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xcalciumx · 1 year ago

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A Night to Remember | Moon Knight System x Reader

Word Count | 4.5k

Summary | A nice night with your boyfriend Marc quickly unveils into chaos. A third altar? A horrifying demon? Your half-assed Egyptian God of Wind and Air, Shu? What could possibly go wrong.

—

“Here you go.”

You smile sweetly at your boyfriend as you set the cup down on the coffee table, taking care not to spill the hot contents inside.

“Thanks, baby,” Marc says as he sinks further into the couch, the NFL playing on the television becoming a background buzz. You watch him with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes fluttering shut briefly before snapping open again. His breathing is heavier than normal and it’s almost as if he’s curling in on himself as he sits there, eyes blank.

“You alright, Marc?” You murmur, reaching over to lay a hand on his shoulder softly. At the contact, his gaze shoots to you. He mumbles something incoherent before speaking up.

“Mm, i’m alright, hon. Jus’ a little dizzy. That’s all…”

You hum noncommittally, not sitting down yet as you observe him carefully.

“Stevey’s not trying to front, is he?” you ask calmly, head tilting in question. A few dark locks of hair fall over his forehead as he blinks blearily over at you. His strong jaw is accentuated by the gentle glow of the lamp, his features seeming to darken with exhaustion. “Marc?”

He shakes his head.

Your lips thin as you keep watching him, a part of you suspecting that Steven was, in fact, trying to take the body. He continues to sit there in a haze, and you think for a moment before cupping his face gingerly. He blinks up at you, though it's as if he's not really seeing you.

“I’m gonna get you some water, alright? I don’t think coffee is gonna do you any good right now.”

Marc doesn’t respond. Turning on your heel, you quickly make your way back into the kitchen, hands wringing together in worry. Marc can handle it, you remind yourself. He’s a big boy. Nevertheless, you can’t help but put an extra hop in your step, hoping to get the glass of water and return to his side pronto. The glass is cold in your hands, the filtered water that had been sitting in the fridge making it even more so. Though you can’t see into the lounge from where you are, you can't help but keep glancing towards the doorway in concern for your lover.

The water quickly rises to the top of the cup. You hurry back into the room.

Except now, Marc isn’t there. You stop in place, lips pursing. Where had he…? Before your mind could come up with anything crazy, you heard the soft thud of footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Marc, lovely? How are you…feeling?”

As you spun around to face him, your words slowly trailed off. Marc was standing there, but immediately you could tell there was something off. His eyes seemed to have gotten somehow darker, his back straighter than usual. Any signs of his previous delirious state had practically vanished into thin air. You cocked your head to the side, assessing him. Silently, he stared back, his empty stare now a piercing glare.

“Marc?” you cleared your throat, “You alright?”

Slowly, like a creeping vine, a smile made its way across his lips.

“Fine, darling.” He replied, though there was something off about that too. His voice was rasping just a little too much, a strange accent lacing his voice. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

You blinked a couple of times while you processed his words.

“Fine,” you stammered. “Um, I suppose you’re feeling better then.” You amended, not fully believing that he was just suddenly okay. Just to make sure, you shot him a sheepish grin, beckoning him over. Wordlessly, he answered your call, coming closer. When he was within reaching distance, you raised the back of your hand to his forehead, feeling the skin there for any signs of a fever. At the unexpected action, he looked down at you with confusion, body tensing. Before he could ask, you were already retracting your hand to your side. “You’re not coming down with something, right? I mean, you don’t feel warm but your voice…”

His dark chocolate eyes met yours with a sudden intensity, making you bring your bottom lip between your teeth. Nervous. Why were you nervous all of a sudden?

“Maybe I am getting sick,” he said slowly, eyes tracking the length of your face carefully. “I feel a little…faint.”

Knew it. You gave him a reprimanding look, bringing your hands up to push him back down onto the couch next to you. He went down with ease, not putting up a fight. Remembering the glass of water you had discarded onto the table, you quickly found it, situating it in his hands.

“Drink,” you ordered.

He did so, eyes still not leaving you even as his throat bobbed with each swallow. You mirrored him, eyes a little tight around the edge as you regarded his actions. A dreadful feeling crept up your spine but you shrugged it off for the time being, leaning onto the arm of the sofa casually.

“Can’t believe Konshu would let his avatar get sick,” you murmured, loud enough for Marc to hear. “I’d say the old geezer’s not exactly doing his job right, is he?” The silence that met you was eerie. Marc lowered the glass from his lips, reaching over to place it on the oak table. He didn’t say anything, didn’t laugh. Normally, Marc would be the first to laugh at any remark or joke made at Konshu’s expense, so this quiet response had you concerned. He must have realised his silence unsettled you, as the next moment he was cracking a small grin.

“Yes, well…” he didn’t finish his sentence. Just sat there, something heavy going on behind those almond eyes of his. You wanted to do something, hold his hand, but that daunting feeling was back. When he glanced at you, you swore that, even for a second, you were looking at a stranger. But if it wasn’t Marc, then who was it? At the thought, you blinked repetitively, mentally scolding yourself. You were just paranoid. All the worry for his well being was turning your head into mush. But the idea was incessant, haunting. Maybe something funny was going on up in his deep and complex mind; perhaps Steven was causing a ruckus. You nearly laughed at the thought of your sweet British man doing anything remotely annoying or ‘causing a ruckus.’

“Hey, Marc?” you spoke, conscientious about what you were saying. “Are you sure you’re the only one driving the car, right now? I mean, Steven’s not shotgunning, right?” He looked at you with bewilderment, as if the analogy wasn’t one the two of you had used a thousand times before. Quickly though, you watched as he dispersed of the shock and instead, shook his head calmly.

“No.”

“Oh,” you whispered. “Oh, okay.”

Just then, a dark shadow flew past the corner of your eye. When you tilted your head slightly to the left, you were met with the sight of your very own god, Shu, standing by the bookcase in the corner of the room. Very minutely, you raised your eyebrows; a silent query.

His response was instantaneous.

That is not Marc Spector, little mortal.

Your eyes widened a tad but you schooled your features, urging him to continue with a slight wave of your hand. In front of you, Marc had his eyes trained to the tv, lips curled into a displeased frown. Though you wanted to inquire more from your god directly, it didn’t seem like the right thing to do given the situation at hand.

There is a darkness radiating off him. Like a plague. But I'm not quite sure what it is…

A plague? Curious, you peeked over at where Shu was standing, but was met with the barren walls of the apartment instead. You couldn’t help but mutter a soft curse. That annoying old prick. Hearing your profanity, Marc peered back at you again, a salacious grin curving his lips.

“Filthy mouth, mi amor.”

What were meant to be supposedly cute words had you holding back a flinch. Marc never spoke Spanish to you; and he certainly never called you his ‘amor’. You couldn’t show him that though, so instead of gaping in shock like you wanted to, you returned his teasing with a cheeky little smile.

“¿Sí? Mala mía, nena.” Something twinkled in his eyes as he leaned towards you. He clicked his tongue tauntingly. Though there was something strange going on, and there was a large possibility that this wasn’t Marc - it was still his body, and you were still just as attracted to it as you were twenty minutes ago, which didn’t help much at all.

“No bueno, not good at all.” he admonished, dark eyes looking you up and down like prey. Beside you, your hand clenched into a fist. Spanglish banter with Marc? Something was definitely up.

You hesitantly stood up, nodding towards the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back, need some water.” Marc waved at his nearly empty glass.

“You can have some of mine, hermosa.” He eyed you quizzically as you shook your head.

“You’re sick, remember?” you huffed out a quiet laugh over your shoulder, already walking away. Back turned, you missed the way his lips straightened seriously, eyelids falling into a bored expression.

This time as you crossed the threshold, you were in a rush for a whole other reason.

Be careful, little mortal. That is definitely not one of your boy-toys in that meatsuit.

You jumped at the booming voice in your head, whipping around to the kitchen counter where Shu had returned, sitting nonchalantly on a stool. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yeah, thanks, I got that part.” you hissed quietly, walking towards your knife block. “But if it’s not Marc, and it’s not Steven - who the hell is it?” The ancient Egyptian made a shrugging gesture at you, ostrich feather flopping around on his head while he looked around the room.

Something dark. Something ominous.

“Okay, would you stop it with the mysterious, vague crap? What is - “ you paused suddenly, ears faintly picking up on movement from beyond the door. The hand that had been reaching for your chef's knife instantly stopped and redirected to the cupboard above your head, in an attempt to appear like you were searching for a glass.

Uh-oh.

You shot a last minute glare at the wind god, grabbing hold of a glass as you heard footsteps hit the tiled floor of the kitchen. Briefly, you closed your eyes and took a calming breath. Whatever this was - you would deal with it. A cold draft made its way up your spine.

Don’t turn around, little one.

Shu warned you, his usual booming cadence levelling out as he watched over you. As you observed him from the corner of your eye, you watched as he mimicked a gun with two dark fingers, your lips downturning at the action.

“Oh, hey Marc?” you asked in an attempt of casual indifference, one hand grasping at the door to the fridge. He took a moment to answer.

“Yes?”

It was almost like he wasn’t even trying to hide the New York accent anymore.

“Steven forgot to feed Gus and Frankie this morning. Could you��?” he anticipated your question and you heard the hefty sigh that escaped his lips behind you. There was a slight tapping sound against the floor before you heard him walking off to supposedly feed the goldfish. You let out a breath of relief, go you.

It was a lie, of course. Steven could never forget to feed the fish. However, Marc had been fronting all day, and well, Marc didn’t really care for, in his words, ‘the stupid pets’. Naturally then, it was your job to feed the fish when Steven wasn’t present; though, you had returned home from a mission early this morning and had fallen right into bed with Marc, your fatigued mind not even remembering till now that you owned Gus and Frankie. Still, the excuse to get this Marc imposter away from you and unsuspecting was as good as any.

Make haste, little mortal. He will kill you if you don’t do it first.

You directed an angry snarl at your god.

“I’m not killing my boyfriend.”

Though as you said this, the silver of the knife sheened as it slipped from the block.

Why don’t you just wear the suit?

“Because I’m trying not to let on that I know he’s not Marc!” You whispered angrily, stalking around the counter and stopping at the hallway door.

The suit will keep you safe.

“If I need the suit, then give me the damn suit. But for now, shut up and watch my back.” The god huffed dramatically in your head but you ignored it, creeping along the wall till Marc, or Marc’s body you guess you should say, came into view. He was standing at the fish tank, large hands fiddling with a packet of feed.

You nearly started cursing at him - that was the wrong stuff! He was holding the special treat pellets Steven liked to give them when they behaved. The bloody bags cost double the amount of normal feed. Steven wouldn’t be happy if it was wasted, neither would you.

Delicately, you snuck up behind him, air stuck in your lungs. The knife you brandished was tucked closely to the small of your back, your eyes never leaving the enigmatic figure in front of you. Appearing stoic and collected on the outside, you were freaking the hell out on the inside. You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Would you threaten him? Demand him to reveal himself? You weren’t going to actually hurt this dude, right? Afterall, it was still your boyfriend's body and just the idea of bringing him harm caused a gnawing pit to grow in your stomach. You’d known Marc for well over a year now, and although your first meeting had technically been a fight between the two of you (a petty god vs a pettier god kind of thing) it had been the last time you had laid hands on eachother so violently and with so much ill intent.

It’d bring you a lot of pain to hurt Marc, but him hurting you? It would kill him. So, the fact that this guy was seemingly trying to outright murder you…Yeah, it stung a little. Imagining Marc or Steven finding you dead on the floor made you feel sick to the stomach.

With that in mind, you crept closer, only a step away from grabbing him and putting the knife to his throat like you intended. You weren’t going to cut him - no way, you were just gonna scare him a little and hopefully get some answers.

Well, that was the plan at least.

Until he whipped around and pointed a beretta M9 straight at your chest.

Your eyes widened.

“Hold on -”

He did not.

You saw the squeezing of his finger, heard the click of the gun and then your ears began to ring with the sound of a gunshot. Straight into the heart.

Gasping for breath, you stumbled back, eyes frantically darting to the golden chestplate now wrapping around your torso.

Told you, you needed the suit.

Your panicked expression quickly morphed into one of fury, hands shaking by your side. The chef's knife that you had intended to use was quickly chucked behind you as you snatched your spear from your back, your armour now encasing your whole body.

“You asshole!” You yelled at the man, stunned at how easily he had tried to murder you. He blinked at you innocently, gun lowered to his side.

“Nothin’ personal, sweetheart.” he said, this time the fake voice he had kept up shattered completely. “Orders are orders, you’d understand.”

Your jaw clenched. No, no you would not understand.

“Konshu is making you do this?” He rolled his eyes at you.

“Who else?”

“Who else? I - why the hell,” you didn’t know what to say to that. Konshu wanted you dead? Since when? “Who even are you?” you managed to get out, trying to gain some semblance of control back. A smug smirk came over his face.

“¿Que? I’m Marc Spector,” he taunted you, knowing full well that you knew he was not Marc Spector. Not in the slightest.

You ground your teeth, shooting a glance at the Egyptian god over near the bed. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes trained on the window.

“Shu?” you hissed, no longer bothering to hide the fact you were talking to him. Not Marc Spector raised a brow. “What is it?” The god looked over at you quickly, his eyes darting between you and not Marc. His eyes flared with golden light.

Shaytan.

A cold wave flowed through you at the word. The scrunched up, concerned look on your face did not go unnoticed by the imposter opposite you.

“Wow, you’re loco. I’m probably doing the boys a favour gettin’ rid of you.”

You tried to ignore his words, but the sheer malice of what he was saying caused an involuntary reaction. You whipped your head back to him, an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

“Shut your mouth, dimwit. You must think this is a real joke, huh? Shaytan - it’s a demon! You need to back off, now, because something really, really bad is going on.”

All you received was a flat, deadpan look.

“Okay, I’ve entertained this long enough. No hard feelings, loca.” As he spoke, he tucked his gun into the sweatpants Marc had been wearing, head tilting back a little. You watched as he closed his eyes and then…nothing happened. The silence was prominent when he peeked one eye open, lips pulling down. His fists clenched by his side but still, everything stayed the same. You could’ve laughed.

“Having a problem there, estúpido?” you mocked. He glared at you, mumbling something under his breath. Then too, he looked towards the window, completely disregarding you.

“Aye, where’s the suit?” he said. You looked at the blank space that he was talking to, glancing at Shu who had come up next to you. He rested a glowing palm on your head.

Look.

You had to stop yourself from screaming as the light flooded your mind, opening up your conscience to the world beyond. By the window, ghoulish form trembling and heaving, you witnessed the creature Shu claimed was the ‘Shaytan’. Long pale limbs, glowing silver orbs for eyes and a body that resembled a starved, withering corpse. It was definitely not Konshu. Your stare wavered to where not Marc was speaking to him, confusion washing over you.

He only sees Konshu standing there.

Shu’s words made you frown.

That’s what those Shaytan do. They hide their true form, encapture gods and feed on the vulnerable souls of well…avatars.

“Are you saying that thing wants to eat my soul?” The horror on your face doubled. “Wait, are you saying that it’s also gonna eat Marc and Steven’s soul?”

Shu grimaced.

It looks hungry, little one. You should probably run.

“What!?” You almost screamed. Just then, the haunting eyes of the creature locked onto you. Your heart dropped to your feet. “Do something!” you hissed at your god, “get rid of it!” The awkward laugh booming in your head was not reassuring. At the same time, not Marc met eyes with you, determination ever-present on his face. Great, just what you needed. One horrifying monster and one murderous psycho. Amazing.

See, that’s not really my area of expertise. We need the moon god, he has more experience with those things.

Slowly, you began to back away, spear clutched in a death grip. “Are you kidding me? Where is he then?”

Like I said, they encapture gods. Konshu is probably fighting his way back from the underworld right now. Don’t fret though, I’m sure you will be alright. If you…if you leave. Right now. Um.

You were already running, floorboards thudding beneath you as you skidded down the hall towards the front door. When you glanced back, you noticed that your god had completely vanished, probably not wanting to be the next one on this demon's hit-list.

“You’re the lousiest god I know, Shu! I swear to - OOF!”

As you reached for the silver knob, something heavy came barraging into you from behind. Your back throbbed at the harsh contact. As soon as you hit the ground, you twisted your body - expecting to come face to face with the psycho occupying Marc's body. You wanted to cry when you realised that it was not the psycho, but rather the soul-hungry boogeyman that was trying to rip you to shreds. Its paper skin rippled as it leant towards you, mouth opening into a deep, black hole. As soon as you saw the pink tendrils that slithered out from that darkness, you knew you’d be having nightmares for at least a year after this.

Beyond him, the moon gods' avatar came screeching to a halt, his eyebrow drawing together at what he was watching.

“Konshu?” he asked in that thick american accent of his. If it weren’t for the fact you were about to get your soul sucked from your body, you would have shouted at the man for being so stupid. The creature huffed above you, a low howling sound echoing from its skinless lips. “Right…” not Marc responded. You could barely believe what you were seeing and hearing. He really believed this was Konshu, didn’t he? You almost felt bad for the man for being tricked by this demon. Almost.

Those tendrils got closer and closer. It was only when they were a hair's breadth away from your face did they stop. You inhaled noisily, trying to escape the grip of this thing. But even when you managed to pull a hand free and swing your spear haphazardly, it simply passed through it like a cloud, having zero effect. The Shaytan didn’t like that, growling and snarling in your face. You turned white as a ghost.

Holy hell. You were going to die.

A dark shadow fell over your head and you were barely able to make out Shu above the demon's head. The tendrils tickled your nose and you had to contain a shout.

“Do something,” you whispered through clenched teeth. “Shu, don’t you dare let me die to this thing.” Your eyes fluttered in uncontained fear as you felt it latch onto you with those tentacle things. It’s heaving, rough breaths amplifying as it tugged at your skin. “Shu!”

To your utter relief, the Egyptian God actually did do something. His hand, decorated in sapphire jewels and dark beads, reached out in front of him, some sort of ancient Egyptian chant leaving his lips. You could just make out the ankh held firmly in his other hand. As the words spilled out, the Shaytan began to thrash, angry howls filling your ears. Even so, it didn’t disconnect from you. You were beginning to feel dizzy, a tiredness taking over your body. It was like the feeling of running nonstop for hours and finally passing out from dehydration. Except you weren’t just passing out, your very mind and being was being pulled from you.

“Shu,” you rasped desperately. His chanting stopped.

Nothing’s working, little mortal. I’m sorry but there’s not much else I can think to do.

You’re giving up on me? You wanted to yell. After everything you’d done for him, how loyally you had served him all these years, he was just going to let you die? You had never felt so angry in your life. Not to mention this whole thing with not Marc; how long had he been hiding from Steven and Marc? How long had he watched the three of you living a content life and decided ‘right, I’ll just kill her and it’ll be no big deal’? You wanted to punch him in his stupidly handsome face, not just to quell your own anger but for the other two men who had to share a body with him. You couldn’t imagine how he could try to hurt you so nonchalantly. He really was a psychopath.

Dark spots clouded your vision, the anger swelling inside of you becoming mute as you could no longer keep fighting back. It was done. You were done. What a miserable fucking way to go out.

Through the dark haze, you heard a distant voice, a familiar yet unfamiliar one, a loud yet quiet one. Booming. Reprimanding. Godly?

- you are certainly reaching old age, you dumb little man. What god doesn’t know how to deal with a Shaytan in this day and age?

Pressure seemed to suddenly vanish from your chest, the growing exhaustion in your body coming to a still. That voice…that voice.

Konshu?

Jake Lockley, you must be under the influence of the other two’s stupidity. By what order would I be sending you to kill her? Astonishing. Truly.

Slowly, the world came back into focus, your eyes straining to look up at the wooden ceiling above you. The Shaytan was gone.

Thank fucking lord.

The towering figure of your god presided over you instead, a grim set to his lips. You shot him the nastiest look you could manage in your half-conscious state.

Forgive me, little mortal. Konshu arrived and he saved you from your imminent end. No need to be bitter.

You coughed, throat dry, before turning over onto your hands and knees, whole body aching painfully.

“No need to be bitter?” you sputtered, leaning on the wall as you tried to stand. “You were going to let me die,” you hissed.

I tried!

“You didn’t try hard enough, you big, dumb god!”

That’s not very nice.

You growled, turning back towards the apartment where a certain Moon God now stood with his avatar. Your furious gaze settled on ‘Jake Lockley’.

“You gonna apologise now, you fool?”

Jake’s dark eyes settled on you, his shoulders lifting in a half-shrug. Now that you were looking at the real him, you could make out every little thing that made him distinctively different from Marc and Steven. From the posture to the look in his eyes.

“You can’t really blame me for all that,” he said. Konshu made an annoyed noise at his side. When you looked at the Moon God, he made another frustrated sound.

It’s not my fault that I chose a dumb avatar, little girl.

Your lips pursed.

Meet Jake Lockley, the third and last one inside your partner's head. My real Moon Knight.

You looked back at Jake, hands settling on your hips as you regained your bearings. Everything that just went down flashed through your mind, a crease forming on your forehead. Tonight was supposed to have been a nice night-in with Marc, but this…this?

“You and I have a lot to talk about, Jake Lockley,” you scowled.

#moon knight #moon boys #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight x reader #moon knight system #konshu #Shu #x reader #marc spector x reader #Jake Lockley is loco poco #part two?

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