#khonshu fic

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

-

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

-

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I�� thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

-

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i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

[mochimoqa]

Hiii I just recently hurt myself accidentally while cooking 😭 so can I request how would you write any of the Moon Boys comforting the reader who feels insecure of scars or marks on their body. Would appreciate it a lot 💗

Hello, anon!

I'm so sorry that you hurt yourself :(

But nothing like a good moon boys x reader will fix that :]

WARNING: Some cursing and Intense Fluff 🤭

...

"OW- Fucking shit-" Y/n screamed at the pain of extreme heat touching their skin. You turned off the stove and went to the restroom to grab your mini med kit.

"Son of a b—" You mumbled to yourself.

You've gotten hurt plenty of times. Either from cooking, activities, etc. You've gotten insecure over the years because of the scars and marks from different activities.

The one time where you were frying chicken and the hot oil splutter on your skin. Leaving some marks on you.

You turned on the cold water from your sink and let the burn somewhat fix the burn.

You sat on the floor and opened the med kit. The irritation of your skin was a bit bad. You grabbed some aloe gel and gently placed it on your burn.

"Ow-" You winced at the pain.

While you were doing this treatment, you heard a knock at the door.

Keys jangling and swung open the door.

"Love, I'm home!"

Oh, goodie! Steven's here.

"Ah, shit-" You panicked and quickly hid the medical supplies.

"Love? Y/n! Where are you?" He was pacing around the house til he found you in the bathroom.

You were covering your hand behind your back.

"Ah, there you are! Marc, Jake and I started to become a little worried there." He hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead.

"No, no, I'm always here, baby." You chuckled nervously.

Steven cupped your face and looked into your eyes. God, his cute dark eyes always get to you.

"I feel like you're hiding something..."

Your eyes widened slightly and chuckled nervously.

"What? No-"

He squeezes your face a bit tight.

You instantly knew that this wasn't Steven anymore and it was Marc. Steven was the more gentle of the boys.

"Y/n, I know you're lying to me."

"I- no, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are."

Shit, you've been caught red-handed. (No pun intended.)

"Okay, fine. You got me." You put your burned hand in front of him.

"I burned myself while cooking..."

God, this was so embarrassing to you. You've had too many scars and marks on yourself, you thought for sure they were gonna leave you.

"The burn doesn't look too bad." He grabbed your hand and examined the injury.

"Huh? You- You're not gonna leave me?"

His eyes shot up to you.

"Why would I ever wanna do that?"

"I- because of all of the scars and marks I have on my body... you don't think it's embarrassing?"

"No?"

Marc paused for a moment and seeming zoned out. He was probably talking to Steven and Jake.

"Steven said that he would never leave you."

He looked at your wound and paused again.

"Jake said that he would be stupid to even do that."

You chuckled lightly at their responses.

"Really?" You sighed and leaned against the sink.

"Mhm, and I agree with the both of 'em. You're literally too good to be true, Y/n. Sometimes me and the boys don't even know of how lucky we are to have you."

"But what about my scars?–"

"The scars don't matter. We love you with or without any scars or marks."

He paused again.

"Jake wants to take control to get rid of that stupid stuff you said about yourself."

You sighed, "Alright, bring him out..."

You felt your hand being squeezed.

"Hola, mi amor." (Hey, my love.) He kissed your hand.

You smiled lightly. "Hey, baby."

"So, what in the wrong fucking mindset are you even in?"

"Uh, I don’t know... I just thought that the three of you were gonna leave me and—"

"Esa es la cosa más estúpida que he oído jamás". (That is the most stupidest thing I have ever heard.)

"I know..."

"Cariño, we will love you til the end."

"Thank you, baby... thank you to the three of you..."

"No hay problema, bebé. (No problem, baby.)

"Want me to fix you up?"

You nodded. "That would be wonderful..."

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this! I absolutely love writing Fluff so this was by far the most exciting story to work on!

Also, very sorry for not posting sooner I had a lot of exams so I didn't have time to post this story!

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hi, this is my first ever request, so please forgive me if I sound all over the place.

I was thinking of going trick-or-treating with Miguel O’Hara and Gabriella as wife-reade. Or the moon boys going trick-or-treating with single mother-reader and Victoria from small surprises. Either one would be great, and thank you if you consider my request 🙏🏼

I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR ASKING I MIGHT SPLIT THIS UP INTO TWO PARTS BECAUSE MY GOD I MISSED VICTORIA BUT I ALSO MISS MIGUEL

Trick r Treat

Moon Boys (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: The candy ain't the only thing you gotta worry about rotting your teeth with this!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"I just don't get why she'd wanna be him." Marc seethed.

You cant help but chuckle, watching as Victoria skipped up to the first house she saw, after bravely declaring she was big enough to go and ask for candy by herself.

Her Halloween costume consisted of a painstakingly-detailed outfit that looked like Layla's Avatar outfit, complete with a gold cape in place of her wings. And, on her head... was a paper-mache bird skull, an uncanny resemblance to Khonshu.

Steven (even though he had some snarky comments about her choice in costume), had helped her craft it by looking at detailed patterns of raven skulls. Jake helped with the costume, stitching each little symbol and piece of fabric into probably the most detailed costume that any child her age ever could have.

"Hey, hey..." You giggled. "She's not just him... shes a weird... Khonshu-Layla hybrid thing."

His nose scrunched in the cutest way, "That is so much worse."

Marc was wearing his Moon Knight suit, sans the mask. As much as Khonshu bristled at him using it for such paltry purposes, his gruf demeanor changed when you pointed out that if, on the off chance, that something bad happens, at least Marc would be prepared and protected. He seemed to quiet down, after that.

But you knew he didn't leave you unsupervised. Every now and then, you'd spare a glance up and spot his lumbering form, hunched over the edge of a rooftop, watching over Victoria.

You don't know why he got so attached to Victoria, or why he revealed his hidden softness only to her; but you were grateful that so many eyes were on your precious baby girl.

You sighed, digging the heel of your palm into your lower back.

Marc looked at you, frowning, "Baby, you okay?"

You smiled at him, tired but still happy. Your own costume consisted of green tights, and an orange shirt. The pattern of a happy jack-o-lantern stretched taut over your rounded belly. It was difficult to find a costume that suited you, given how far you were into on your third trimester you were; and it was a little saddening that you couldn't match with Victoria or Marc.

So... You were a round little pumpkin!

"Yeah, just a certain little someone is tapdancing on my kidney."

"Shoes are comfy?" Marc asked, smiling sweetly as he rubbed one of his hands over your tummy.

"Yeah. I'm fine, Marc. I swear, you worry more than Steven." You grinned playfully.

Marc snorted, but didn't object, continuing to rub your belly. "Hey, I'm just worried about my ladies."

"Pfsh! You and Jake! You seriously think this one is a girl, too?" You laughed, shaking your head.

"Hey! We can hope! We kinda like the idea of an other little you running around!" Marc replied, kissing your cheek.

"You just wanna be a girl-dad."

"Heyyy... Nothing wrong with that." He replied, his thick eyebrows waggling, his salt-and-pepper beard quirking upwards around his lips.

Victoria cut your conversation short as she came bounding back up to yeah, paying no mind to the children her bird mask terrified as it bobbed with her peppy footsteps.

"Mommy!" She giggled, wrapping her arms around your legs, rubbing her face on your round belly, greeting her unborn sibling.

"Heya, munchkin!" You chuckled, patting her mask affectionately. "Get a nice haul?"

"Yeah!" She nods her head, handing her bag to Marc for him to inspect her goodies. When he looked in, his eyebrow raised and he whistled, "Whew! She's got two full-size bars in here."

You rocked your head back, "Wow. That is a nice haul. Let's go to another house, huh, baby?"

Victoria giggled, walking between you and Marc, swinging your arms with her hands interlocked with hers.

"Yeah! Let's go!"

House after house, you and Marc let Victoria be a "big girl" and walk up to front doors and people toting candy buckets by herself, staying a reasonable distance as you both watched her with protective eyes.

However... there was a house that was... shall we say, intense with their decorations. A seemingly headless man sat in the rocking chair, candy bucket in his lap; looped recordings of a woman scream played as fog rolled across the yard from a cheap machine.

Robotic spiders and critters moved along the walls with their janky joints, projections of ghosts fluttering across the surface of the house.

Victoria didn't seem to be keen on walking up to that one. Not alone.

One hand held the beak of her mask while the other gripped Marc's hand nice and tight, hiding behind one of his legs.

"Want me to go ahead?" Marc asked her gently, kneeling down next to her. He bumped his shoulder against her, smiling sweetly, "I can scout it out for you. Make sure no bad monsters will getcha. Sound good?"

Victoria mumbled, her feet fidgeting as she eyed the house. Her entire posture was unsure; frightened, even.

"Yeah." She finally peeped.

Marc smiled up at you before sauntering up the footpath. And as he neared, it was obvious the headless "mannequin" was a man in a rigged costume--likely waiting to jump out at the first kid to come grabbing for a piece of candy.

The bucket was cheap plastic, painted to look both rusted and bloody with a sticky note that read: "Two per person! :)"

"Hey, buddy," Marc leaned in and rested his hand on the padded "shoulder". "My little girl is gonna walk up here and get some candy. You will not, under any circumstances, jump out at her and scare her, or make her cry. Or I will put my fist through your teeth. Get it?"

"...Got it." A shaky voice replied, earning a pat from Marc.

"Good."

Marc turned around and grinned, giving a thumbs-up to assure Victoria the "headless man" wasn't a threat.

As he walked back to stand next to you, he laced his fingers with yours.

You couldn't help but sigh as Victoria, now fearless, braved the path up to get her loot.

"You threatened that poor guy, didn't you?"

"Hey, I don't like it when she's scared. And if that guy made her cry, you can't say you wouldn't hit him." He said, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles, the rough hair of his beard lightly scratching your skin.

You sigh, "If I wasn't currently sporting a bowling ball for a belly, I'd put my foot up his ass."

You grinned and looked at him, tipping your chin to a nearby building. "And besides... you know the old man would make his life hell if he made her so much as sniffle."

He had to admit, as much as it pained him to do so, that you were right.

He'd hate to be that guy if he had scared your precious girl...

If he thought horror movie critters were scary... He wasn't prepared for a pissed-off, protective god.

You chuckled, extended your hand to envelop Victoria's as she came happily skipping back to you. "Come on... let's go."

Yeah, it wasn't a "normal" Halloween... But it was the first one Marc ever really participated in, let alone enjoyed. And with his baby on the way?

He, Steven and Jake were on cloud nine.

A happy family just enjoying some old-fashioned trick-or-treating.

[pimosworld]

The sun and the moon

🌙Pairing-Moon boys x f!reader x Khonshu x Hathor 

  🌔Summary- You, a long lost descendant of Hathor,  crosses paths with Moon Knight. A chance for Khonshu to reconcile with his past and a chance for the boys to have a future. 

  🌒CW-18+,MDNI, Explicit smut, angst, hurt, comfort, canon typical violence, god and goddess powers, mentions of parental abuse, past domestic abuse (not physical), healing old wounds, healing your inner child, eventual happy ending. 

WK-1.2K

A/N- This idea has been bouncing around in my head for months and now I’m finally tackling it. Don’t have a set schedule for posting or an idea for how many chapters so it should be a wild ride for my moon babes.

Not beta read

[Series Masterlist][Moon Knight Masterlist]

Prologue

He steps into the coffee shop holding a newspaper over his head to shield himself from the rain. He’s sporting that scowl between his brows as he grumbles under his breath. 

He takes his fingers through his hair trying as best he can to smooth his hair out of his face. No flat cap today. 

The barista doesn’t understand as she tries to make conversation. It was so obvious to you in the beginning and yet people who greet him everyday don’t even notice. 

Hmmm coffee with sugar today…interesting. 

He says something to the mirror next to the register about buying a new coffee pot as he taps his foot and waits. His arms crossed as he scanned the room. 

It’s Pavlovian the way he drifts to you and sits next to your table. The one he doesn’t even know is saved for him. 

“This tastes like crap.” He sets the mug down like it personally offended him. 

“You’re a little nicer when you have tea.” Marc looks over at you, but you don’t look up from your book. “Although decidedly more grumpy than when you have black coffee.” 

He clears his throat a little before speaking. “I’m sorry, did you say something to me?”

You pick up your pressed sunflower bookmark and place it gently between the pages. “You’re much nicer on the days you have tea.” 

He feels warm suddenly, when your eyes meet him. The heat is almost too much as he shucks off his jacket. Maybe the coffee was stronger than he thought because he’s sure he can hear his own heartbeat. 

Steven did tell him to take a break. 

You smile at him and place the book in your bag as you stand from the corner table and exit. You squeeze his shoulder once as you wave goodbye to the barista. 

He stares down at where your hand was, it’s seared into him. Like the ache from a sunburn. 

Well that settles that mate

“Settles what?”

She has that effect on all of us

****

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. 

When he sees you again and recognizes the barista as she smiles at him. Her cheeks are red and she stammers a little over her words. 

He can’t focus on anything but that table next to you. He wants to get to that table before anyone else does. 

You can tell it’s him when he walks in. His hair is combed back and he’s wearing that black jacket you love that fits him like a glove. 

Your eyes flit briefly to the register where the girl who is absolutely smitten with them tries to compose herself enough to not ruin his coffee again. 

He’s nervous 

There’s two open tables, the one next to you and one by the drafty door. You meet his eyes as he weighs his options while he waits for the girl to finish his coffee. 

There's that warmth again, it’s too hot in here. He removes his jacket and sheepishly heads toward you. He gently places it in the seat beside your corner table that looks out onto the street. 

“I would never let anyone take your spot.” He’s certain this time, you’re speaking to him. You don’t look up from your book The art and architecture of ancient Egypt. 

They call his name twice before he heads back to the counter to collect his coffee. 

You take a few notes and bite down on your pen as you think of what to say next. He can see the indentation where you bite the pen. The way your lips rest carefully on the edge. The way your brow furrows when you’re thinking. 

He finds himself exactly where he wants to be in his seat. With nothing to say.

The hot coffee somehow cools him down from the flames burning inside. He closes his eyes and is drawn back to the last time he remembered it tasting this good. 

When he opens them again you’re smiling at the barista shooting her a thumbs up as she claps her hands in delight. 

He swallows thickly, he’s never been this nervous. Not even as moon knight. 

“I’ve seen that book before.” His voice somehow sounds foreign even to him.

You flip it over and glance at the back and laugh. A sound he could definitely get used to. 

“I would hope so, Steven let me borrow it.”

She’s almost finished it, I just gave it to her a few days ago. 

You resume your book as if you didn’t just say the most earth shattering thing for his fragile mind to hear. It shouldn’t come as a surprise with how comfortable you are in his presence. 

You know he’s dangling off a cliff and you might as well just give him that push he needs to let go. 

“That reminds me.” You dig through your bag for a moment before sliding a small leather bag toward him. “I haven’t seen Jake in a few days, it looked like he might need it.” 

Marc shakily opens the bag to reveal a leather patch kit. He takes three deep breaths before zipping it closed. 

If you’re going to sit there like an idiota at least say thank you. 

“Jake said thank you.” Shit. Why would he say that out loud? 

“De nada.” 

You know. 

Sì she knows. 

Was he that closed off after Layla that they didn’t want him to meet you? Maybe they were scared he’d run you away. It’s shocking to have Jake partnering with Steven to keep secrets from him. 

Then again, maybe you weren’t a secret. 

You can tell he’s genuinely surprised and a little uncomfortable but Steven and Jake told you that was to be expected. This is the longest conversation you’ve had with him, where he didn’t recede from the front. 

Long enough for him to finally start opening up to you. Asking your name and how long you’ve known him, them. 

You and Steven bonded over tea and your love for ancient Egypt. He was helping you prepare for your interview with the museum to become a curator. 

Jake would give you rides to the library or home, when the weather was particularly bad. 

He can place it now…that scent that lingers on his clothes from time to time. Your perfume, a mixture of vanilla and lavender. It’s overwhelming his senses now as you lean in and laugh at some off handed remark he said. 

You must be comfortable enough to hug them, to press your body close to theirs. Close enough to leave a trace of you on them for days on end. It’s exhilarating and maddening all at once…to know he’s closed himself off from you for so long that you’re practically strangers. 

Except you aren’t. 

You’re much more than that. The way you reach over and trace a new scar on his brow. Staring at it like it personally offended you. Your touch burns and lingers long after you’ve placed them back in your lap. The look on your face like you’ve possibly crossed some boundary with him. He desperately wants you to touch him again. To leave a mark not unlike his scars. 

“I thought he was supposed to heal you?” 

It’s evident he’s missed more days with you than he can conceive. He can feel his chest constricting even before the words leave his mouth. “Who?”

“Khonshu.” 

The bird looks on from a building high above the street. He’s not sure how you could’ve forgotten that you’re the one who’s supposed to heal them. 

🌕Comments and reblogs are much appreciated 🌒

Taglist- @chichimisaki @missdictatorme @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @queerponcho @melodygatesauthor

[cheapbourbon]

“Is consort the same in all languages?”

I believe so Khonshu says.

…

I finally got around to doing some Fanart of my all time favorite Moon Knight fic series- We don't need to say it to each other by: deadonarrival on Ao3.

I don’t know if the author is here on tumblr or not. D=

Those fics= fucking perfection. Do mind the tags tho if you go looking, here there be monster(fucking).

[dearlawdimasimp]

Master Sorcerer of Kindness and Humility

Pairings: MK System x Sorcerer!Reader, Khonshu x Sorcerer!Reader

Warnings: English isn't my first language, Spanish is from google translate

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Summary: Things in the Sanctum Santorum has been…pretty fucking hectic lately. To put it simply, chaos is in every fucking corner and as a Master Sorcerer of one of the Sanctums in the world, you have to assist the Sorcerer Supreme. Some things are still the usual, but double the effort. Like teaching the new recruits, now, from three different Sanctums instead of one, keep said recruits from the restricted area of the library, guarding the said restricted area of the library and the whole library itself.

With your growing exhaustion, so did the worry of the moon boys grew.

a/n: Hai so uh it has been awhile since i posted eheh I just noticed i have MANY rotting fics in my docs so decided to post now ( ´∀`)/~~ Enjoy lovelies! (^o^)／~💜 (this fic is crossposted on AO3 under the same title and author name ^-^)

Things in the Sanctum Santorum has been…pretty fucking hectic lately. To put it simply, chaos is in every fucking corner and as a Master Sorcerer of one of the Sanctums in the world, you have to assist the Sorcerer Supreme. Some things are still the usual, but double the effort. Like teaching the new recruits, now, from three different Sanctums instead of one, keep said recruits from the restricted area of the library, guarding the said restricted area of the library and the whole library itself.

The supposed assigned sorcerers for each class told you that they are needed on a mission across the globe and are in need of a substitute, of course being the kind soul that you are you agreed on subbing them for the meantime while they're off to save humanity. The library duty has always been yours though, you volunteered on the job when Wong said he needed someone to take his place as he takes the Sorcerer Supreme, and ever since the world has gone back to its normal state, you remained as the librarian.

Your overloaded schedule leads to early mornings and late nights, and less time with your moon boys™.

To say that they are concerned of your health is a bit of an understatement, they're fucking worried as every time they see you, your eyebags grow darker and puffier than the last time.

But, somehow, even with all the things going on with you (only knowing what you are allowed to talk about), you still insert a little bit of your time to cook Steven his favorite breakfast before he goes to work, you still brew up Mark's favorite coffee, prepare Jake's uniform for his side-job during the night as a limo driver, and bring Khonshu offerings on the small altar you've made for him that is purposefully placed on the windowsill where the moon usually shines.

They are thoroughly impressed, but at the same time endlessly worried as your eyes grow weary and exhausted each time you enter the flat.

However, you still have the same warming smile on your lips every time you greet them after work. Joy was etched into your tone as you kissed them and mingled with them for a few hours, dismissing their worries with gentle eyes and kept on insisting that you love your job. You even still have the fiery stare whenever they tell you to rest and let them handle the dishes, which diminishes when Khonshu lays his hand on your shoulders, coaxing you to rest. The god pulls you to the shared bed and once your head hits the plush white pillows, you're out like a light.

The system continues to take care of cleaning the kitchen before joining their sorcerer in deep sleep and joining you in the dreamworld for a while before the Lunar deity of Egypt pulls them to another night of being his fist of vengeance. They would be back and join you once more in bed, and let sleep pull them to its cocoon. And you wake up not an hour later to start the day.

And this went on for a few more days before the moon boys decided to put an end to this. Their last straw was when you had fallen asleep mid-conversation while in front of your food. You were in that level of exhaustion to the point that you couldn't keep yourself awake while eating. They drew the line at that.

They carefully laid your slumbering self down on the bed before donning on the suit, “We'll be back, hermosa.” Jake held your hand and kissed your knuckles tenderly. “We just need to have a bit of a word with them, love, don't worry.” Steven gently lays your hand down on your stomach and leaves a kiss on your forehead before Marc leaps out of the window and out to the London air as Khonshu guides them with his wind to the London Sanctum.

The trip wasn't long before they landed on the Sanctum's roof. The place was brimming with magic and the system could feel it. Marc tries to enter through the window but the scenery changes before his foot lands on the stained glass. A confused and ungraceful landing led him to curse under his breath as he observed his surroundings.

“Be vigilant, Spector.” The god throws caution to the wind, his rumbling voice echoing in the minds of the system. Marc keeps his snarky remark to the god to himself, wanting to tell the god he knows what he's doing. He rolled his eyes instead as he composures himself, and inspects the room they are in.

The place is reminiscent of those temples that houses holy relics, it was old but in tip-top shape. The floor below him looks furnished and one that can be compared closed to an old mansion, and the slabs holding what he thinks are relics had intricate wood carvings were carefully placed on both sides of the hallway he's in. It was leading to an illuminated room and so he took no more than a second to head to the light.

His eyes wandered around the hallway he's walking down in, Steven was gushing at the designs while he and Jake kept silent and kept an eye for any threat.

The room they entered was spacious, save for the relics enclosed in glass and the big circle window that allowed the moonlight to fill the space. It had intricate swirls which Marc remembers, was the same design of the brooch you have on your collar.

However, it wasn't the window that had caught their attention but rather the man behind it, who was eerily calm while peering out the glass. The London night visible to the man that had a red cape that's barely touching the wooden floors.

“An unexpected visit from the Knight of Khonshu himself. You know, you're lucky you're under the protection of the Master Sorcerer here in London.” The man states with a booming voice, bouncing off the walls and glass in the room. It was humorous, but full of threat.

“Or else what?” Marc quips inattentively, keeping distance from the sorcerer who had yet introduced himself.

“Or else I would have thrown you to the ocean the moment you stepped foot on the Sanctum.” The man's baritone voice lowered an octave as he turned to finally meet Moon Knight's glowing eyes.

He had a goatee and the robes he wore were akin to their beloved but in the deep shade of blue instead of your favorite color.

Goatee. Red cloak. This was the Stephen Strange you can't stop complaining about.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips through his masked face. He believes the sorcerer's powers alright, he just can't keep a straight face after the memory of you audibly cussing Strange out had just played in their minds.

“Right,” Marc takes out his crescent daggers from his chest, “I'm only here-”

“Trust me you don't want to fight me.”

“Let us finish, pendejo!” Jake growls as he fronts, not wanting to waste more time and to get out of the place as soon as possible.

They weren't planning to fight. They weren't stupid. They can feel every ounce of energy and magic in the building. They stepped into a lion's den. But if it is what it needs for these sorcerers to hear them? They will face these magic wielders head on.

It seemed that Strange was a bit perplexed at the alter's rage or maybe it was the suit change, but they couldn't care less.

“We're only here because that Master Sorcerer you talked about is always on the verge of passing out every time they go home.” Marc's jaw clenches under the mask as he continues with a step forward to the sorcerer—who promptly took a step back— as his fingers flex around the sharp gold crescent on his hand, “For the past weeks they have been wrung out and just a while ago, had passed out while eating.” When he finished his sentence the room was suddenly swept with a wild draft, with no windows open.

They were not able to notice the confused and worried squint of the former sorcerer supreme's eyes as Marc continues, his tone nothing but purely scathing.

“My point is, We will not be allowing them to come to work tomorrow and until she gets the proper rest she deserves, and not until you fix her schedule that is ethical and appropriate hours of work.” He ends his spiel right in front of the sorcerer, looking up to him with a keen glare, his glowing ivory eyes illuminating the sharpened features of Stephen Strange.

“Or else?” The sorcerer rasps as he stares right back at the avatar, standing his ground, and using the exact words back to the stark white cloaked man.

As if on cue, stronger gusts of wind shakes the glass covers and uncovered relics. The Egyptian God of the Moon materializes behind the sorcerer and with a booming, bitter voice, he answers, “Then you will face the consequences of causing harm to one of whom is under my protection, Stephen Strange.”

The said sorcerer turns his body to the side to glance at the moon god. In all his glory he was towering over him, moonlight was illuminating his monstrously tall and slender figure as the bronzed crescent end of his staff that is nearly scratching the ceiling reflected it. His loose, darkened, silk robe was flowing and whipping around without the presence of the wind, his crouched figure wrinkling the bandages on his torso as his bleached bird skull head tilted down and gave Stephen a hollowed stare.

With a sigh, which had displeased the moon collective and took it as an insult, he nodded to accept their terms. He honestly had no idea you had worked yourself to the bone and will consult the other Master Sorcerers and Wong of your schedule. He knew you were humble and kind, but he didn't know it would be up to the point that your.. acquaintances.. had to show up and tell them of your over-extended goodwill.

“I will inform our masters of such, thank you for bringing this to our attention.” He ends the conversation as he does not want to deal with whatever this is. He was not intimidated, not one bit—okay maybe a bit but he has faced much worse! What's intimidating him is the fact that a literal god has taken you under his wing and has gone out of his way to announce his displeasure.

“As you should.” And with that, the moon party calmed down before they vanished in a swirl of blur and whirling sand. Let's just say you were confused when you woke up late, about to dash to the bathroom before you were stopped by your moon god and gave you a letter that was sent by the Sorcerer Supreme that basically said take a break. You were perplexed as you stared at the paper then up to the moon god, who ushered you back to bed and lulled you to sleep. When you woke up you were pampered by the boys with food and cuddles, all gently forcing you to stay in bed and to let them service you for the day as they had also taken the day off. You couldn't help but tear up at their tender loving care all day and being such gentlemen for doing such. Your love for them was overflowing and you kept promising them that you would do the same to them if ever need be, which they dismissed because as they said, “Today is all about you, love. So you better descansar(take a rest), and we'll take care of the rest, sweetheart. And not just today, up until the last day of the week or maybe next couple of weeks, you got that baby?”

This has earned a heartful laugh from you and an affectionate shake of your head before pulling them into a kiss. You were puzzled and have a lot of questions as to how or why you were given a large amount of time off but you really couldn't complain especially if it meant more time with your moon boys.

Back to the sanctum however, the former sorcerer supreme was fuming at the how fucked up your schedule was and how fucked up you were for taking it even though you were literally doing the impossible, and the fact that none of the other masters pointed it out to Wong, who was also equally fuming to the masters that had asked you to cover for them for a ‘mission’ when they were just taking a fucking vacation.

"You are lucky their patron didn't know of your whereabouts, or gods knows what he will do to you.” Wong warned them, displeased and infuriated, written all over his features.

Oh but Khonshu heard, of course he did, and made those masters’ month a living hell through inconveniencing them at every chance he gets. To which Strange and Wong only but gave them a deadpanned stare of ‘deal with it’ when they asked for their help.

[melodygatesauthor]

The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 1: Intoxicating

Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader

Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3

Chapter Summary

Marc sees you for the first time and can't understand why you smell the way you do. The aroma is intoxicating, and he's determined to get closer to you, despite Khonshu's rules.

Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)

Major Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/Warnings NSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!

Word Count: 3.2k

When Marc first saw you, he was overwhelmed by your scent.

The blood coursing through your veins held an aroma so sickly sweet that he found himself dizzy from the smell. He stepped into the lofty, spacious room where an oversized, and over-embellished, chair sat at the back. The enormous windows behind the chair faced out to the ocean, stretching on for what felt like forever. Khonshu liked to call this his ‘throne room’; a pretentious name fit only for someone who thought all too highly of himself.

“Marc, isn’t she wonderfully fragrant?” Khonshu asked from where he sat in his chair, touching the small of your back. His deep voice broke Marc from his thoughts.

Marc cleared his throat, scowling at the display in front of him. You were there, standing timidly with your wrists and ankles bound by enchanted gold chains, and Khonshu was next to you, seated like a king, legs spread wide as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You were dressed like the other cattle: ivory-white, flowing dress covering your body, though leaving your neck well exposed in case Khonshu felt hungry on a whim.

“Yes sir,” Marc agreed, body stiffening as he tried to fight his primal urges against your intoxicating smell.

“Found this pretty thing walking home from some dead end job, sobbing, living a meaningless life, isn’t that right little dove?” He started rubbing your back, and Marc saw your body tense in response. He hated when Khonshu got new servants. He hated to see how nervous they all were in the beginning.

“Y-yes,” you said, voice sounding small compared to the bass of Khonshu’s tone.

“Not so meaningless now. You have such an important job here.” He looked up at you with such adoration it made Marc’s stomach turn. “Harrow,” he said loudly, looking at the man on Marc’s left. “I need a report, did you succeed in delivering my justice tonight?”

Arthur Harrow looked over at Marc, long face twisted into an expression of disdain that he reserved only for the right hand of Khonshu. When Harrow looked back at their master’s face, his expression changed to one of admiration, but Marc knew the man’s hatred for him still festered just under the surface.

Marc listened to Harrow’s recollection of the evening’s events. It was a brief retelling of their struggles and successes, structured in a way to make Arthur sound like the heroic protagonist of the story, leaving Marc to look like his inept sidekick. Marc chuckled under his breath when Harrow mentioned rescuing a woman from a mugger. What he failed to add, was that the man doing the mugging was in his late sixties, frail, and nearly starving to death in an alleyway, just trying to get enough money to eat for the night. In other words, Marc wouldn’t have needed a suit or vampiric abilities to deal with him.

“Is something funny, Marc Spector?” Arthur asked, turning to look at his counterpart.

Marc shook his head, “not at all, continue with your very accurate and completely true story.”

Marc looked at you, heartbeat racing at the sight of your pretty face. A smirk threatened the corner of your mouth, you must’ve noticed him, but you kept your eyes on the ground. Marc’s lips turned up for only a split second knowing he’d entertained you. He hated Khonshu for always making the servants of the house avert their gaze, as though the undead were a superior race to the living. He hated Khonshu for many other things as well, but not being able to see the sparkle of amusement in your eyes at that moment was one of them.

Marc shared his own account of the uneventful evening. They’d saved some other ‘travelers of the night’, as Khonshu called them, and made sure to deliver justice to those who hurt them. He didn’t always see eye to eye with Harrow, but both he and Marc served one man, bound to him forever in an unfortunate blood pact, and for that they were very alike. He wondered sometimes if Arthur hated their master as much as he did, but Marc didn’t dare ask such a question out loud.

Khonshu looked up at you, smiling contentedly as he did before letting out a sigh, broad shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Very good,” he said, finally addressing both Marc and Arthur. “I’m hungry, so I’ll be taking my leave.” He looked over at Marc as he stood, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Marc, please attend to any queries as I would.”

Marc nodded, watching Khonshu rise, putting his hand on your upper back as he led you out of the room. Your scent left with you, not fully, but enough to allow the fog that weighed heavy in Marc’s mind dissipate. He was certain that if you smelled that good, you must taste equally as delicious…right?

~~~~

Why the fuck did you smell like that? Marc wondered moments later, sitting in Khonshu’s lavish chair in his absence. There was no reason for you to smell like that. So sweet, so delicious. Marc found himself salivating, quickly wiping his lips. It was embarrassing, the way you had made such a mess out of him after only moments of him being in your presence.

“Are you hungry sir? I can get your cattle for you,” one of the servants nearby asked, noticing that he’d wiped his mouth.

“No, no I’m…” he wasn’t fine, “I’m fine.”

He’d lived a hundred twenty-six years, and not once had he come across a scent like that. It didn’t make sense, and yet, it was permeating the air around him, making him feel mildly intoxicated once again. Harrow chuckled on Marc’s left, taking the man out of his daze. He scowled and looked over at him.

“What?” Marc questioned, tone laced in frustration.

Arthur shrugged, “hm? Oh, nothing. It’s just interesting to me, how much your age shows when you're faced with something unique, like the new cattle girl.”

“She just has a strong smell, it’s nothing,” Marc said firmly, bouncing his leg as he became more anxious.

“Right, of course,” Arthur’s expression was smug, condescending toward Marc in an attempt to rattle him.

“Why don’t you go find something to keep yourself busy, Harrow. I’m sure Khonshu wouldn’t want to think you were bothering me while I conduct his business.”

That struck a nerve, and Marc knew it would. Harrow had served Khonshu for many, many, years longer than Marc had. Hundreds longer to be more precise. Arthur was an arguably better servant as well. He would kill without question, spending no time on nuance and weighing the gray area brought on by guilt. Harrow would kill if he simply felt that someone was deserving. Marc didn’t like to fight that way, it felt wrong, and morally corrupt at its core. Marc would only kill if he thought it was a just punishment.

Despite Harrow being Khonshu’s loyal and unquestioning knight, always doing their master’s bidding without question, Marc was the one Khonshu favored most. Neither of them understood it, and both of them wished it were Harrow in that position rather than Marc. He never wanted to be Khonshu’s right hand, and when he was turned he didn’t know that’s what he was signing up for. Khonshu was good at keeping information from his servants. In fact, that’s how he managed to recruit so many. If he’d been upfront with them all, no one would have joined him.

“Khonshu is preoccupied at the moment, I’m sure–”

“Ooh,” Marc taunted, “then it would be really awkward if I had to go knocking on his door to tell him that you were being a pain in my ass, wouldn’t it?” Marc looked at Harrow, both eyebrows raised in anticipation for the rebuttal that never came.

Once Harrow left, frustrated and grumbling to himself, Marc tried to find other ways to occupy his mind, and to get his thoughts off of you. He spoke with the servants, making small talk about the weather, as though he gave a shit about whether it was raining or the skies were painted in blue. He just needed to take his mind off of you, because the more he thought about you, the more he felt his body aching with hunger.

There were so few rules that Marc needed to abide by that he’d be labeled a moron if he couldn’t manage to follow them. He could come and go as he pleased, so long as he did the work Khonshu required of him. Marc wasn’t allowed to turn someone, unless of course his master bid him to do so. And there was one rule, a big one that was upheld above all else…

Touching Khonshu’s cattle was absolutely forbidden.

That was how Marc got there, replacing the last Moon Knight that was dumb enough to try and pull one over on Khonshu. When his master claimed someone, by auction, coercion or otherwise, they were his. Marc had heard that Khonshu was kind to his servants, only taking what he needed, never drinking more than his fill. If one of his designated meals were tired or still recovering from a feeding, he would allow them time to rest before he used them again.

Marc also knew that they ate well. He saw the meals sometimes in passing being brought by the cooks to the rooms of the cattle. That’s how Marc learned that you liked strawberries, especially the large ripe ones. He would see the way the cooks made a point to pick through the smaller sour ones and toss them aside before bringing them to your door.

Were you spoiled, or did you figure that if you were going to be stuck there for the rest of your life, that you might as well enjoy yourself? Either way, a week after your arrival, Marc still wasn’t used to your scent, and it called to him both day and night. It was faint, unless he was in the same room as you, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to figure out why you smelled like that, even if it killed him.

Marc didn’t need the enchanted armor Khonshu had blessed him with to climb the wall outside to your bedroom, his jeans and dark t-shirt would do just fine. The armor only afforded him protection at will, and the crescent darts he used to deliver Khonshu’s justice. As a vampire, there was no mountain too high for Marc to climb, and no distance too far for him to run. His strength couldn’t be surpassed by even ten men, but everything came with a price.

He needed blood to live.

Without that iron flavored liquid, Marc would die. Not much could kill him, but the thirst for blood certainly would if he didn’t satisfy it. And the smell of yours was making him fucking feral.

Marc didn’t know what he was thinking, standing there in your room, watching you while you slept soundly. He had all he could to stop himself from draining your body of every drop of your blood in front of Khonshu, so what was stopping him now? Your master wasn’t around to save you, but Marc knew he could never forgive himself if he hurt you.

He knelt down by your bedside, touching your warm cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. Your breathtaking eyes fluttered open, meeting his in a gaze with a look that was as frightened as it was confused. He put a finger to his lips, shushing you, hoping like hell that you wouldn’t alert the household to his presence in your quarters; something that would surely land him in the thirst room for a minimum of half a century.

You nodded as you slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes and pulling away from Marc. It was a smart decision, he had no noble reason for being there. He just wanted to smell you. He wanted to feel you. You were doing well in your attempt to hide your fear, though he could tell you were petrified. Your breathing was ragged, and your pupils blown wide.

“Why do you smell like that?” He said in a low growl, leaning forward on your bed, nuzzling your neck and inhaling deeply, “so fuckin’ sweet I…fuck.”

“W-what are you do–”

“Shh, I’m not going to hurt you, I just…” he inhaled again, breath ragged and harsh in your ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated, not sure who he was trying to convince more, you…or himself.

“O-okay,” you said in the softest, and shakiest, voice he’d ever heard.

Marc really wasn’t going to harm you, though it took every ounce of his strength not to. He wanted to devour you, drink you dry, absorb your warmth into every cell of his cold body. He leaned in more, pushing you back against the mattress, feeling every neuron in his brain firing with desire. He felt your hands, pushing gently against his chest in protest, but you clearly weren’t brave enough to try and fight back.

Marc felt his cock aching as it sprung to life against his jeans. Your legs were around him, though he could feel your knees digging into his waist in an attempt to close them. The heat from your cunt was maddening, radiating off of you through his clothing and making his dick leak profusely.

“Why the fuck do you smell like that?” He asked again, throat vibrating with a primal rumble. He breathed in your fragrant aroma some more, feeling his fangs extending in preparation to bite. “Never smelled someone so…hmmmm.”

“L-like…like w-what?”

That’s when he realized just how much you were shaking. As if he were awoken from a trance, Marc shook the delirium from his mind and slid off of you quickly, backing up to the wall, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He gulped, looking you up and down. You looked terrified, eyes wide with fear. Your bottom lip was trembling while you sat up and stared widely at him, like prey coming face to face with a predator. 

“I’m sorry,” Marc said, still panting heavily. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so breathless.

“You’re M-Marc, right?” You asked, looking him up and down, “I’m…” your name rolled off your tongue beautifully.

Cattle didn’t have names. Once someone was branded as livestock, a human whose job was to provide blood to their master, they were stripped of their previous life, including their name. Marc had been to other households. Some masters replaced their servant’s old names with new ones. Others had a numeric system, the numbers getting higher and higher the longer a vampire had been alive and using servants.

Khonshu preferred to keep his nameless. It made it less personal when it was time to dispose of old or sickly livestock, or when he got too carried away while feeding, leading to the unfortunate demise of a perfectly good food source. Marc knew you were privy to the rules. You knew damn well that you weren’t supposed to ever utter your birth name, and yet you were speaking it freely to him.

You trusted him.

“Look…I was never here, alright?” Marc swallowed hard, looking out at the moonlit sky. “I…I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, and without looking at you again, Marc climbed through the window and dropped back to the ground, moving quickly around the side of the manor and back to where his quarters were. The pain of his cock pressing against his zipper ached like never before. He could still fucking smell you, and now your scent was on his damn clothes. It was a mistake going there, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad he did.

~~~~

He got into bed that night, stripped down fully, planting his feet firmly against his mattress, cock in hand and jerking himself off to the thoughts running through his mind. He balled up his shirt, holding it against his face and smelling your aroma still saturated in every fiber. His grip was firm around his girth, gliding over his length at a slow pace, imagining what it would be like to feel you on top of him.

Marc ran his thumb over the precum leaking out of the slit on his fat tip, using that to keep his palm slick while he worked. A pathetic whine left his lips, throat closing as he gripped the sheets and arched his back upward. You’d take him so well, he could tell just by the way you looked underneath him earlier. You’d cry and whimper but you’d love every second, begging him to fuck you until you couldn’t walk right.

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his cock between his abdomen and the mattress, grabbing the sides of the bed and rutting his hips forward. The grind along the smooth sheets was enough to electrify his entire body. Marc choked on the groan that threatened to leave his lips. He put the shirt on his pillow, burying his face in it, fucking the bed faster. If you had been under him, he would’ve broken you in half…or shredded you to pieces.

He bit into the shirt, growling lowly and continuing to roll his erection over the soft mattress  in an attempt to curb the growing need to have you. Your voice was so small, so sweet, so pretty. Fuck, fuck… The way you looked at him, afraid, timid, like he was going to hurt you. He wished he could say with confidence that he would never hurt you, like he had promised you earlier in your room, but he knew that was a white lie. He would always try never to hurt you.

He shuddered on his next snap forward, the friction becoming more slick as his leaking head left a mess in its wake. His grip on the sides of the mattress was tight enough to make his knuckles ache, aiding in his speed. He didn’t even care that the bed scraped against the floor with a loud shriek on every pass. He kept his nose deep in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply, intoxicated with your smell combined with his. It smelled right, like your fragrances belonged together.

You belonged with him.

“Why does she…why does she smell so…so-fucking-good-ohgodohgodohgod…!”

Marc’s hips finally came to a stammering halt, warm sticky ropes of cum shooting out from his throbbing cock, making a mess of his bedding that he knew the servants would mumble about amongst each other when they thought he wasn’t listening. He huffed through his nose, hips still sliding his dick over the glob of slippery white that he created while thinking of you. 

He wasn’t a fool, but Marc hoped desperately that masturbating his nights away would be enough to satisfy his needs. Deep down though, he knew that was bullshit, and he knew that as long as you were around, his life was at risk.

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[lollipencil]

ITPM: What If...Khonshu sensed Jason's Resurrection?

Thought this would be an interesting idea. Hey @harleyification, fancy some tears?

Enjoy and be gentle ---

It was a calm night. Always an omen in Gotham. It was like the rogues saw stillness as a threat to eradicate whenever it occured. So Jake knew to make the most of it while it lasted.

He sighed into the steam from his coffee.

Six months. It had been six months since Jason's murder, and they were only just becoming ok again. Steven had spent an evening doing something which seemed to help, Ian Doescher's Star Wars books had drawn Marc back up from deep within, and Jake.

Well, Jake found his peace at Jason's graveside. At listening to the birds singing and imagining that maybe, Jason was with them, flying despite the Joker's best efforts.

The coffee burned his tongue as Jake took a sip. And the stillness broke. "My sons!" Khonshu was suddenly by their side, "Jason's grave-!" Jake didn't think; the coffee went straight into the nearest bin and he just barely dipped into the darkness of the alleyway before summoning the suit, and soaring into the night.

Rage muffled everything else. Who dared, dared to do something to Jason after everything he'd been through? They had better hope that Bruce got there first, because Jake was not feeling like keeping to Batman's One Rule tonight.

Touchdown at the graveyard revealed nothing. No one was there, everything was as it should be. "Khonshu, what-?" "Shh, listen," Khonshu urged, standing by Jason's grave. Scraping. Knocking. Panting. Underneath the dirt.

Breath seemed to evade the body's lungs. A moment passed, and then Jake was on his hands and knees clawing at the earth.

Steven and Marc were awake, but their questions were like static to Jake. He just kept digging. Halfway through, the sound of splintering wood spiked right through all three of them. And the dirt shifted down. Jake's digging grew even faster and, before long, a hand emerged. "How?" Steven gasped almost silently as the hand grasped Jake's forearm. Jake didn't answer, he just pulled.

Jason Todd-Wayne flopped against their chest, and breathed. Their head was completely silent, the only sound was the air filling and leaving Jason's lungs. Jake's arms went numb. The one holding Jason tight became a suit jacket and glove, while the other a mix of bandages and bronze crescents. Marc's hand slowly and carefully drifted to Jason's neck.

Lub dup, lub dup, lup dub.

Something deep inside uncurled. Jake didn't cry, but the breath he took felt deeper and fuller than he'd felt in months. Idly, Jason's hand lifted to trace the moon and bat on Jake's chest. Steven's arm shifted to hold Jason closer.

A thought, and Jake's cape moved, wrapping nice and snug around their precious cargo. Footsteps approached the grave, and Jake tore his eyes away.

Batman and Robin stood above. Disbelief and paused grief couldn't hide behind their masks. Robin jumped down, and placed his fingers to the side of Marc's. "...There's a pulse," Tim whispered, "He's alive."

Instantly, Bruce was there. His hands hovered uncertainly over the bundle in the system's mismatched arms. Jason didn't say a word. Instead, he turned his head to look at Bruce's cowl, and reached for it. Bruce lowered his head and let Jason latch onto an ear. A spark appeared in his vacant eyes. "Jason," Marc whimpered, and the tears finally flowed down Jake's cheeks. "We should get him back to the cave," Tim gently urged, "It's cold out here."

Bruce unbuckled the batcowl and let Jason press it into his chest, and helped support Jake's wobbly legs as they all climbed out. He didn't try to take Jason from them, and they were grateful. Marc and Jake traded places once seated in the Batmobile. "Heya Jay," Marc spoke softly, "I've got you. We've got you. You're going home."

As they raced through the streets, they could have sworn that Jason's lips twitched into the faintest smile.

[nerdieforpedro]

The Man Next Door

Jake Lockley x plus size black female reader

This blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 4.1k

Summary: You've been eyeing your neighbor Jake for the last few months. A major even and discovery puts things into perspective. You make your move after the dots are filled in.

Warnings: Mentions of blood (various amounts), violence, one minor character death, sprinkles of Spanish, first aid, unprotected P in V (wrap it IRL), aftercare

Notes: My first Moon Knight fic! 🥰 It's been in the works for a bit. It's a half of a request for @megamindsecretlair I asked her what she wanted in it and she told me. We'll see if I delivered on that or not. 😄Dividers are designed by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ❤️

Main Masterlist / Moon Knight Masterlist/ Oscar Isaac characters

Sometimes he has blood on his hands, attempting to wipe it off with a rag, other times there are small drops of splatter on his chin and cheek as he gives you a morning nod before you head off to work.

He’s never without a drop of crimson on him, no matter what time of day you happen to spot him. It makes you keep your distance from him, not indulge in idle chatter like your other neighbors in your apartment building, ask to borrow items or even keep a package or two for you.

You’re curious about him, about Jake Lockley.

He’s been your next door neighbor for six months. You haven’t heard anyone in his apartment or seen anyone visit. It was odd, that you’re sure of. He only gets a few pieces of mail and seldom any packages. Never rude and never too friendly either. A fair distance away from any who may try to get to know him.

You wonder if you should have ever spoken to him now. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him and had your morning farewell nod. You walk from the bus stop to work each day, it’s less than ten minutes and you count it as your exercise. This is the night you see him again, your neighbor. Walking home like every other night, you happen to hear a thud and look in its direction. Sure you left work an hour late due to your boss being a dick and wanting you to finish putting together the reports for tomorrow, but at least you got overtime out of it so you hadn’t minded too much. Maybe you should have.

You can’t say it’s completely unexpected, there’s only so many reasons Jake would have blood on him but it’s still shocking. It’s not everyday you see your neighbor standing in a pool of someone’s blood. Honestly you can’t tell the gender or the person or ethnicity from the distance and from the amount of blood.

There’s just so much. Dripping from his hands, splashes on his face and clothes.

No wait…the clothes are odd. They went from some off gray looking robes to his normal jeans, and jacket. Maybe you’re hallucinating. It’s then that you feel a hand on your arm.

“You know him, don't you woman? What do you know about him? Tell us!” When you turn to see who the hand belongs to, you’re met with a knife that grazes your cheek. There are four men in addition to the one holding you for a total of five. You’re shaking your head, it’s not a lie, you don’t know anything about the man other than his name and that he lives next to you. His grip strengthens on your arm as you try to pull away from him and the other men watch amused at your attempt to try and escape. Their laughs are replaced by curses as you stomp on your assailant’s foot and drop your bag to punch him in the face. He’s stunned so his grip loosened finally to give you a chance to go for the knife and you do.

There’s blood on you now. Not on your hand you punched the man with, but on the knife and your white button down from where you went for your assistant’s neck. He’s holding the side of it, trying to apply pressure but he’s shaky on his feet. One of his friends, you assume, grabs him to help him but he slumps in his arms, the man’s hand falling slowly from his neck.

Did you just kill someone? What the hell is happening?

(Khonshu): Is that the woman you glance at and who occupies your idle thoughts Jake? I thought she was one of the many worms. It appears she is not. You may want to don the suit again. She has spirit, but not skill nor strength. She’ll not last long.

(Jake): I hear you loud and clear, you old bird. What is she doing here anyway? She’s normally off work and at home by now. I know her routine and she doesn't change it by much. I knew she had a little fire in her, she went right for the neck, most would have gone for an arm or torso.

The three other men are circling you, screaming at you about their fallen friend and how they’re going to take their time in torturing you no matter if you actually know anything about Jake or not. You lunge at the man closest to you, going for his neck as well since that did the other man in, but he caught both your arms and chuckled.

“Luck like that only strikes once bitch!” He presses his fingertips into your wrists, but you keep hold of the knife, it’s the only weapon you have. But you start to smell more metal - iron, no there’s more blood. It’s not on you, or it wasn’t until the goon holding you falls forward and to step back to avoid his body hitting yours, wrists free, but you’re falling. It seems among all that scuffle, you’d been near a curb and you’d stepped off awkwardly.

You don’t hit the ground though, instead you’re in strong arms. The same gray you’d seen earlier except now there’s a mask, cape and a moon in the middle of his chest? He supports you as you stand up. You’re still holding onto your knife though, adrenaline running through your veins as you hold it close to your chest. He holds your shoulders and gives them a soft squeeze to help you pay attention.

“Mira! Hola! (Look! Hello!) Tch…” Jake’s trying to get your attention but it’s not working. This whole gentle thing isn’t his norm and he can see that your eyes aren’t registering him or his words at all. Not even him squeezing your shoulders, he’s worried that squeezing them harder will result in an injury and the suit only heals him, not you. The blood dripping from your cheek angers him and the men are only knocked out now. He needs to get you out of here so he can come back and find out information from them - slowly and painfully. He releases you and picks up your bag, then tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t have time to console you, not that he would be any good at it. He hears you squeal then yelling and shifts your back to the same arm he’s holding you with, then pinches your hip.

“Silencio! (Quiet!)” Your body tenses in his arms as he makes his way to the apartment building. He jumps to the fire escape outside of his window as he usually keeps it open for when he doesn’t feel like using the door. He removed that suit before heading in, donning his street clothes and carrying you inside, setting you down on his couch. You’re sniffling, but not crying loudly or yelling anymore which Jake is thankful for. He goes to get a small first aid kit. It was included with some beer he bought when he last shopped for anything really and hasn’t been opened. Kneeling in front of you, he sighs as you’re still looking forward, he’s wondering if he’ll still get soft nods and hellos after this. You might even see if you can move from the building. He wets some gauze with some saline and dabs your cheek, finally you respond by hissing from the sting.

“Oh, now you’re paying attention princesa (princess)? You’re in my place by the way. Stay still.” Jake gives you a brief smile before dabbing your cheek a few more times and applying some antibiotic ointment. It’s not nearly deep enough for stitches or even the little strips they have in here, but he still hates that you were there at all, let alone that you’re not only injured but you also had to kill to survive.

“I..so that was all real, not a nightmare? Oh…so I killed…” You finally drop the knife and in klangs on the floor, your hands take hold of your knees, covered halfway by your pencil skirt. Your realization sinks in that no, it was not some crazed fearful dream from watching way too much FBI in one night. No, there had been a fight, there had been blood and you had indeed killed someone.

“It was self-defense hermosa (gorgeous). That’s all it was. You wouldn’t have had to if I wasn’t slow in getting to you.” Jake takes your hands in his. You finally look at him. He looks like every other day, black leather jacket, dark gray t-shirt, dark wash jeans, a wry smile on his face and it’s surrounded by his dark shadowy stubble. When did he change clothes? His eyes are unexpectedly warm in their chocolate pools. You hadn’t really looked at them before, always in passing. You nod and close your eyes. He’s telling you what you want to hear, but you know what you did with that knife. “Come on, let’s get you next door. You should wash up and change clothes. Don’t touch your face though.” He instructs and you follow him to your feet as he stands and walks to his door. His apartment has the same brick walls, though his are more sparse with decorations though you see many books. You didn’t expect any and you’re not sure why.

You aren’t able to find your keys, your hands are shaking so badly and you’re crying again, silently since he told you to be quiet. He regrets that a bit. You’re not accustomed to death and violence as he is, of course it's shocking, most would find it so. “May I princesa?” Jake holds out a hand, he’s not going to force it, it’s not the time. You hand him your back and he searches for half a minute. The bag is large and looks like you keep a lot of ‘just in case’ stuff in it. He finds your keys and unlocks your door, but doesn’t enter with you.

“You’re not coming in? I…” Your voice fades out. You want to ask him to stay, you don’t want to be alone, but would he even want to? He likely thinks you’re a wimp for crying, why would he even want to stay? “N-Never mind Jake see-”

“I’ll be back. I need to tie up loose ends princesa. Just take a nice slow shower, if you get your face wet, clean and apply some more ointment and eat something. You did well, you survived. Don’t feel bad about it at all.” He’s spoken more to you now than he ever has. On one hand, this eleates Jake as he was never really sure how to start a conversation with you, but under these circumstances, it’s far from ideal. His arms wrap around you, bringing your head to his chest. He still smells a little metallic like blood but now like the books in his apartment and cigarettes? You’d never seen him smoke, curious, but not your focus. His heartbeat is steady and one hand touches the back of your neck, his fingers run up into the small hairs you have at the back edge of your hairs, those little ones that no amount of hair grease or edge cream will tame. He’s playing with them though before he lets you go abruptly. “Hasta leugo princesa (See you later princess).” And he’s back to his apartment. Gone that fast. His warmth lingers on your neck and the front of your body and it’s what you ponder while you’re in the shower.

Peeling off your clothes and showering was the easy part. The clothes went in their own small trash bag and would go out with tomorrow’s garbage. It was trying to eat, you made a sandwich and only ate half of it, then there was soup, which normally you love, but the smell made your stomach curl. Eventually, all of the sandwiches went down with some water and on the couch you sat. Alone with your thoughts. You don’t feel any different, but you know what you did with that knife. The blood, the men’s threats, the fear you felt, Jake being covered in blood. What was he going to do when he came back? Where should you even start with your questions? It had been a few hours by this point and you’re staring at the wall when there’s a knock at your door. Standing and hurrying to the door, a familiar voice uttered one word.

“Princesa.” It was the fastest you’d open the door for anyone.

Jake sits down from you on your couch and explains to you who he is, who he serves and why he usually has blood on him. It’s fantastical and had it been any other day, you’d told him to get out and avoided him like he was insane. But the events of the night had told you to believe him and it was honestly better to think he was punishing those causing harm to others than being a serial killer or something else. You do notice something though, Jake appears to be nervous, which is weird, his eyes are darting around and he keeps clearing his throat and moving on the couch, like he can’t get comfortable.

“Did you want to sit in the armchair? You might find it more comfortable.” Your offer makes him stop moving and sigh. Jake’s a little worked up since he’d been doing a lot more of Khonshu work, normally he’d drink to ease himself into some sleep. He should leave. Now. You’re freshly showered, took down a man despite being scared out of your mind, and he held you too long earlier, much too long. He meant to calm you with that hug but it instead had him in his thoughts again.

He shouldn’t have watched you stand either, your wide hips make Jake want to do more than pat them as do the soft caramel of your legs that he sees as you glide over to your fridge to offer him water. He stands as you bring him the water and he gulps it down, thanking you as he starts toward the door.

“W-Wait, you’re leaving already Jake?!” He needs you not to call for him like that. You sound like you need him and…that’s not something he can handle right now.

“You’re okay now. I shouldn’t stay any longer princesa.” He doesn’t turn to face you. If he sees your eyes he’s not going to leave. He knows what he’s feeling is partly from all the fighting but not entirely and that’s the part his mind has latched onto and won’t let go of.

“Could I at least have another hug before you go Jake?” You’ve said his name softly, almost with care. How can he say no now? He did give you a hug earlier. He turns to see that you’ve dropped your robe and you are wearing a red silk nightgown that just barely covers your bottom. Your eyes aren’t telling him you want a hug, at least, not just a hug.

“Hermosa, I don’t think that’s all you want from me. Let’s both be honest here. Has this been part of why you watch me as much as I watch you?” His steps are slow, he’s giving you an out. You can say no and give a flimsy excuse like your robe slipped or something. You don’t. You put your hands on his chest and run them up as he did to you, your hands grabbing his curls, their silken texture makes you smile.

“You’d be correct Jake. This dance has gone on long enough. You’re finally in my apartment and I almost died tonight. I also had a long shower as you suggested.” Your plush lips look so inviting and he can’t resist. The kiss is sloppy and his hands are roaming your body, he’d like to rip the gown off of you, but he’s sure you put it on to be admired so he will for a little bit. Jake is much more interested in what’s under it. He bends temporarily and hooks his hands under your knees to lift you up carrying you to your bedroom.

After setting you on the bed gently, Jake slips off his clothes, making a pile on the floor in front of your bed. He’s not one to be embarrassed and is well aware of what he’s working with. His swollen length bobs while he licks his lips. His eyes roam your body as he climbs on the bed, calloused hands start at your ankles and slide up your thick legs. Once he reaches your hips, his hands stay under your nightgown as he pulls it up and over your head. The low groan makes his Adam's apple bob when he sees you weren’t wearing any underwear as you open your legs for him to expose your wetness. You gasp at the cool air and it allows him to capture your lips again, your arms and legs wrapping around him.

He grins into the kiss, lurching his hips forward to have the head of his cock glide across your wet slit. Your hips react and jut forward having the tip enter you, Jake grins on your lips and pulls back but leaves the tip in. “Rather eager aren’t you cariño (sweetheart)?” He takes hold of his length, removing his tip fully and rolls the wrist of his free hand for you to roll over. “I’ll have you from the back first. I want to see that large ass of your bounce.” You roll on your stomach and spread your knees, feeling him lean over and run his hands along your body as he notches at your entrance. His bulbous head is just past your entrance. “Move that ass and push back on my cock. Show me what you can do hermosa.” He leans to kiss along your spine as you use your legs to move your hips back, having your forearms flat on the bed with your elbows as an anchor.

You’re able to get him deeper and feel him stretching you, almost too much, his hips don’t feel flush with yours yet, there must be more. “Jake you’re so thick…. Please move with me.” You coo, looking back at him, your hips moving slowly, your walls are pulling on his shaft, learning his shape. Jake’s hands are roaming your back as praises for working hard for him. He’s aware of his girth and wants to push forward but not yet.

He leans over your back again, making his chest flush with it. His lips are next to your ear, “Muy bien (very good) mi (my) princesa. I’m going to reward you by moving. Be as loud as you want.” A kiss is placed on your shoulder, a last bit of tenderness he shows you before straightening himself up and taking hold of your hips. He draws back, nearly pulling all the way out of you but he thrusts forward, his hips finally flush with yours and the walls of your core expanded to accommodate him as his thrusts increased as did your cries of Jake’s name. You felt yourself pressing into the mattress, at one point face down. Jake was not having it. He wanted you vocal unless your voice had truly given out, which he was sure it hadn’t. His hips came to a full stop and you gasped. “No, no princesa. You won’t go quiet on me yet. Roll.” He gave a light slap to your ass for encouragement for you to move.

You had just sat yourself up back on your elbows and lifted your head when Jake decided that you were moving too slow for him and pulled out of you, the loss had you groan before you yelped with your leg up in the air where it had not been for a long time. He crossed your leg over and succeeded in flipping you over so you were now on your back. Jake’s relentless, his hands are roaming your thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, “Jake....Jake..Fuck…” You keep chanting as he grins before capturing your lips again with his. He has yet to enter you once more and his precum is dripping onto your slit as it rubs your viscous liquids together.

Once he pulls back, he takes in your swollen lips, the heaving of your chest, every curve that he’s tried to feel with his fingers and he knows he hasn’t. This time when he slips back within you, it’s slower and he keeps eye contact with you, one hand on the back of your knee pushing your leg forward to allow him deeper and the other on the back of your neck to pull your face closer to his as he presses his chest against yours. “So much better than I imagined princesa. You’re not getting away from me you know.” He nibbles on your bottom lip as your core tightens around him again, “Good girl, milk me and accept what I’m going to give you.” Your hands grab his shoulders and dig into his skin, scratching him, your hips keep crashing into his as he speeds up a bit, nearly at his climax.

“Give me what you’ve got Jake. I’ll mark you…” Using your teeth, you graze the skin on his neck before biting down and hearing him hiss, giving you a few more strong pumps before spilling inside of you. The heat from his spend has the walls of your cunt close around his throbbing shaft as you scream in your own peak. Jake continues to slowly roll his hips until you both start to come down. Neither of you move, only the sounds of your breaths fill the room. Your body is completely limp and you stare up at Jake who gives you a small kiss to your lips before starting to move back, your arms weakly reach for him and he grins.

“You want more already? You’ll have to give me a few princesa.” Shaking your head, you stick your bottom lip out and give a small pout.

“Don’t leave yet. Stay.” Jake rubs circles on your belly and chuckles.

“You’re even more adorable than I thought. I need to know where your washcloths and towels are. We need to clean up. I’m not leaving.” You inform him that they’re in the small hall closet next to the bathroom to which he goes and gets two washcloths, warming them up along with towels. He wipes you down first and dries you, then takes care of himself before slipping the both of you under the sheets. His hand cups your cheek before running his fingers through your hair and then it dawns on him - you’re not wearing your bonnet. Jake asks where you keep them and you tell him the bottom drawer of your nightstand so he reaches to get one for you and you decide to pinch his rather round ass.

“I think we’re fond of each other’s asses Jake.” You laugh as he slips the red satin onto your head. “I’m surprised you knew that I wore one at night. You’re keeping that close of tabs on me?” An eyebrow raises and he puts his hands up.

“Come on, give me a little credit. I’m not going to say I know everything about caring for black hair properly, but I know bonnets, protective styles, but don’t ask me how to do any of them and oil.” He put up three fingers for the things he did know.

Now it’s your turn to grin. This sly man. “Pfft. You’re full of surprises Jake. We’ll sleep and then you’re helping me oil my hair in the morning before work.” You press his chest lightly and the scoot closer to him to cuddle. His arm wraps around your back, and those fingers of his run down your spine again.

“I’ll help you oil your hair tomorrow if it’s after breakfast and you take a day off of work.” Jake kisses your forehead and closes his eyes.

“Alright. You talked like you knew what to do. I won’t forgive you if you mess up my hair.”

“Hm. If it’s anything like what you did tonight, I get it. I’ll be extra careful princesa. Don’t worry.” You’d drifted off to sleep and Jake watched you before he dozed off as well, looking forward to having his hands on you again. In your hair or anywhere you’d let him.

Keeping an eye out from the apartment across the hall 👀: @soft-persephone @saturn-rings-writes @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @dameron-grant-spector @soft-girl-musings @agentjackdaniels

[ivystoryweaver]

The Box (Fluff edition)

Read the NSFW version My Masterlist

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

Paring: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why couldn't you show him your box?

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

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

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

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

"I have to tell you something."

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

Damn he was pretty.

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

"What's in there?"

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

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

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

Something about that little beg made you tingle all over.

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

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

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

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

That was the whole point!

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

"Falcon," you corrected, swallowing hard.

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

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

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

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

"Push it," you instructed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marc nodded for you to go on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc Spector-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[heartthrobin]

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

-

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

-

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

-

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

-

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

-

comment and repost <3 mwah!

[aceswritingcorner]

Truth or Dare?

Khonshu x Reader- During a game of truth or dare involving humans, vessels, and gods, things can get very interesting. Between the teasing prods of Layla and Marc, Steven’s obliviousness, and Jake’s invisible joy for seeing the reactions things can become very interesting.

Word Count: 2209

Dusk had just begun to settle as the sun slowly faded into the horizon, basking in the colors of the sunset. With the unique colors painted across the sky as the silhouette of the moon rose above the clouds, everything was seemingly better than it once was. The boys, namely Marc, had managed to convince Khonshu to let them have a small break before going out all Moon Knight for the rest of the night just to make the body want to pass out from exhaustion and have whoever was in control have to deal with it later. The group was small, with it being merely you, Layla, and the boys lounging around Steven’s flat for the night. 

Steven had been the first to talk with you away from work, offering to hang out by a nice little boutique that had really amazing vegan pastries. “Honestly, you have to try them- they are like the best thing you could ever have in your mouth. Oh my- I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound dirty!-” His adorable nature and insane knowledge of Egypt was one of the first things that had drawn you in. He had been one of the first to show himself before you met Layla. 

Layla was interesting in a multitude of ways. The way she talked about the boys, along with the fact she had nearly threatened your life if you ever planned on hurting any of them should feelings ever arise. She had been the one to be more open than the others when it came to talking about the Egyptian gods and goddesses, Layla had been the one to figure out in the first place that you were capable of seeing the god of the moon who seemed to regularly throw tantrums according to Marc. When that piece of information came out there was an inane amount of confusion on everyone’s sides, especially to the god who had previously thought that only his current avatar could see him. Not some- 

Some human creature! Someone who held no power, no strength- How in the world could someone like you see him? 

That should never have been a possibility. 

Never in his entirety, stone and everything, was this ever possible. Only his chosen avatar was capable of seeing him but out of everyone… It was satisfying to know that you could see him as the god that he is. Unlike that worm. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. To have someone properly see him at his fullest power, protecting those that travel beneath the night sky just as you do. Yes, this may just be a useful thing after all. 

“Alright, alright-” Layla waved her hand through the air as she caught her breath. The game of Truth or Dare had been decent for now, everyone attempting to take turns as best they could with the others attempting to bud in when it brewed down to certain truths not wanting to be said. Khonshu had become an unwilling viewer of the game, appearing in the back area of Steven’s kitchen as he crouched with his staff in hand. Steven had nearly yelped when he turned to grab a water bottle, only to be face-to-beak with the god as he lost his footing against a stray piece of clothing. “Back to the game now that Steven isn’t dying.”

You laughed quietly, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before glancing at the god that stood in the corner of the room. There was something about him that made you feel special in an odd way. Marc tended to say he threw tantrums, Steven had never been particularly fond of the nickname that Khonshu had placed on the brit, Jake was- Well he was Jake, to put it lightly. 

All the boys had their different opinions on the god, but things were different when it came to you. 

Khonshu preferred to act a certain way, whether it brewed down to referring to humans as ’Worms’ or merely having the boys act as Moon Knight to protect people. He was intriguing, to say the least. 

From the moment you had caught him in the corner of your eye to when he had been told you could actually see him, things had changed with his behavior. Days had since passed, the god choosing to stay near whenever you spent time with the others. His presence behind you as others passed by, brushing your shoulder as the wind picked up with swirling force. 

It was just small coincidences.

That’s all it had to be. Khonshu had no interest in humans- he protected the travelers and did what he was assigned to do as a god. That was all… He didn’t carry any emotions for you, despite the pestering and teasing of Marc and Steven. 

“We have got to put a bell on you, mate, I’m not kidding.” Steven spoke as he ran a hand against his sore end before grabbing the bowl he had left on the counter. “I don’t think my heart can take it whenever you pop up all silent and brooding." 

"I do not brood."  The god spoke, Layla raising an eyebrow at the seemingly one-sided conversation as you snickered. "Khonshu said he doesn’t brood." 

Layla laughed, shaking her head at the statement. Even without the ability to see or even hear him, there were times one could very easily tell when the god was ‘upset’. 

Steven hummed happily as he made his way back to the couch where Layla sat before taking his seat back. A content sigh leaving his lips as he set the snacks onto the small table before leaning back against the armrest of the couch. 

"Well, now at least we can get on with our game. Steven, your turn to pick.” Layla spoke up, looking at the other before taking a sip from her drink. The others had been taking turns as to who got to answer or take a dare, with Marc playing a bit unfairly in some chances. 

Steven hummed, playfully tapping his hand against his chin in thought before looking at his reflection. “What? I am not going to ask them to do that- No- Marc don’t even bloody think about it-" 

The brit’s words were cut off as Marc took control of the body, an amused smirk quirking at the corner of his lips. 

"Y/n, truth or dare?” He hummed, leaning against his knees as his eyes held a glint of amusement. Knowing him either option would lead to something possibly embarrassing. 

You sighed quietly, looking at the man from across the table with a playful glare. “Knowing you, either is going to be mortifying so I’ll choose dare for now. I’d rather like to keep certain things not said.”

Marc’s grin grew as he chuckled in amusement. “Oh no, I’ll be sure to think of a good dare for you.” He hummed before leaning back against the couch as he looked around the flat. There had to be something interesting he could think of. 

Steven’s books? Nah, not fun enough. Maybe something more fun- There had to be some semblance of non-breakable shit. Or illegal, really. Wait a minute… There was definitely something. 

“I’ve got it.” He declared, turning his attention back to you as Layla arched a brow at his face. 

“I know that look, Spector, and normally that means nothing good,” Layle commented, leaning away from her husband as she looked at him. “I advise you change your mind, Y/n.”

Marc held his hand up, shaking his head slowly as he chuckled. “Oh no, it’s nothing bad. I dare you, y/n, to share your true feelings about Khonshu." 

Your eyes grew in shock as you glanced at the god that now stood by steven’s bed. When did he move- Nevermind that, but dammit- 

Was it too late to even go back on the dare? Maybe he’d pick a different truth. That’d be hoping for too much, wouldn’t it? The look on Marc’s face was a definite yes to that answer. 

Khonshu looked at the group, the tip of his beak pointed in your direction as he hummed. What did a mortal like you think of him? You were quite an interesting specimen to him, not fearing unlike the others that would cower. You looked at him with intrigue instead of disgust. 

What could ever possibly intrigue you about him? Perhaps it was the fact he is a god? But that didn’t bother you even after everyone found out the truth. He made a small clicking sound as he stood, his staff next to him. You were truly an odd little creature, very faithful to those around you. 

It was obvious that the worm enjoyed your presence, his heartbeat rose whenever you were in his presence. Even without it, he would talk about it. Aggravating Khonshu’s nerves with unintentional purpose. How was that even possible, the god scowled indignantly, nothing should be capable of making him feel this way. Nothing did make him feel this way. 

And yet- it felt as if his skin crawled at the idea of you with that worm. There were better options than just him. More worthy options that you could choose from, than Steven Grant of the giftshop. 

Options like him- Khonshu scorned under his breath, lost in his thoughts as wind picked up through the flat. He would be the one capable of protecting you- not those worms that would lie and decieve for their own greed. 

"Oi, Khonshu. Can you not blow things around the apartment? Steven’s throwing a fit cause of it.” Marc raised an eyebrow at the god as he scoffed under his breath, “Still gotta answer the question, Y/n." 

You internally groaned, rolling your eyes at him as you looked at the god. This would go a number of different ways depending on how you answered it. Welp- Only one way to find out, isn’t there?

"Khonshu is interesting, to say the least.” You mused, glancing over the wrapped bandages as you took a small breath. “He’s protective of those he wants to be. He helps protect innocent people-" 

"Skip the basics, Y/n, I know you like him.” Layla interrupted, cutting off your sentence as she looked at you. “It’s obvious, even I can tell and I can’t even see him.” She arched an eyebrow, looking at you with a bemused expression. 

Khonshu tilted his head, looking at you as he hummed lowly. Perhaps that’s what it was, liking somebody, that’s what he felt. “Is that what you truly feel, little dove?" 

You bit the inside of your cheek, hearing the other speak as you stood up. "I- I am going to step outside and check if the food is here yet." 

Marc snickered quietly, looking at you with an amused smirk. "We haven’t ordered food yet.” “Shut up-” You muttered, quickly leaving the flat as you entered the elevator. This was not how you wanted things to pan out. 

Out of all the questions or dares he could’ve done- why did it have to be Marc to create that dare? Was there a god or something after you? You sighed under your breath, stepping out of the building as you ran a hand against your face. 

“There is certainly nothing after you, little dove.” 

You jumped, your hand moving down to your racing heart. Looking at the bandaged man with widened eyes. When in the hell did he get here? “Khonshu- what the fuck- Don’t scare me like that!" 

"My apologies, little dove, you were merely thinking if anything was after you. If that were true, I would protect you." He spoke, looking at you from the alley as he stood at his full height. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving your hand down as you looked at the god. Why in the- "Khonshu, why were you in my head? Look- if this is about what Layla said, let’s just forget about everything like that and continue on with our lives. Deal?” You held your hands up, looking at him as you gave the offer. 

“Little dove, the idea of you with another makes me filled with enraged emotions. I would rather be cast in stone than see you with a worm that cannot provide what you are worthy of." 

"Khonshu-" 

"You are like a mourning dove, little one. You give faith to others and show love to those you like. You have shown love to me and in return, the idea of you being with another fills my being with a rage unquelled." 

The god spoke, stepping closer as the wind slowly picked up in small swirls against you. Your eyes widened slightly as the 'breeze’ pushed against your legs to push you closer to the egyptian immortal. "Khonshu.. If this is because of the dare-" 

"I can asure you, my mourning dove, it is not from what those mortals said. You are special to me in a multitude of ways, and one of those is making me feel certain ways that I believed were impossible." 

He murmured, looking at you as he rested a hand against his staff. "What will you choose, mourning dove?”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Trying some Moon Knight dividers! (I tried)

Khonshu Focused:

Moon Boys Focused:

Misc:

If you decide to use em, feel free to credit me @/angel-of-the-moons! You can also DM me if you like :D

[pimosworld]

The sun and the moon

🌙Pairing- Moon boys x f!reader, Khonshu x Hathor

🌗Series summary- You, a long lost descendant of Hathor,  crosses paths with Moon Knight. A chance for Khonshu to reconcile with his past and a chance for the boys to have a future. 

🌘CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Friends to lovers,Angst, Fluff, flirting, smut, fingering, unprotected piv, soft dom reader, slight sub Steven, lots of communication.

WC-4.7k

A/N- I know this has taken me forever but I’m back with this story. I was feeling a little discouraged but decided to press on. For those that have stuck around I appreciate you so much.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 2

Forgiveness is a sign that the person who has wronged you, means more to you than the wrong they have dealt. 

  Steven has said it so many times to tourists and people he’s guided that he loves living here. So much so that he thought he was starting to believe it himself. The city is nice, his flat is nice and everything is just as it should be. Except for days like this when he can’t imagine why he lives here. The umbrella does absolutely nothing to shield him from the sideways rain that pelts his jacket and stings his face as he runs up the steps of the museum. He puts a tight smile on as he reaches the top and closes it, trying to shake off any excess before entering the building. His previous annoyance leaves his brain so quickly he can’t even remember why he was getting so worked up. 

  You’re standing there, leaning against the welcome desk. He has to hide the flush running up his neck at the thought of practically having you memorized from behind. You’re wearing a flowy black dress with small gold hieroglyphics as the print. On anyone else it might look a little on the nose but on you it’s adorable. You're laughing and nodding your head as you speak in that palliative tone, like you’re addressing a toddler who just did something brave or new. He can see now why as he gets a glimpse of J.B. the head of security grinning at you pleased as punch. 

  Idiota

  “Relax, Jake he’s harmless.” 

  Why would the head of security be some harmless imbecile?

  Steven ignores him as he approaches the desk, J.B. waving like…well he can’t say it now or Jake would be right so he’ll just say enthusiastically. 

“Morning Steven.” The man is so smitten with you he actually greeted him by the proper name. 

  You stiffen at that and gather your things from the desk top. You don’t look his way as you offer a sincere smile to the other man. It pricks a little at his heart. 

  “It was nice meeting you James,I’ll be looking forward to the word of the day tomorrow.” You wave him off with your honey sweet tone and saunter away. 

  “You want to know the word of the day?” J.B. flips open a small booklet as Steven feels the panic rising in his gut. Did he do something? That night had been nothing short of magical and then you were gone. He knew you would be nervous and excited about your first day so he chalked it up to that when you didn’t return his texts or calls. He was obviously being stupidly optimistic that you had enjoyed the night in the same manner. 

  “Sorry mate, maybe tomorrow.” He scurries off trying to catch up with you without looking like he’s chasing you. 

  “It’s Kindred!” He yells over his shoulder as a few people look on in confusion.

  He shakes his head as he picks up his pace a little. You can’t move very fast in your cute strappy heels but you certainly try and that tears his heart a little more. He’s thankful the hallway is empty as he finally catches up to you, he gently grabs your elbow as you turn to him and he’s fully hemorrhaging now when he sees your eyes. 

  “Love what’s wrong?”

  You just shake your head and wipe your eyes. “I don’t want to cry on my first day.” A small laugh escapes you. “Well, I don’t want to cry anymore.” 

  Steven

  “Not now Marc.”

  He brushes his thumb against your cheeks, wiping a stray tear, he’s relieved you don’t pull away but you’ve got this far away look in your eyes. “Did I do something to upset you?” 

  Steven 

  “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  He seems distracted and genuinely concerned. You know it wasn’t in his nature to be mean, but you waited for so long. No note or sign that he would be back, or maybe he stepped out for coffee. You waited and waited until it started to feel like you couldn’t breathe. 

  “That morning.” You glance around making sure you are alone. “You were gone and I waited.” The tears start to flow again. It's so embarrassing to be crying in the hall on your first day. 

  Steven, it’s my fault 

  His eyes go wide for a moment as he regains his composure. He doesn’t want to immediately throw Marc under the bus so he scrambles for an explanation. 

  Blame Khonshu, he won’t even know

  DON'T BLAME ME WORM

  Steven ignores the giant bird at the end of the hallway, unsure of why he’s even here. “Well you see Love, sometimes Khonshu needs us at the last minute. I know that’s not an excuse but I promise it’ll never happen-“

  You cut off his rambling as you wrap your arms around him, nearly knocking the wind out of him in the process. 

  See I told you it would work. 

  You lean back looking up into his puppy dog eyes. “I thought maybe you were having second thoughts.” 

  “Of course not, never that. In fact I’d like to…we’d like to make it up to you.” He scrunches his nose and you wonder if Jake or maybe even Marc are listening. “Dinner, our place on Friday….I promise no waking up alone.” 

  You peek around him as you start to hear voices down the hall. Your lips meet his briefly as his hands start to wander. “ I’d love to.”You run away before you have a chance to see the awestruck look on his face. You don’t want to get caught kissing a coworker on your first day of your new job.  

  Why is he here?

  You don’t notice the bird leaning against the wall watching you intently as you enter the office now marked with your name on it. 

  ****

  Maybe it was the flirty texts that you kept sending each other all week, or the anticipation of not having seen them because you were so busy with taking on the new duties of your job. Perhaps the cute little notes they would leave under your office door has something to do with it. 

  My word of the day is peeved. 

Peeved that a bloke like j.b. Even thinks he has a chance. 

  You chuckle at the yellow post it that was slid under your door after lunch. It’s cute how Steven has absolutely no clue that you aren’t interested in each other in the least bit. J.B is sweet and unassuming but he doesn’t hold that same charm that you see in them. It is nice however to feel wanted and sought after. It wasn’t that you were trying to make them jealous but they deserved a little shake up after the stunt they pulled that first night you stayed over. 

  In all honesty you knew for a fact that your relationship was strictly platonic, having met the girl that caught his eye that led small exhibit tours. You may have had a direct hand in setting them up on their first date. 

  It didn’t stop you from relishing in the attention from Steven or Jake making the occasional unsolicited appearance at the museum despite their protests. Just to check on you. 

  It’s ironic how Marc catches on first…that day before your planned date when they enter the lobby and he can feel the heat rising in his chest at the sight of you leaning against the welcome desk. The knit brown dress hugging your body in all the right ways and those damn heels that he’s not sure how you can wear everyday and still manage to do your job expertly. 

  It’s then that it dawns on him how J.B. Is looking at you like someone he admires and not someone to be conquered. A prospective he’s never seen until this moment that a man could look at you simply as a friend or a companion. It startles him to think that he’s gone at this all wrong, maybe you look at them as a friend as well. Someone to help you along in your career and nothing more. 

  Marc doesn’t even realize he’s fronting until you catch his eye. Steven is a distant garbled voice in his ear the moment you smile at him. It’s obvious you’re the only one privy to their existence and he should be extremely grateful for your trust and the delicate way in which you handle them. You reach over the desk for a pen and post it as you scribble something down on it. 

  Oy, what do you think you’re doin mate?

  It’s obvious only to you how he squares his shoulders and straightens up. His eyes are clear and focused and he has this permanent smirk about him. The furrow of his brow is like Goldilocks and the three bears, him being smack dab in the middle. 

  Did you forget you don’t work at the museum?Steven pesters in his head but something keeps Marc here, pulled to you and whatever’s unfolding in front of him. 

  “Have fun with Laura, I look forward to hearing all about it on Monday.” You wink at J.B. and the man turns a shade of red that he didn’t think existed in the color wheel. 

  I don’t even hang around this long hermano. 

  J.B. tips his head to you as you round the corner closest to him at the desk. “Th…thanks again.”  He half stammers out but you give him grace. 

  “Don’t mention it James.” You lean in whispering something that Marc only catches the tail end of. It’s with a V remember. You pat him on the shoulder as you make your way towards your office, the echo of your heels clicking along the marble floors. 

  It leaves him utterly speechless as J.B. properly greets his head mate hello for the fifth time this week. The person he’s worked with for three years and could never get his name right and yet now somehow he has it perfectly down to a science. 

  He waves him off, not yet ready to relinquish the body to the true holder of the day. His adrenaline is too high and he’s too set on figuring you out. He was determined to keep you at arms length and now it’s as though he can’t be away from you. He stumbles a little, drawing a few eyes as Steven tries to forcibly take the body. 

  Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast because I can’t hold him off much longer. 

  He picks up his pace a little trying not to seem hasty as you’re almost to your office door. Moving quickly and yet gliding slowly all at once. 

  He ignores the bird once more perched in the corner of the hallway, now a constant presence in your daily lives. Annoying them even in silence as he watches and judges their every move. 

  You stop just before the door and turn to face him, your hand reaching out for him and upon impulse he can’t help but take it. It’s like his body is not his own of course it’s not but in so many different ways. He feels this pull towards you like he would combust if he didn’t follow your every move. 

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you later.” Your breath fans across his face as he closes the gap, desperately wanting to open the door behind you and do unspeakable things to you in that office marked head curator with your name not yet etched in the paint. 

  All he can manage is a nod as a small post-it is slipped into his palm. His heart beats at a dangerous pace as he feels Steven pull to the front just as your office door closes in his face. 

  Word of the day Lecherous

  Steven stands there and stares at it, your perfect handwriting and the curvy letters not making sense in his brain. The brain that he shares with two others who seemed to have stalled at the word. 

  He hurries as fast as he can, glancing down at the watch on his arm. Fifteen minutes until his first tour starts. Plenty of time.

  Just look it up on your phone 

  “Oh well now, where’s the fun in that?” 

  Jake just chuckles at the scene unfolding before him as Steven races to the Museum Library. Heading straight to the dictionaries and forgoing the questions from the librarian who usually knew what he was shopping for.

  “Oxford, Oxford…” he drags his thumb along the bindings until he finds the one he wants. He flips the pages open, finally landing on the word. “Lecherous, having or showing…” The rest of the words die on his throat. 

  Strong feelings of sexual desire. 

  ****

  You’re not sure what came over you this morning, what could’ve possibly possessed you to be so forward with Steven. The growing sexual tension between you has reached a fever pitch and he completely took you by surprise when you arrived tonight at their flat. His mouth was on you before you stepped through the door. The look in his eyes when he would try to focus on his task at hand as every piece of clothing was peeled from your body. 

  The ravenous way he licks up your neck as he has you pinned against the door, the feral sounds coming out of his mouth as you palm at his boxers having nearly undressed him in a hurry. 

  You need him in a way that scares you. Your hands roam over his tan, toned chest as something flashes in your eyes. It’s brief but doesn’t go unnoticed by his head mates. Steven too caught up in finally having you all to himself. 

  “Steven.” You pant against his mouth as he holds you suspended. “Bed…please.” 

  You yelp as he throws you over his shoulder. It still amazes you that this soft spoken, bibliophile has so many secrets. Never wanting to divulge too much into his night time activities. You suppose the job description comes with superhuman strength.

  You giggle as he throws you down in the bed. A bed you’ve been in before under much different circumstances. Always the gentleman letting you have the bed when you stayed over as “just a friend”. You hope after tonight the latter changes into something more. 

  You feel a little exposed as he hesitates to join you on the bed. His eyes roaming over your body as he breathes heavily through his nose. 

  Really he’s thinking how lucky he is. How he could’ve possibly ended up here with you in his bed, looking at him with that slight nervous smile. He hates making you squirm but he loves knowing you’re wanting this just as much as he does. A few deep breaths won’t hurt to keep the lion in the cage a little longer. 

  “You are absolutely gorgeous love.” He licks his bottom lip as he dips down onto the bed. He leans down kissing up your thighs and stomach as you let out a contented sigh. 

  He kisses up your jaw and your lips meet his all soft and warm. His chest blooms with pride as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and you instinctively lift your hips. “So good for me love.” 

  You gasp as his fingers rub through your slit, groaning at how wet you are for him. You tug on his hair as he dips two fingers in, giving you no time to adjust as he curls them hitting that spot that makes you go dumb. 

  “Fuck…Steven.” You moan as you arch your back into him. You can feel the wet patch rub against your thigh as he ruts into you. 

  He’s making you sing, like he’s known your body for years. He pumps them in and out as you cry out his name louder, plummeting towards your first orgasm. You’re both too caught up to question why he’s working with expert precision. Like a book he’s read a million times he’s got you memorized. 

  The way you say his name spurs him on even more. The feeling is intoxicating, having you at his mercy. The louder you get the more he can feel the growing presence looming in the background. The ones that have been so quiet as to not disturb this moment. They never discussed being around and yet it turns him on even more knowing they can see how he’s got you all worked up for him. 

  Perhaps he should tell you but he wouldn’t dare ruin this moment. As you grip right onto his shoulders growing closer to your end. You whimper softly in his ear as he presses his thumb down on your clit. A soft cry as your climax washes over you like a warm bath. 

  You’re bathed in a soft sheen of sweat as you come down from your high. Your body is so hot…yes you are beautiful but physically you’re burning up. It would be concerning to anyone else if you didn’t look like you were in absolute heaven. He kisses your forehead as you smile sweetly at him. He’d be perfectly content with this being all you did tonight, but when you pull him down to you licking into his mouth as you pull down his boxers he knows you have other things in mind. 

  “Steven, can I ride you?” The most sinful words leave your mouth the most innocent look on your face. 

  Mierda 

  He nods frantically ignoring the first thing Jakes said in hours as you switch places. You swing your leg over his hip as your hands are on his chest, gently guiding him down against the pillows. You lean forward kissing him as you rub your pussy along his impressive length, not yet wanting to put it in. He groans against your mouth as you grind your hips nearly coming at the sweet friction.

  “I’m on the pill, unless you want to wear a condom.” 

  “No!” It’s said more desperately than he intended as he grips your waist helping you rub deliciously along his cock. “I need to feel you.” 

  You slide forward just enough to notch his tip at your entrance before you sink down, taking him all the way to the hilt in one swift movement. He chokes on his words as you bottom out. Pushing against him to sit fully upright. His hands are sure to leave bruises as he fights the urge not to come just looking at you, seated perfectly in his lap. 

  Your eyes are hooded as you wait for him to catch his breath. One hand comes to squeeze your breast as you bite your bottom lip, clenching down on him. 

   She’s a fucking goddess 

  “Ya she is.” 

  It wasn’t meant to be said out loud but you don’t seem to notice or mind that you might be being watched by more than his eyes. 

  You experimentally roll your hips, reveling in the way he looks so wrecked beneath you. The slow drag of him through your walls as you trace your hand along his jawline. He may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and right now he’s at your mercy. 

  He’s babbling nonsense as you pick up your pace, bouncing up and down on his cock as his strong hands lift you. He throws his head back as he meets you thrust for thrust and you’re not sure how much longer you can last like this. 

  The word Jake is looking for is completely lost on him. Impressed doesn’t seem to cut it at the moment as he watches you take what you’ve wanted for months. He has to hand it to Steven for lasting this long with the way your tits bounce and you moan his name he’s not sure he’d be fairing the same. 

  Marc knows he fucked up the other day and yet here you are, all forgiveness and peace. You’ve been that way since the beginning, since that first day they met you. Any small part of him that was trying to keep you at arms length because of how things ended with Layla is out the window. 

  “Steven…I’m so close.” You whine out as he pulls you down to him. 

  His arms wrap around you tight as he pulls you into a messy kiss, his hips punching every breath out of your lungs as he takes control from the bottom. It’s intoxicating how he grunts in your ear with exertion as he hits that spot over and over. Your pussy clenching around his cock as he bites down on your shoulder. 

  You hope he’s not gone deaf from the scream you let out as you reach your climax. 

  “Oh fuck, love where?” 

  “Inside me Steven.” 

  He groans as he spills himself deep inside you, an obscene sound of skin on skin as you ride out your high echoes through the room. He rubs your back whispering praise into your ear as you shake in his arms. 

  “Steven that was…”

  “I know love…it was for me too.” He kisses you softly as you bask in the afterglow. Not yet wanting to break this spell. You wonder what he’s thinking right now as he smiles up at you, brushing your hair back from your face. 

  Steven rolls you slightly to deposit you under the sheets. He retreats to the bathroom, running a warm washcloth under the tap and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. 

  Bravo hermano

  Not that he needed the praise but it makes him swell with pride nonetheless. 

  You’re already nearly asleep when he returns to clean you up, gently brushing the towel over you trying not to wake you too much. You look perfectly divine in their bed and he knows they’re all thinking it. Even if it’s too soon, they hope that this will be a permanent thing. 

  You stir a little as he slides under the covers, wrapping his arms around you as you nestle closer to him. 

  “Sleep love, I’ll be here in the morning.” 

  ****

  There's a slight knock on your chamber doors before you beckon the visitor to come in. You recognize the small stature of your servant girl but her face is shielded by the large cartouche adorned with flowers. She sets it down on your table along with the rest you’ve received each day this week, which would make this the fifth. 

  She sends you a knowing glance as she sets them right to face the sun shining bright from the west doors. “Hathor, you must have done something right.” 

  “Watch yourself.” You point at her. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.” 

  “My apologies.” She dips her head as she bows to you. 

  You approach her and lift her chin slowly with your finger, the timid look on her face is not one you’re used to. You weren’t like the others and it came off harsher than intended. “You’re forgiven, I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea.” 

  “Forgive me….but Khonshu is hardly one to try this hard.” 

  You laugh at her forwardness but decide she needs a lesson in things above her comprehension. 

  “My dear, that’s exactly my point. He’s trying very hard and it’s all for me. Why would I make it so easy for him to stop trying?” You release her chin as she weighs your words. “You can go now, I won’t be needing your assistance until the feast.” 

  She bows her head and exits your chambers leaving you to admire the newest addition of flowers. 

  The scent of jasmine fills the air as you run your finger along the orange mandrake petals. In the center of each ornate bouquet was a large blue lotus flower. Perhaps a coincidence on his part that it happened to be your favorite. 

  You pluck out a small sealed papyrus placed in the soil. You brush your fingers along the delicate paper not wanting to miss a detail. 

  My dearest Hathor, 

  I have waited a thousand years for you, and I will wait a thousand more. 

  Mer Khonshu 

  ****

  You wake just as you did that first morning after spending the night with Steven but this feels much different. You’re wrapped up a little tighter than when you fell asleep. You’re hugging a pillow that must be theirs as the smell of musk and pine hits your senses. 

  Another smell is working its way to you, nutmeg and vanilla with a hint of coffee. You sit up and stretch your sore muscles and find a small pile of clothes next to you on the bed. You can see a shirtless Steven humming something in the kitchen, his back muscles rippling as he stirs something in the bowl. His sweats are hung low on his waist and his shoulders are  squared back and for a brief moment you wonder who you are actually looking at. 

  It sounds like he’s talking to someone…more like bickering so you take this moment to slink out of bed and freshen up in the bathroom. 

  You stare at your reflection in the mirror and to your surprise you look refreshed. Dare you say even glowing, despite needing a shower. You splashed some water on your face and used your spare toothbrush that they insisted you leave here and it dawns on you how normal this all feels. Over the months you’ve weaved your way into their lives and they gladly accepted whatever form of this they could get. 

  You pull on the gray sweatpants and breathe in the fresch scent of the gently used museum gift shop t-shirt Steven lent you before pulling it over your head. 

  You notice when you exit the bathroom he’s wearing a shirt now and you silently wish he was still shirtless so you could run your hands along his toned chest. His posture is much more relaxed now as he cautiously smiles at you. “I hope you like French toast.” He says as he serves you up a plate of golden brown goodness. 

  “I happen to love French toast, although I’m sure whatever you make would be amazing.” He blushes at the compliment as you take a seat at the kitchen island, not wasting a moment to dig in. In your haste you both had forgotten dinner the night before and you didn’t realize how starving you were. 

  You moan as the syrupy sweet flavor hits your tongue and his eyes widen a little as he leans against the counter gauging your reaction. A quick glance to his left that you almost miss and he clears his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for breakfast darling.” 

  “Oh.” 

  “Ugh ya…Marc figured it would be best I don’t burn the house down trying to impress you.” He nervously rubs his hand along the back of his neck. 

  “Well consider me impressed, and tell Marc to stop cooking for me and disappearing.”You reach over, taking his other hand pulling him towards you as he kindly obliges. You spin the chair as he settles in the spot between your legs. His hands instinctively go to your waist as his warm breath fans across your face. “Steven…can I kiss you?” 

  He huffs out a little in laughter as you tilt your head in question. “Love, after last night. You never have to ask.” 

  He closes the space between you as his lips meet yours. The taste of mint and syrup mixing together as he cups your jaw with his palm. Your chest blooms as you revel in the way he already has you like putty in his hands. It’s a moment before you break away for air and if you have a repeat of last night you’ll die from starvation. 

  “I hope you slept well.” 

  You humm as you resume your breakfast, he’s leaning against the counter again, completely content with just watching you enjoy your breakfast. “I did…but I keep having these bizarre dreams.” You think back for a moment just staring at some object on the counter. 

  “Care to share it with me.” He asks as the presence of both head mates are at attention. 

  “Tell me more of your god Khonshu?” 

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₊✩‧₊˚ Tipping The Scales Pt.1 ˚₊✩‧₊

Moonknight System x Layla x Gn! (Eventual Avatar) Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, descriptions of typical violence, eventual polyamory, & badly written fight scenes

A short fic following the show with a reader sensitive to otherworldly beings. I wrote this because I have beef with the show's Anubis erasure. Apologies for any errors & bad writing.

Ao3 Wattpad Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Chapter 1: A Dusty Ass Bird Man Won't Leave My Neighbor Alone

For as long as you can remember you've been able to see or sense things, whatever they might be. Spirits, guides, or guardians, you thought you had seen them all by now. It had become normal. Especially since beginning at the museum. It was common to see spirits watering around the exhibits. After all, the museum did house remains, and items of all sorts, each with a story. Even during tours, you would spot at least one person with some type of attachment. Perhaps, a deceased family member, a guide, or a protective spirit. So when you met Steven Grant and sensed the entity attached to him, you figured it was something similar.

As you spent time with Steven you were able to get a better feel for the entity, it became more tangible. It felt different, off in a way you hadn't felt before with others. So you waited, maybe time would allow your ability to reveal it. The entity hadn't appeared to be hostile, at least not yet. But you got a distinct feeling that it could be very dangerous if it wished, and it felt

very, 

very, 

old. 

 And it knew! 

It knew you could sense it, and it watched you.

When you were near it you found that it would respond. It would cause small, almost gentle gusts of wind, to brush against you, or the lights to flicker. You got the odd feeling that it was curious about you. Somehow, for some reason, you had caught the attention of something very old and powerful. You weren't quite sure what that meant.

Especially now.

Because it was looking right at you.

Across the museum showroom, it perched on top of a ledge. Whatever had clouded your ability to see it before had dissipated, leaving the entity finally visible. It was frightening, and unlike anything, you had seen before. It was a tall semi-humanoid skeletal bird, wrapped in old bandages, gripping a crescent-topped staff.

It tilted its head to the side, and your stomach dropped. You felt that it was examining you. Your hands shook, and you tightened the grip on your coffee. Your eyes darted to the right, catching a glance inside the nearby gift shop. Steven was there speaking to Donna. You looked back to the entity, only to feel its presence dissipate. Whatever it was, had left you for the time being. You let out a breath.

Donna passed you as she headed out, heels clicking against the tile floor. You took this as your chance. You stepped into the gift shop. Steven was sorting through the array of trinkets at the register, his curly hair a bit disheveled, and dark circles under his lidded eyes. You smiled fondly as you noticed the quirky Hawaiian-like shirt he wore.

You liked to think you knew Steven fairly well, despite you both working in different areas of the museum, yours being the Greco-Roman exhibit. Something about Steven caught your attention when you first saw him at the museum. Maybe it was because of the strange entity that followed him, perhaps it was because you could sense death at one time had a hold on him. Either way, your curiosity got the better of you. Your observations from afar eventually turned into conversations. It was tricky at first with how easily flustered he got, but you found it charming. He was a bit clumsy, often tripping over his own feet, and had a tendency to drift off in odd places. But it quickly became obvious how fond he was of Egyptian lore, you loved how happy and animated Steven would get when he talked about it. You found him enduringly awkward and made a point to speak to him when you could. It didn't take long for a friendship to form.

His face lit up as he saw you approach the register. Your heart skipped a beat at his smile.

"Hiya!" He gave you an adorable half-wave, "What brings you in here? Thought you'd be out touring by now."

You smiled, "I had a tour canceled last minute and made a coffee run. I thought you might want a little something." Steven had told you about his insomnia weeks ago as he walked with you to your shared building. You weren't surprised. You were a bit touched though. He trusted you enough to tell you about just how serious it was. While you couldn't do much to actually help him you tried to make work a little more bearable. And while you hadn't actually ever seen him drink coffee, you knew how he took his tea. He used a sickening amount of sugar and honey and- 

"Oh! You didn't- You didn't have to do that. But I- I appreciate it, really. Thanks." 

You handed him the still-steaming cup of tea. Your fingers brushed. You tried to ignore the sudden heat rising in your face. You hoped that he didn't notice.

"I don't mind. Gives me a chance to visit my favorite gift shop-ist." You caught a sheepish smile from him as he took a sip.

Your eyes scanned the shop, looking for a conversation starter. You spotted a sarcophagus poster behind him, and your smile widened.

Bingo.

His brows furrowed and he lowered his cup as he noticed the shit-eating grin on your face.

"Oh no, don't even think about it, I know exactly what that look means-"

 "What's a mummy's favorite type of coffee?" You paused for dramatic effect. "De-coffin-ated!" You attempted to make finger guns the best you could while holding your coffee.

Silence.

"That was-" He shook his head, smiling softly, "that was terrible." 

It was. But hey, you put a bunch of effort into researching Egypt-related jokes. It may have only been for Steven, but you were going to use them, even if they were terrible.

"I know, pretty bad. It was just too good to pass up." You take a sip of your coffee, suddenly a bit shy. "I um- I never got a chance to thank you for the book. It was nice of you to do."

A few weeks back you had mentioned to Steven that you had never gotten into Egyptian mythology. You knew barely anything about it, save for your fascination with the mummification process. You couldn't help but notice how fond Steven was of it. He would light up, eyes gleaming and gesturing excitedly as he mentioned historical facts. You loved to listen to him, he made it seem so intriguing. While you hadn't had any interest in Egyptian lore before meeting Steven, you certainly did now. When you told him about your curiosity on the subject he looked at you like you had made his day. And honestly, you probably had. On your next shift, when you opened your locker, you were surprised to find a book. 

'Egyptian Mythology: Gods, Goddesses, and Lore of Ancient Egypt'

It looked well worn, and very much loved. Its pages were a bit yellowed and curved, and its spine had lines. You could easily tell this book had been read many many times. You opened the cover and saw a name scribbled into the top corner. It was Steven's. Steven was letting you borrow his book on Egyptian mythology. You flipped through the pages briefly, a colored tab grabbing your attention. You stopped, and read the note:

 'Have a feeling you'll like this one' An arrow extended from the end of the sentence to the chapter title:

'Anubis: God of Mummification and Guardian of the Dead'

After this, you quickly developed an interest in the afterlife and Anubis. A bit morbid, but both fascinating and fitting.

"O-oh! It was nothing really," He blushed, "just nice to have someone else to talk about it y'know." 

You nodded and began to fidget with your cup. "I was wondering if- you don't have to of course, but maybe you'd like to talk about it over lunch sometime or-"

"Sorry, can you give me a second?" Dylan, another tour guide, asked you. 

 "Oh! Yeah. Sure, of course." You stepped away from the register.

She turned to Steven, "Hello!"

"Hello." Steven looked a bit taken aback at her sudden appearance.

"How's the sugar trade going?" 

 "I don't know what this has to do with Egypt really." You smiled at his exasperated explanation as he fidgeted with an item." They didn't have that back then, did they? No. They liked figs and dates, and-" 

 "My next tour's here but just checking, are we still on for 7:00 tomorrow?" Your eyebrows raised. 

'Oh. ' You glanced at Steven, heart sinking. 

 "7:00 tomorrow?" 

"Best steak in town?" 

"Oh, yeah. Right. Yeah. Yeah? Okay." He laughed. "Sorry. But... What? Are you asking me out?"

She laughed, "You're funny. I'll see you then."

"Stevie," Donna suddenly reappeared, "you absolute rascal. I didn't know you had taken a crack."

"I didn't know either." He sounded genuinely shocked, if not a bit confused.

"Steven," you asked," aren't you vegan?" 

 "Yeah." 

"What in the world's a bloody vegan gonna eat in a steak house?" Donna said.

 "I don't know, Donna. Salad? Bread?"

They did have great bread…

 "Yeah, I can see why she went for it. Real catch you are." She rolled her eyes and left. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll have a great time." You smiled softly, ignoring the pit forming in your stomach. You weren't jealous, you told yourself, you weren't. Dylan was nice and super smart, they'd have a nice time. 

 Steven nodded.

You glanced at your watch."I-I got to go, my next tour is probably here. It was nice to catch up."

"Laters!" He gave a small wave, which you returned as you left the shop. As you rounded the corner your eyes widened and you had to muffle a cry. 

It was right there. 

The large bird-man stood against the wall next to you. Your heart hammered against your chest. It turned its head and you could feel his non-existent eyes on you. You should just ignore it. After all, your tour was waiting. Instead, for some reason you greeted it. 

"H-hello." Your voice shook. 

You got the distinct feeling you had surprised it. You had never tried to speak to it before. It said nothing, just nodded its head in acknowledgment. You used this as a sign to continue, walking past it quickly, eyes fixed on the tiled floor below.

 You took a breath in an attempt to settle yourself and walked toward your group. You introduced yourself and apologized for the delay.

"If you would follow me over here," You gestured with a sweeping motion, "you'll see the 'Pitsa pinakes', one the oldest known examples of panel painting in ancient Greece."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You walked through the building entrance, carrying a few bags. Your favorite tea brand had been on sale and you may have overindulged. But, in your defense, this particular strawberry tea was horribly tricky to find now. You sighed, pressing the up button. The elevator doors opened, revealing a familiar figure curled up in the corner.

"Steven?" You blinked in surprise.

He moved the hand that had covered his mouth, blinking a few times before giving you a small pitiful wave. 

"H-hello." He muttered a bit dazed as the doors closed. 

"Are you- are you okay? What happened?" His eyes were wide and he was trembling. You wanted to ask him where on earth he had been. Maybe mention the fact that he had missed his shift for two days, had you worried sick, but this obviously wasn't the time.

"Yeah...yeah I'm fine, thanks." He stood slowly, continuing to shake as he tightly gripped something to his chest. You pressed the button for the fifth floor.

"I don't want to bother you...but are you sure you're alright?" You knew Steven to be a bit jumpy, of course, but you had never seen him so terrified before. You hated seeing him this way. "I could walk with you, or just stay with you a for a bit... If you want. It would be no problem really." 

The elevator jerked suddenly, causing Steven to make a sound of surprise as it reached the floor. The doors opened and the lights flickered eerily.

"S-sorry. There was..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"Hey, its alright. Its okay. You're okay." You attempted to calm him, placing your hand on his arm. 

 "N-No. No I'm not." Steven shook his head. He looked at you, his eyes threatening to spill with tears.

"I'm not okay. I-I lose time and forget things. I go to sleep but only I'm not asleep. And the dreams- I can't tell if I'm dreaming or awake. I-I'm seeing things. And now there's this thing following me. I think- I think I'm losing it. I think I'm broken. I don't know what to do..." His voice broke, " I'm- I'm scared."

"Steven." You started softly, "I can't pretend I understand what you're going through... but you're not broken. You just need a bit of help. How about we go to my place? I'll make you some tea and you can tell me everything there if you want. Okay?"

 He blinked at you confused and a bit surprised, "Y-yeah. That'd be- that would be nice." 

"It's just down here." You adjusted your bags to one arm and took his hand with the other. You walked a few doors down the hall, pulled out your keys, and opened the door to your flat. You dropped his hand.

"Sit anywhere you'd like, tea will be just a moment."

Steven hesitated a moment before moving to the couch. He sat and began to fidget with his sleeve as he waited.

 Meanwhile, you quickly threw a kettle on the stove before sitting beside him. 

"Okay, tell me what happened, what's going on?"

 He took a breath, "I told you about the insomnia right?"

You nodded.

"Well, I- when I do sleep, I have a bit of a problem too. I sleep walk. End up in all sorts of weird places too. Used to be pretty bad but I've...I've had it under control. For a while at least. I had this crazy dream though! It felt so real. So I sit up, I have no idea where I am, and this voice keeps telling me to 'surrender the body'. I got no clue what it keeps going on about so I look around and next thing I know I'm being shot at-" Steven continues to explain this dream. It was definitely odd, and a bit disturbing. You weren't quite sure how much it had to do with him being huddled in an elevator.

The kettle screeched.

"I'm listening, one moment." You grabbed two cups and poured the tea. Three spoons of sugar, and two of honey went into Steven's tea. The man’s sweet tooth was horrid.

"Anyway, I wake up today and Gus, my fish, he's always had only one fin, right? But I wake up and see he's got two! Two! Crazy right? And I'm no expert on fish but I'm pretty sure they don't grow back fins, yeah? So I take him to the shop and I ask the lady about it. And she said that she told me yesterday that all the fish have two fins. Now I know I haven't been in there for weeks. I know I wasn't there yesterday!" Your brows furrowed at this as you stirred the ungodly amount of sugar into his cup.

"Then I look at the clock and it's six already! And that's not right 'cause I just woke up. Then I go meet Dylan and wait, and she never shows so I-"

You handed him his cup.

"Thanks. So I call her, turns out its Sunday. Our....our date was two days ago!" His voice wavers. " I think I've been- I don't know, blacking out? Loosing time? I get back to my flat, give not-Gus a few sprinkles, and drop the chocolates I got. Then I notice drag marks on the floor. And that doesn't make since. I never move that table. So I follow them, and poke around and found a loose board above me. I reach in and find a key and the phone here." He pulled the phone out of his pocket.

"I looked through it, just a bunch of missed calls from the same person. Layla. Then they call. I answer and she calls me Marc. Which is crazy right? Just like the dream! Of course I tell her I'm not him and she hangs up. Then I hear this voice telling me to stop looking, to stay away. I was sure it's was an intruder but I look in the mirror and my- my reflection shakes it's head. On. It's. Own."

He took a breath, "Then the wind started throwing stuff across my flat, and there was this awful looking t-thing chasing me and-"

Your stomach dropped. You knew instantly what he was talking about.

"Wait. Hold on." You set your tea down. In all the time you had sensed the entity you had never felt that it held any sort of aggression towards Steven. This was new, and this could be bad. "The bird-man tried to chase you?" 

 "Y-You've seen it too?" Steven looks at you, pure shock etched onto his face. 

Oops.

You didn't mean to say that, you didn't want to freak him out more.

You set your cup down and took a breath, cringing as you elaborated. "When I met you I could... sense the entity but couldn't actually see it- until recently. "

"And you've- you've never told me? Its been following me this whole time?" He looked down at his tea, hurt.

You sighed, " I wanted to. But it can be a bit hard to tell someone they have an ancient entity attached to them. It never seemed to have any ill will towards you, in fact I got the feeling it was more protective. If I'd have thought it would have threatened you I would have mentioned it. I'm sorry Steven."

He sighed. "No, its-its okay, just- its a lot. Do you-" he glanced at you, "Do you see... things like that often or..."

You nodded, looking down at your forgotten tea. "Yeah. I have... my entire life."

"So it's a bit like a 'Sixth Sense' thing is it?" He gave you a soft smile, his dark eyes glistening. You almost let out a breath of relief at this. At least he wasn't too upset with you.

"A bit, actually." You chuckled, before becoming serious again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Go on."

 "N-No its fine. It just- it chased me into the elevator. When the doors opened and you were there I thought...I thought you might have been it."

You couldn't for the life of you understand what could have happened to make the entity's behavior change so drastically. You had no idea if any protection you could offer would work against something so old.

His voice wavered when he began to speak. "But the mirror...and the dreams...I'm-I'm not sure how much I see is real anymore."

It hurt you to see him like this panicked, and scared, and that you couldn't do anything to help him. His eyes began to tear up again.

"How do I know..." He paused. "Are- are you real?" Your heart broke when he looked up at you, uncertain. You set your cup down and took his hand, beginning to caress the back with your thumb. His eyes widened a bit at your gesture.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm real." You weren't sure what to do. What if he wanted you to prove it? If his dreams or hallucinations were just as vivid as reality, you couldn't. Instead, he released a breath in relief and to your surprise let his head drop to rest on your shoulder. Your heart pounded, and you hesitated a moment before resting your head on top of his. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, tracing your thumb against his hand, and listening to his breathing settle. You weren't sure how else to comfort him, but you wanted to do something. You hoped your company could at least provide him some comfort.

"This was...this was nice, having someone to talk to. Feels safe" He was tired. His voice was softer and slower, and his speech was more slurred so it would have been easy to miss what he said next:

"You make me feel safe." You were a bit surprised at his comment but relieved. You were glad you could do something for him, even if it was just that. Another moment of silence passed between you. 

"I-I should go." He suddenly lifted his head and stood up, suddenly flustered. 

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" You weren't sure if it was a good idea. What if he blacked out? What if the bird-man did something to him?

"Yeah...I'll- I'll be fine." You walked him to the door, as he fidgeted nervously. "Thanks. For the- well, for everything, really."

"I'm happy to help!" You opened the door, and Steven stepped into the hallway.

"Laters!"

"Steven, wait." You ducked back into your flat and grabbed a scrap of paper. You quickly scribbled on it. "I-if you need anything, or if something happens again, just text me okay?" You nervously passed him the paper. He took it and glanced at it, eyes widening a bit.

"O-oh." He blinked, "Yeah...yeah I will, thanks... Laters gators!"

"In a while, Crocodile" You smiled fondly at him as he perked up a bit at the saying. He gave you a wave, which you returned, and walked off towards his flat.

Ao3 Wattpad Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

[book-place]

Dress Shopping Expeditions

Warnings: none (I think), let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Marc Spector x daughter reader, Steven Grant x reader platonic, Khonshu x reader platonic

Request: Hello! Could you do a fic for the Mk boys? I request another Mk boys x daughter bc I am such a simp after bingeing all your Mk x daughter or teen fics. Okay, so I know formal isn't really common in the Uk but I know some people do Proms, so could you do a fic where the Mk boys takes her dress shopping? And Khonshu is just judging all the dresses. Thought It would be a cute and funny fic

Request by: @mochystark

*not my gif*

Summary: It’s time for prom, so naturally you have to go dress shopping. Your father is less than pleased

A/N: I haven’t really written in a while- so please excuse the shitty writing

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Come on!” You cheered, literally dragging the man behind you by the arm into the closest shop.

Marc tried- and failed- to dig his heels into the ground. “But I don’t want to,” He whined childishly.

“Well that’s too bad,” You looked over your shoulder at him with a grin, “Because Steven volunteered you to do it.”

The man was in fact still being pulled along behind you, but this time he was muttering obscenities to his alter.

If there was one thing in this world your father hated, it was shopping. But dress shopping, oh that was worse. So much worse.

The store was filled to the brim with gowns of all shapes and sizes. Colors ranging from the brightest oranges, to the darkest greens. You were completely in awe at everything you saw, spinning in a circle as your eyes tried to drink it all in.

Marc came to a stop, crossing his arms as he looked around nervously, “I don’t like this.” He muttered.

“Aww,” You teased, “Does dress shopping make you uncomfortable, dad?”

He let out a huff of air and turned his head to face the other way so you wouldn’t see the way his cheeks tinged the pink of a nearby Barbie-like dress, “Shut up.”

You just laughed, skipping off in a different direction to look at some colorful material, leaving Marc to rock back and forth on his heels where you had left him.

“Marc,” Steven chastised in his ear, “I volunteered you for this so that you could spend some time with Y/n.”

Marc shifted on his feet again, “I don’t know anything about this stuff, Steven!” He complained, not caring about any of the surrounding people who threw weird looks his way for talking to seemingly himself.

“It’s her prom,” The british man’s voice softened, “And you’re her father. She deserves to have you here with her.”

Your father deflated a bit at that before he sighed, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

After only a second's hesitation, he set off into your direction, you in turn looking up and grinning brightly when you saw him approach.

“Dad, good, do you mind holding this?” You barely waited for him to nod before shoving at least five dresses into his hold.

“Yep,” He grunted a bit, “I got it.”

He followed you around like a lost puppy for the next forty five minutes as you tossed into his arms the different dresses you wanted to try on, and he didn’t complain once. In fact, he even seemed to be slightly happy.

Eventually, you trailed into the dressing room and one by one tried on the dresses, him waiting outside and you walking out each time to ask for his opinion.

“No.” Khonshu said the second you opened the door and stepped from your dressing room for the twenty-seventh dress you were trying on.

The God evidently had nothing better to do and decided to drop by to help.

“No?” You quipped back, anger rising in your voice.

“I don’t like it.” He said simply.

“Oh? You don’t like it?” You seethed, eyes narrowing at his quick judgment of your dress.

“Now, now,” Steven said nervously, looking back and forth between you two, “Let’s not fight.”

“No, let’s.” Marc fronted with a grunt and muttered, “Maybe the store will kick us out then.”

“No, I don’t.” Khonshu continued as if the other two hadn’t even spoken.

Marc sighed at the look Steven was giving him in a nearby mirror- one that told him to intervene before things got messy- and he stepped in between both of you.

“Sweetie,” He spoke, gently laying his hands on your shoulders, “You look beautiful.” He gently placed a kiss on your forehead.

You smiled up at him before grinning at Khonshu, “See? I look beautiful in this dress.”

Your father nodded, “And if you want to get this dress- then we’ll get this one.”

You shook your head and turned back into your dressing room, “Nah, I don’t really like it that much anyway.”

Steven burst into a fit of giggles as Marc’s face dropped and even Khonshu let out a small snigger.

Despite that though, the three of them stayed, waiting until you found the perfect dress. Not once complaining, but a couple more small fights did break out between you and the God of the moon.

Like a Bee 🐝- @ip747 @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @jvdethirlwall @wolfmoonmusic