continues to give details.

"Y/N"

"Yeah?"

"That's not really helping"

"My bad" she backs away to give him space.

Steven continues digging around until his eyes widen and pull his arm back out.

"I got it!" He holds up a small ceramic statue of a half-woman and half-crocodile.

"You got it!" Y/N yells out.

The two go in for a hug but Y/N pulls away immediately. Steven looks at her puzzled.

"We can hug when I know you don't got mummy guts on you"

Steven rolls his eyes playfully, "Wait until Layla comes-"

On cue, Layla walks into the tomb and closer to them.

"Layla!" Y/N runs up to her and hugs her, "You're okay!" but she doesn't return it.

She backs away and looks at her funny. She knows this feeling, she has learned how to sense someone's feelings. And Layla was not happy.

Layla continues to walk up to Steven, keeping a few feet of space in between.

"Can he hear me?" Layla says in a serious tone

"Alexander? I don't think so, god I hope not" He gives an awkward smile.

"What happened to my father?"

The atmosphere becomes thick and it becomes uncomfortable. Y/N looks at Steven who is as lost as her. Layla gets closer to Stevens face, "Im talking to you Marc!"

She shoves Steven and his eyes begin to flutter back. His body language becomes firm and tense.

"Y/N go look for a way out" Marcs tells her without looking at her.

To Y/N it translates to "Me and mom are about to argue, go to your room so you don't listen". She gives one last look at them and heads out to the opening that they came from.

--

Remembering that there are more of Harrow men at where they came out in from, she decided to go to the other path to maybe see a hidden passage.

"Man that was awkward" She shines the light around the tunnel trying to see if there is a sign of an exit.

She wonders if Marc is doing alright handling Layla's yelling. No judgment if he was terrified, she was too. She continues walking through the path and stops to see that it led her to a small room with more statues. One that catches her eyes is one that has the head of what looks like a Doberman and the body of a man.

"I feel like I should know your name. Know how to get out of here?"

"His name is Anubis, God of the Dead" a males voice is heard from behind.

Y/N turns and sees the elderly man who is the cause of all this. The one who ruined her first day of College and now is trying to end the world.

"Oh hell no" She begins to walk away but is stopped by two men who are pointing their guns at her.

"Let's chat, shouldn't we? I don't think we really got to know each other," he walks towards them.

"How about no? With much offense, you creep me out so..."

"You know, your grandfather was an extraordinary man"

This grabs Y/Ns attention, "How do you know him?"

"Well Ammit is connected to death, so I usually like to learn more about the ones who have passed on" he walks around Y/N, "What I learned was that he was the only company that you probably had and probably the only person who understood you"

Y/N bites the inside of her mouth as tears well up, "What about it? H-How is this relevant to-"

"To what I said to you back at Mogarts. It's obvious that you find comfort in not only Marc but in Layla too"

Y/N stares down as Harrow continues to talk.

"It makes sense now on why you continue to follow them," He gets close to Y/N, "Why not join me and not only will you make your parents proud again but I can offer you to see your grandfather"

Y/N stays quiet, thinking. Her whole life she has tried to make her parents happy. To be the one that is the star of the whole family. Aside from trying to make all the aunts, uncles, and cousins envious. What next?

She never really thought of a Plan B.

The main question is, what would Marc, Steven, and Layla think? They'd be disappointed of course.

She thought about all the things they have done.

Working with Steven was fun, probably more entertaining than hanging out with her friends back home. He was kind and actually caring, looking out for her well-being.

Marc was eventful. Although she had only known him for a day or two, he taught her how to be strong. How to fight. But most of all he stood by her side and put up with all her antics. He was rather funny and also looked out for her.

Layla was sweet. There were times when she thought Layla would yell at her. Like back at the hideout when she was too scared to use her powers. She was patient and was like an older sister to her.

"What about it Y/N?"

Harrow's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him and he held a hand out to her. She looked at it as her breath shook. She forgot that she was scared right now. She gulped and looked into his eyes.

No one else would be able to make her feel loved, safe, and accepted like the three have.

She moved her hand to Harrows but stopped, "...Im good"

She thrust her hand at his chest, summoning a tentacle to make him fly across the room. The rest of the men started to shoot but she used her extended limbs to grab them all, crushing them.

Throwing the men away from the path she came from, she tried to run but heard a gun being loaded. She looked back and saw Harrow pointing a gun to her.

Bang! Bang!

Two gunshots.

She used her tentacles to block them. She heard metal clink on the floor and she looked down to see a bullet flattened.

"...You missed" She smiles

"You only caught one"

Y/N looks at him confused and looks down. She sees that her shirt is getting stained by a red substance. It is around her chest and notices blood oozing out as she presses her palm on it.

"What?" her breath is shaky as she looks at her bloody hand.

Looking up, she begins to run away back to the others.

Harrow stares at her as she leaves.

"Do we go after her?" One of his men ask.

He shakes his head, "Lets wait a moment, let them have a moment to say goodbye"

--

"Thats the reason we met. You just had a guilty conscious" Layla wipes tears off of her face.

"Im sorry" Marc quietly says.

The two stand there in silence before gunshots are heard from far away. The two look at each other.

"It can't be those Heka Priests" Marc looks around, worry beginning to come.

Layla shakes her head slowly and looks around, "Y/N hasn't come back"

They hear small steps, and a shadow is seen limping their way. Y/N comes out with a hand under her chest. Blood seeped through her fingers, dripping down. The color of her skin was beginning to fade.

"Marc? Layla? I think i-" She stumbled to the floor.

They ran to her, Marc catching her. He brought her away from the entrance and kneeled, placing her gently down.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" She continued to say as she choked back the tears.

"Its okay, your okay" Marc said quickly as he tried to put pressure on the wound.

"I know you told me to be careful but, but I-" Tears flowed down her face.

Layla looked through her bag trying to find bandages.

"Shh shh, I'm not angry don't worry. You just gotta hang on" He looked to Layla to see if she had anything but there was nothing.

Marc's voice broke but he continued to hold himself together. Y/N slowly began to feel her limbs going numb.

"Marc...I'm scared. I don't want to die" She cried

"You're not dying alright, I won't let that happen" He squeezed her hand.

He then began to feel her hand become loose, and he looked back at her face. Her eyes softened and the shine in her eyes disappeared. Layla covered her mouth and tears started to spring out.

Marc's eyes widened and he started to shake Y/Ns body, "Hey, Hey! Come on! Don't forget we still have that deal! We still have to figure out whos food spot is best"

Layla placed a hand on his shoulder, "Marc stop...She's gone"

Marc couldn't hold it anymore and all the tears he held in came out. He brought Y/Ns body close, the first time he hugged her but she wouldn't even know.

The only words that went through his mind were "Your fault"

More steps started to come and Marc looked at Layla, "Go! I'll hold them off"

Layla took one last look at Y/Ns body and ran to hide. Marc stood up and grabbed the golden axe from the tomb.

"Come on!" He stood in a stance as he waited.

A large group of men came out with Harrow.

"I remember the first morning that I woke up, knowing Khonshu was gone" Harrow looks up at him.

Marc looks at him with anger and hatred in his eyes, "Im going to kill you"

Harrow tilts his head and then looks at the lifeless body of Y/N, "I apologize that I killed your friend but she wasn't letting reason talk to her. Now don't make that same wrong choice"

Marc huffed, "...Okay"

One of the men slowly walked up to Marc trying to get the ushabti. However, Marc grabbed the gun and used the axe to chop the hand of the man. As he was going to continue to fight the other one who charged at him, Harrow brought his gun up and shot Marc three times.

Marc fell down, into the pool of water that surrounded the sarcophagus. Layla stared in shock, trying to cover her scream. Not only did she lose one friend but now her husband.

Harrow continued to stare down to make sure he was dead, "I can't help those who don't want to be helped"

Harrow then walked away with his men following.

Once gone, Layla came out of the shadows and pulled Marc out of the water and dragged him with Y/N.

She looked at the two and broke down crying. She placed both hands on the bodies and cried.

She was truly alone now.

------

Let's ignore my almost 30 days of no update lmao

My bad thought but for real college is fucking me in the ass with the amount of work. As I type this, I have a research paper waiting for me.

Also, I hope I didn't make yall cry/sad

Also if shit dont make sense, its cuz I had writers block cockblocking me and I was trying to get to the knitty gritty. Anyways enjoy :)

Tags:

@itsjusspele @dustyinkpages

Feel free to ask me to add you in the taglist :)

[atlasscrumpit]

any chance you could write platonic moon boys with a reader with adhd and just reminding them to things and stuff like that . please don’t worry if you want to write this

Steven came home in the afternoon to see you sitting at the table drawing quietly.

He looked around to see the kitchen hadn't been cleaned like he had asked.

"Love? I thought I asked you to clean up the kitchen." He said as you looked up.

"O-Oh... I'm sorry I completely forgot. I made my bed though!" You said as you stood up.

"Baby, I needed you to clean up the kitchen. Can you do it now for me?" Steven said as you looked away and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I can do it now."

--

Marc came and checked on you an hour later once he finished working.

"I'm done! I did the kitchen, the lounge room, my room and the bathroom!" You shouted as he looked at you in shock.

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart. We only wanted you to clean the kitchen." He said as you chuckled a little.

"I know, I just got into the mood to clean." You muttered shying away a little.

"Come sit down with me, love." He said as you sat next to him on the couch.

"I usually ask you to do a lot of things but you don't do them, but then you'll do a bunch of others things I didn't ask you to do." He said, trying to understand it better.

"I know... I'm sorry I just find it really hard to remember things. I'm sorry, I'm really trying." You muttered as Marc smiled softly and held onto your hand.

"I know you're trying, babygirl. How about we work out ways to make it easier for you? Would that help?" He asked, gently running his hand through your hair as you smiled.

"That would really help." You said as he smiled and hugged you tightly.

"Then that's what we'll do, sweetheart."

[terracottaheart26]

Chapter 2

Pairings : Marc Spector x Female!oc, Steven Grant xFemale!oc, Jake Lockely x Female!oc

Genre : Fluff ( angst and smut later on)

Summary : About 6 years ago, Marc Spector had a small whirlwind romance fling with a young woman after leaving home, though he fears attachment and leaves her behind. When he finally meets her again after 6 years, along with a few surprises, could he bear to face her and reveal his truth?

Terra had been on London on vacation, taking in the sights, trying all the restaurants and just enjoying how different it was from the states. She chose a different place every summer, but this year her cousin had extended an invite for her to stay with his family at their bed and breakfast.it was tempting, really tempting, so she didn’t the only logical thing……

She leapt at the chance.

Now she was enjoying the cool weather of summer, had eaten some breakfast with some English tea, and decided to walk around to see what she’d find this time around. She didn’t consider she’d bump into a total stranger with a small crashing sound. Something must have broke in that grocery bag.

“Oh my god! Need any help?” Terra rushed over, crouching down to retrieve the bag, but was concerned when she didn’t hear the gentleman in any way. Had she made a mistake? Well she was already grabbing his bag, might as well hand it back. She hoped however he wasn’t one of those types that easily lost his temper at this sort of thing.

“Here you go, hope nothing else is ruined…..” she stopped when spotting the gentleman before her. No, wait, it couldn’t be. There was no way. She recognized those eyes, the dark wavy hair, there was no mistaking it. “Marc?” There was no way. It’d been years! Plus this guy looked more timid, shoulders sagging, loose clothing, it wasn’t like she’d remembered.

Steven didn’t know how to respond, he felt his heart racing even faster than before. This girl before him, the images last night didn’t do her justice. She was prettier up close. Blue eyes gazing back at him in bewilderment, and here he was looking like a dunce. A total bollock!

“Steven! I beg of you, please just walk away”

He seemed distracted by something, though by the looks of it he didn’t seem like himself. Terra bent down a bit to see his hidden face behind the large grocery bag. A friendly smile on her face“You okay? You don’t……uh….seem kinda nervous” which seemed unlike him. Maybe she didn’t know him all that well, but she was sure she’s never seen him like this before.

And there it was, the same kindness that drew him in. Marc was hoping to switch just to get out of there, but Steven for some reason wouldn’t budge. Spotting the pink in his cheeks and groaning from the mind space. Of course Steven would think she was pretty. She smelled sweet too, like walking into a pastry shop.

“S-sorry love, didn’t mean to-“ “Wait, love? When did you get a British accent?”

Now he’d done it. Steven wasn’t sure why he’d spoken, Marc wasn’t happy with this turnout, and Jake was just relishing this whole thing. Admiring her from the reflections of the glass. Which wasn’t hard to do. Seeing this girl in real life was far better than those flashes he’d seen in Marc’s dream from last night.

Terra flushes a bit from how he was looking at her. It’d been a while since she saw him looking like that, but she’s never seen him look so soft. So vulnerable. And didn’t he usually brush his hair back? She couldn’t help herself, reaching up and seeing him flinch a bit in response. Only for her to softly, and ever so gently, brush some of his hair back.

“Sorry, you were just hiding your face…….not like you” she laughs nervously.

Steven licks his lips, glancing at the reflection, deciding to risk it. Maybe take a chance, sure Marc would be upset about it, but he has to try. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt a small kick in the back of his legs. Her hands supporting him before he’d ever fall over completely.

“Leave my mommy alone!” A small voice cried.

There, standing just a few feet, was a small child, her brows furrowed as she glared him down, her wavy hair tied in pigtails. In a pink dress no less. She didn’t fear him, at least that’s what he assumed. Yet there was something about her, the ferocity in her eyes.

“I’ll protect you mommy!” Another voice cried, pushing Steven to join the other girl, his own dark hair wavy as well,protectively standing in front of-

“I-I’m sorry did they call you mommy?” Steven inquired with a puzzled look on his face. She looked young, there was no way she could be a mother, though they resembled her a bit. The boy though……

“Kids!” Bending down to their level, she berates them softly. “I’m fine, you don’t go around kicking people” Glancing at him, she then sends them off to a gentleman that was farther away. “Listen, I’m sorry, I just….here’s an address where I’m staying, I’ll explain there, there’s a number also, got to go”

“Uh, wait!” Steven pleads, but it fell to deaf ears as she caught up with the gentleman and left. Leaving him stranded. The card left in his hand.

***********************************************

It had taken ages! Steven’s insistence, Jake’s sheer curiosity, and then there was Marc. Finding himself in front of the alleged address that was given to him. He’d been pacing back and forth, wondering why he’d ever come. Though he had to know, it was eating him up.

Opening the door, he’d found the older large building to be a comfy bed and breakfast, an older gentleman sitting away by the window with some tea. Marc ventured by the back door while wandering, hearing the laughter of children. And it was there he’d found them. Those smaller kids playing with some older kids. Terra sitting right by the back of the building on a wooden bench.

“Wanna sit?” She peeps softly, patting the spot next to her. Waiting to see what he’d do, she was patient, not wanting to draw attention to them.

Marc kept quiet, but nervously accepts. Hoping it didn’t show on his face. He made her feel so darn vunerable. “So……it’s been a while….Terra”

She laughs, a small smile on her face. “You do remember me” worrying that he might have wanted to ignore her completely, but she was secretly thrilled he didn’t. Terra was wondering about the accent the other day, but held back and let him lead the conversation.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Terra just shrugged, looking back at the children playing by the garden.

He’d felt the tension, the others pressuring him. The boy laughing caught his attention, playing with and raising a foam sword in the air with a small smile. Soon both kids dropped to the ground, occupying their time with the soil beneath their feet. His mother would have been livid at the mess it would soon bring, but Terra just watched them with a smile. “Honestly, happy you’re happy, their dad is one lucky guy” he jokes sadly. He’d had her six years ago, but he blew it. Now she was here, with a guy and her two kids.

“They don’t know who their dad is” she responds. It made Marc tense instantly. What did she mean by that?

“Wait, if that man isn’t their father…then….”

Terra placed her hands on her lap, looking at him with a small wince. Figuring it was best to tell him.

“They’re yours Marc…...”

[midgardian-witch]

You haven't seen The Mummy?!

Jake hasn't seen The Mummy and Reader realizes things about their feelings towards Layla and the Moon Knight System.

AO3 [MASTERLIST]

tags: fluff | references to The Mummy (1999 - 2008) | light angst | panic attacks

ships: Layla/Reader, MK System/Reader, Layla/MK System/Reader

Disclaimer: I do not have DID so my description of it is based on the show and my own research.

"What do you mean 'Jake hasn't seen The Mummy'?" 

You look at the man in front of you in disbelief and frankly even a bit offended. 

"Well, he didn’t front much before Marc and I knew of him, yeah? Usually just to protect us in a fight. So there wasn't really much opportunity for him I guess?" Steven answers sheepishly. Meanwhile, Layla is watching the exchange from the sidelines, holding back laughter at your comically exaggerated outrage. You jump up from your seat next to Steven and scramble to the bag you had left near the entrance when you arrived at Steven's apartment earlier.

"We'll watch The Mummy right now and I don't care if Jake protests. Because given what you guys do? This should be mandatory for new Avatars to watch!" 

By that point Layla has given up on holding back her amusement. Shaking with laughter she is half draped over Steven, her giggling muffled by his shoulder. Steven too is giggling excitedly as both of them watch you return with your laptop in hand. Steven's electronics are well on their way to being called retro (if they aren't already) so your laptop would have to do. You aren't even sure if any of the men paid for a streaming service. 

"I'll get us some snacks then, yeah?" Steven offers with a soft smile on his face. Layla watches him walk into the kitchen, looks back at you for a moment - a whirlwind of motion as you set everything up - and follows her husband/boyfriend. 

You don't notice them leaving your presence, too focused on finding the right streaming service that actually has the movie you'd like to watch (and not the horrible mess that is the 2017 remake). Just thinking about the way both Layla and Steven will complain about and correct the Ancient Egyptian, how Marc will defend the aged special effects with his life (this man has a soft spot for action-adventure movies and it shows) and how Jake will critique the fight scenes between bites of popcorn, makes you grin. 

The three (or five?) of you hadn't been friends for too long and yet it feels like you had known them for ages. A chance meeting in London had pulled you into their orbit. When you stumbled into them something just clicked. You got to experience Layla and Marc together first - their relationship so full of trust and love (though it had been rocky for a bit as they had told you later) was and still is a beautiful thing to behold. 

You'd learned about Marc's DID much later. Meeting Steven and Jake for the first time made you so nervous you thought about bolting before you had even set up a time and place to actually meet. What if Marc liked you but his alters didn't? What if you didn't make a good first impression? Instead of giving into your anxieties, you spoke about your worries to Layla. She held your hand and reassured you that both Steven and Jake would like you. Maybe they wouldn’t like you the same way Marc did but there was no way they could hate you. “I doubt they’d offer to meet you if they didn’t already like you at least a little bit” Layla reasoned. Talking to her had calmed you down. Meeting Steven and Jake respectively still had you nervous but all worries were forgotten after just a few minutes with each man. They had been so kind and happy to meet you in person themselves, it was hard to remember your fears. 

Since then you had become fast friends and spent as much time together as their chaotic lives as Avatars and your own schedule would allow. Between billionaire philanthropists with high-tech armor, aliens and literal Norse gods walking around, finding out your new friends worked for Ancient Egyptian deities was not that hard to come to terms with. Weirder things have happened after all. 

"All done?" 

You look up from your setup to find Layla looking at you, a soft smile on her lips. It's funny the way your heart feels lighter every time she does that. There were still moments in which you wondered how such a gorgeous woman can even be real and also friends with you. You return her smile and nod your head towards the couch, "Take a seat. Once we got the snacks ready we can start". 

"Already on it!" Carrying a big bowl of popcorn in one arm and a few bags of chips in the other, Marc returns from the kitchen. He places the snacks next to your laptop. Sitting down in the middle of the couch, he pats the spaces next to him. Layla cuddles close to her husband as you stand there for a moment just admiring their intimate moment. They were such a beautiful couple. Catching yourself staring, you turn back around to start the movie. 

Just before your finger can hit play, you hear Layla wonder out loud: "You never told us that this was your favorite movie". 

You tilt your head towards her. "It never came up I guess? To be honest, the main reason I like it so much is that I had a huge crush on the main characters when the movie first came out"

Marc's reaction catches your attention from the corner of your eye, his eyebrow raised and his lips curling into a sly grin. He leans forward and you notice how the way he holds himself changes. 

"Is that so, corazón?" 

You clear your throat, feeling like you have a lump stuck in it from Jake's teasing. 

"Well yeah? I mean what's not to find attractive? Evy is a beautiful woman who knows so much about her specific field of study. She has such a passion for Ancient Egypt, the stories and the language. Yes, she is a bit of a klutz, but it's endearing! And the way she is not just a bookworm but can also kick ass and is adventurous and kind?" 

You stand up straighter, not looking at the other two out of embarrassment as you try to defend yourself. 

"And Rick? Not only is he good looking with a body that could absolutely be sculpted by some gods. He is kind and he cares so much more than he lets on in the beginning of the movie. He is funny and yes, he is also a bit of a dork but again, it's charming. He is adventurous and knows the risks of the jobs he is taking and still does the dangerous thing because he wants to know more about the ancient mysteries and he wants to help Evy. The way he openly shows how smitten he is with her! The way they work together, fight together, a librarian and a mercenary turned adventurer that maybe shouldn't work together as a team or a couple but they do! And it's beautiful to watch and how could you not have a crush on th-"

You stop yourself mid sentence as your brain catches up on what just spilled out of your mouth. Head slowly turning, your gaze meets your friends sitting on the couch before you, their expecting, knowing eyes watching your every move. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

How did you not notice? 

"...them. Have a crush on them," you finish under your breath.

You have a crush on them. On both. All. All of them. Oh God. 

"I- I think I need to. Leave. Go. Go to the uhm somewhere. Yes."

Your legs move faster than you can think as you try to extract yourself from the situation. This situation where you in real time figured out out loud that you had a crush on your friends right in front of them. The embarrassment curling in your gut is making it harder and harder to breathe. Your hands start to shake and your face is heating up. How could you not have noticed you were falling in love? 

"Hey, no, wait a second, yeah? You don't need to be embarrassed, love." Steven gently touches your shoulder, not forcing you to stop walking but asking you to, both with his words and his gestures. His voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts as your body freezes for a second. The warmth of his hand on your shoulder grounds you until you can finally breathe again. 

"No, but this is embarrassing, Steven. I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. You've pretty much said everything already." Layla’s face fills your vision as she steps in front of you. "And to be honest I am relieved you did. We planned on telling you how we feel about you for weeks and just couldn’t find the right time." Her hands find yours, her warm fingers caressing them gently. 

It takes a second for you to catch up on her words. You look up at Layla, her smile radiant and eyes shining with joy. Steven's thumb is drawing lazy circles along your shoulder blades as he continues. 

"We were a bit nervous. Well, me and Marc were. Jake and Layla were pretty confident about the…uh. Whole confessing bit. Seems like you were a bit faster though, eh?" His nervous chuckle makes your cheeks heat up even more. 

"So you. All of you? You like me too?"

You see Layla nod and hear an affirmative grunt from behind you from who you assume is Marc fronting. The blind panic you were feeling slowly recedes and your limbs start to feel heavy from the loss of adrenalin. 

"We'll start things slow, OK? See how we all fit together. We don't have to decide right away," Layla reassures you and pulls you into a gentle hug. 

You let yourself sink into it, your arms finding their way around her waist. Another set of arms wraps around you from behind. Surrounded and enveloped by the people closest to your heart, Layla’s warmth in front and the solid weight of Marc's chest at your back, makes you feel safer and calmer than you ever felt. Staying like this forever sounds like the best idea ever until you remember what brought all of this on. 

"Starting slow sounds good. But there is one thing we have to do right away."

You reluctantly wiggle out of their embrace and make your way back to the couch, pulling your soon-to-be-lovers with you. The three of you settle down together, Layla and Marc flanking you on each side, staying so close as if they never want to let you go again. 

"We still have to make Jake watch The Mummy," you offer with a sly grin. Jake's answering groan is muffled by Layla's laughter and the beginning sounds of the movie starting.