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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader

Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!

Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.

length: 3.9k

Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!

authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!

Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard.

Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already.

But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears.

In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger.

“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly.

“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line.

He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about.

But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour.

“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard.

The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl.

“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?”

She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog.

“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails.

“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy.

Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven.

She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with.

“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in.

She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was.

–

“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode.

“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous.

“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was.

He was just a kid.

They were just kids.

And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult.

Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him.

And if that had been true, then where were they?

He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering.

And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours.

Which was when he ran to get his dad.

By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank.

He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks.

Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been.

But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier.

His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son.

“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together.

They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave.

–

“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”

“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about.

She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”

He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien.

Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel.

“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,”

And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other.

He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do.

He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him.

So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military.

But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell.

Not until the second day of her shiva, that was.

“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life.

Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again.

She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning.

“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,”

He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it.

But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left.

“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly.

“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”

He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated.

“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder.

“I missed you too,”

“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here.

But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.

Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person.

Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy.

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,”

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.

“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly.

“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together.

He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias.

Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway.

And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard.

“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

She was a mother.

“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip.

“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers.

He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body.

“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again.

She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”

“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?”

“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself.

“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite.

She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him.

He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight.

At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.

And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.

He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.

He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked.

“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way.

He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely.

She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,”

She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?”

He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave.

But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.

He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in.

And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.

He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.)

Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful.

“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-”

But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely.

Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset.

It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes.

He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #moonknight x reader #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #jake lockely fanfiction #jake lockely x reader #steven grant imagine

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takenbypeter · 3 months ago

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Three Years Later

Steven Grant x reader

Words: 373

A/N: last part of mooniversary day! Hope you all loved spending the day with Steven Grant on my page and have a lovely week ✨

“What are you thinking about?” The question left Steven’s mouth as he noticed you were quiet. Too quiet.

You two were cuddling on his bed with you flat on your back, and your hands twirling the curls of his head that lay on your chest. His arm was wrapped around your upper body and your legs were tangled with each other.

You shook your head at his question and even though he couldn’t necessarily see your action, since his head was down, he could feel it in your movement.

“Just thinking about the perfect day that we had.”

He hummed his eyes still closed, clearly entranced by the way your hands felt in his hair.

“From the morning, to our date, then now. I’d say this was our best anniversary yet.”

He hummed again and you fell into a soothing silence.

Your hands pulled further away a bit playing with just the individual curls in his hair before ultimately going back to the top of his head. Steven just hugged you tighter at the motion.

“Do you think you’ll ever get tired of me?” He questioned.

“No? Why are you even asking me that?”

“…I'm just curious. Just because it’s sort of a thing that relationships shift after the threes.”

“Threes?”

“Yeah, after three months you’re just about out of the honeymoon phase but after three years that’s where all the initial excitement fades and the relationship shifts.”

“I think…we’ll be just fine. Because I don’t think I could ever stop loving you Steven.”

Steven smiled against you.

“I know but. Do you think we’ll still be here three years later?”

You gave it a thought, you liked where you were currently. You were satisfied in your wonderful relationship, you were happy with your work life. You would love to be exactly where you are now in the coming years.

“I hope we’ll be here forever.”

Steven agreed falling back into comfortability as his anxious thoughts subsided.

“Do you think you’ll ever get tired of me?” You countered, repeating his earlier question and he was quick to answer, “never.”

“Well then there you have it. We are going to be just fine Steven. You and me, we’re in it for the long run.”

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brokebonewritings · 1 year ago

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Help Me Remember You

Marc Spector x Fem! Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+, language, slight gore, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are given a second chance at life after dying. After waking up in the hospital, you find that Marc has no recollection of you or your relationship.

Word Count: 3.5K

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A hand grasps your shoulder, as you stand on the sidewalk close to your flat in London. You couldn’t remember how you got there, but you turn your head to see who it was. A man stood tall next to you with a grim look on his face. With a shaky breath, you follow where his eyes lay. There on the ground, was you. Lifeless. Your eyes staring towards the sky. Towards the moon.

You look back up at the man. “Who are you?”

“Anubis.” He says, giving you his full attention. “I came for you, sweetheart.”

“What about Marc?” You ask, turning back to look at yourself.

“They will learn to live without. They have done it before.”

Before you can respond, he is gone, and you are in a new place. You stand in a gleaming white space, the afterlife you realized. A man stands in front of you just a few yards ahead. You can’t help but feel a sense of comfort radiating from his direction. As you begin to walk towards him, you see the small table and scales set upon it.

“Osiris.” You say softly, and bow your head.

“Yes, child.” He replies, “I am sorry we have to meet like this.”

Nodding, you kneel before the table and he does the same. Osiris reaches out and places a feather on one side of the scales while gesturing for you to place something on the other. You see a knife laying in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you take it and plunge it into your chest. Though there is no blood or pain. Reaching inside, you grab your heart and place it upon the scale.

The room falls silent as the scales tip ever so slightly, the feather barely moving. You hold your breath, waiting for Osiris to make a decision. After what feels like an eternity, he looks up at you with gentle eyes.

“Your heart is light, my child. You have lived a life of love and kindness.” Osiris's words wash over you like a soothing balm, filling you with a sense of peace.

As he stands up, you follow suit, feeling weightless and free. Osiris extends his hand towards you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“Welcome to the afterlife, where your soul will find eternal rest.”

You ever so slightly reach out your hand, before taking it back. “But this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He chuckles softly, a sound like distant bells floating through the liminal space.

“Destiny is a fickle thing, my child. It weaves and changes, guiding us down paths we never could have foreseen.”

“Please I have to go back, I know there is something I need to finish.” You plead, not realizing tears had begun to fall down your cheeks.

Osiris's expression softens as he observes your distressed state. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch bringing a sense of calmness over you.

“I sense a powerful yearning within you, a yearning that transcends even death itself.”

With a gentle smile, he motions towards a shimmering portal that has materialized beside you. “If your heart truly calls for it, the path back to the mortal realm awaits. But remember, the threads of destiny are tangled and mysterious. Be prepared for what lies ahead.”

You take one last look at Osiris, gratitude in your eyes before stepping through the portal. The world around you blurs and shifts, time and space bending to accommodate your return.

As you open your eyes, you find yourself in the hospital. Rightfully so, you had been strangled by a madman. You reach your hand up to feel the brace around your neck.

“Don’t move too much, darling.” You hear an unfamiliar voice before a nurse steps into view.

She has a kind smile on her face as she checks your vitals and adjusts the IV drip by your bedside. You try to speak, but she shushes you softly.

“Your vocal cords are very damaged, dear, you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” She says softly, “but you’re safe now. The police caught the man who attacked you.”

Pointing at her pen, she obliges also handing you a small notepad. You scribble a quick note asking about Marc.

The nurse pauses, a shadow crossing her features before she responds, “I’m sorry, dear. There was no one else found at the scene.”

Your heart sinks at her words, grief welling up inside you. He hadn't known you were attacked. You clutch the pen tighter, before writing his number.

“Would you like me to call him? Is he your emergency contact?”

You nod as best you could, and she nods back. “I'll be back in a moment.”

The nurse steps out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As you lie in the hospital bed, flashes of memories flood your mind - moments shared with Marc, laughter echoing in your ears, his warm embrace enveloping you on cold nights.

The beeping of the machines fades into the background as you drift into a haze of longing. Minutes feel like hours until the nurse returns, a somber expression on her face. Your eyes never leave her face, searching for any sign of hope or despair.

“Darling, Was this the right number? The bloke who answered said he didn’t know who you were.”

As the nurse's words sank in, a wave of panic washed over you. How could Marc not know who you were? You had spent countless days and nights together, sharing your deepest thoughts and dreams.

Frantically, you motioned for the nurse to dial the number again, hoping it was just a misunderstanding. You listened intently as the phone rang on the other end, each tone echoing in the silence of the hospital room. Your heart pounded in your chest, the seconds stretching into eternity until finally, a voice answered.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded gruff. It was definitely him.

“Hiya, it’s me again. Listen, dear, she is very sure that this is the correct number.” The nurse tries.

“Fucking christ, I already told you I don’t know who that is. Did this woman get hit in the head or something?”

You wince at the harshness in his voice. He definitely doesn’t remember you. You wave at the nurse, and scribble another name onto the notepad asking her to say it to him.

“She can hear you, you sorry bastard. She just wrote another name on the page, says Jake Lockley.”

There’s silence on the opposite end of the line. After clearing his throat, he asks, “Which hospital is this, I’ll be right there.”

You feel a mix of relief and confusion as Marc agrees to come to the hospital. Maybe there was a mix-up, a misunderstanding that could be cleared up once he saw you. The nurse smiled reassuringly at you before stepping out to wait for Marc's arrival.

Hours pass, each minute feeling like an eternity as you anxiously wait for Marc to arrive. Finally, the door opens and in walks a man, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

“Are you y/n?”

You try to speak, but your damaged vocal cords only allow a hoarse whisper to escape. Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. His expression shift, looking much softer, but still no recognition. Though you immediately know who you’re about to talk to.

Scribbling on the notepad, he slowly walks over and sits in the chair next to your bed. He looks over to see what you wrote.

Steven. Please remember me.

He looks up at you with his doe eyes. “How did you know it was me? How do you know about us.”

Fiancé

“But I don’t know who you are. How could we be engaged if I’ve never met you?”

You hold his gaze, willing him to remember, to see beyond the fog that clouds his memory. With trembling hands, you reach out and touch his face, tracing the lines as if to etch your presence into his very being.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you try to convey years of shared memories and love in a few fleeting moments. You point to the engagement ring on your finger, a symbol of the promises made and the future planned together.

His eyes flicker with a hint of recognition, a spark of something familiar dancing within them. He takes your hand in his, gently running his thumb over the ring as if trying to unlock hidden chambers of remembrance.

“I... I don’t understand,” he stammers, his voice laced with confusion and a tinge of fear. “How can I be engaged to someone I don’t remember?”

You scribble on the notepad again.

I died, I met Anubis and Osiris.

“You met Anubis and Osiris?! How is this possible? How are you here?!”

You smile, this is the Steven you remember. They gave me another chance, but when I came back you didn’t remember me

Something in his eyes flashes, and the hard expression returns. Marc was back, his eyes searching your face for any sort of recognition. Your heart ached at the disbelief and confusion in his eyes.

His hand recoils from yours as if your touch burned him, his features contorted in a mix of fear and disbelief. You watch helplessly as the connection you once shared with him slips further away, like sand sifting through your fingers. The weight of your heartache presses down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

“I can’t... I can’t do this.” His voice is barely a whisper, filled with a turmoil you cannot comprehend. He stands abruptly, knocking over the chair in his haste to distance himself from you. “I need to go.”

You reach out to him, the words trapped in your throat as you watch him move towards the door. This man before you, who was once your anchor in the storm, now feels like a stranger walking out of your life.

As he reaches the threshold, he pauses for a fleeting moment, his back still turned to you. “I’m sorry... I don’t know who you are,” he says softly before stepping out.

The door closes behind Marc, leaving you alone in the silence of the hospital room. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, wrapping around you like a shroud of sorrow. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks as you try to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

You clutch the notepad to your chest, feeling the indentations of the words you had written in haste. Memories of your life together with Marc flash before your eyes, each one a painful reminder of what once was. The engagement ring on your finger glints in the dim light, a symbol of a future that now seems uncertain.

As you lie there, staring at the blank walls of the hospital room, a sense of numbness settles over you. The sounds of the machines humming fade into the background as you slip into a state of disconnected solitude. The world outside continues to spin, indifferent to the ache that gnaws at your heart.

Hours turn into days as you remain in the hospital, your voice slowly coming back to you. Janice, your nurse, had quickly become a good friend. Helping you contact your landlord, and trying to get Marc to come back. Each time getting the hard no.

"Y/n, I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you," Janice said softly, placing a comforting hand on yours. "But you're not alone. We'll figure this out together."

You managed a weak smile, grateful for Janice's support during this tumultuous time. Despite the ache in your heart, a sliver of hope bloomed within you at her words.

After almost a month in the hospital, you were released. You got to go back to your life. Not entirely, but for the most part.

As you stepped out of the hospital, the sunlight felt harsh against your skin, like a stark contrast to the dim confines you had grown accustomed to.

Everything looked different, even the familiar streets seemed alien as you navigate your way back home. The weight of Marc's absence pressed down on you, a constant ache in your chest that refused to dissipate.

Your home was almost the same as it was before the incident. A bit cleaner, since Janice stopped by to collect your post, and check on the flat. Despite Janice's unwavering support and encouragement, there were moments when the loneliness threatened to consume you.

The silence of your apartment echoed with memories of laughter and whispered promises, now replaced by a deafening void that seemed impossible to fill.

One evening as you sat by the window watching the stars, you see a figure on the rooftop of the building across from yours.

The figure was familiar, a silhouette etched in your memory like a ghost from the past. Despite the distance and the darkness shrouding their features, you knew without a doubt who it was. Marc. He stood there, his form outlined by the faint glow of the moon, his gaze fixed on your window.

A surge of emotions welled up inside you, and you know he saw you notice him. Your heart pounded in your chest, as you got up and moved to lay in your bed.

The sight of Marc on the rooftop stirred a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you, pulling at the threads of hope and heartache that had woven themselves into the fabric of your being. His sudden appearance after weeks of absence sent a surge of questions racing through your mind, each one vying for attention in the chaos of your thoughts.

As you lay in bed, unable to tear your gaze away from the figure on the rooftop, a sense of longing welled up inside you. Could this be a chance to bridge the chasm that had formed between you and Marc? Or was it simply a cruel twist of fate, dangling the possibility of reconciliation before you only to snatch it away once more?

The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness that lingered between you like an invisible thread.

The figure remained on the rooftop, unmoving yet a silent presence that seemed to bridge the gap between your past and present. You lay there, caught in a limbo of emotions that threatened to unravel the fragile threads holding you together.

Eventually, a soft knock at your door broke the stillness of the night, startling you from your reverie. With hesitant steps, you made your way to the door, heart pounding in anticipation of who may be on the other side. As you turned the doorknob, you were met with a familiar silhouette backlit by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

Marc stood before you, uncertainty etched across his features as he searched your eyes for a sign of acceptance. Before any words could be spoken, you found yourself enveloped in his embrace, the warmth of his touch seeping into your bones like a soothing balm.

Tears welled up in your eyes as weeks of pent-up emotions threatened to spill over the edge. You didn’t know what was happening, but you needed this.

As you stood in the doorway, locked in an embrace that felt both foreign and achingly familiar, a sense of hope bloomed within you. The raw vulnerability in Marc’s touch mirrored your own, a shared language of unspoken apologies and forgiveness that transcended the barriers of time and memory.

In that moment, as the world outside faded into insignificance, all that mattered was the connection between two souls reaching out for each other across the expanse of uncertainty.

The embrace with Marc felt like a lifeline, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness that had clouded your heart for so long. As you clung to him, the walls you had built around your emotions began to crumble, giving way to the flood of feelings you had buried deep within.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Marc’s voice trembled with emotion, his words a whispered confession that hung in the air between you.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze as tears streamed down your cheeks. “I don’t understand…” Your voice is still hoarse.

"I was lost, Y/n. Lost in a storm of confusion and fear that clouded my judgment," Marc's voice cracked with emotion, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to cup your face. “But I saw him. He told me everything.”

“Saw who? Marc, please. You remember me?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t, but please let me.”

The sincerity in Marc's eyes tugged at your heartstrings, a flicker of hope igniting within you despite the lingering doubts. His vulnerability laid bare before you, an unspoken plea for a second chance that resonated with the deepest corners of your soul.

With a shaky breath, you reached out to touch Marc's trembling hand, a silent gesture of understanding and acceptance. “Was it Osiris?”

He nodded, “We went searching for him. Khonshu, the old bastard, actually helped me.”

Osiris? The name reverberated in your mind, sending a shiver down your spine. Memories long buried stirred within you, whispers of a past that seemed almost surreal. And yet, here was Marc, standing before you, his eyes reflecting a turmoil of emotions.

You’re brought back to reality for a moment, and realize you’re in the open where your nosey neighbor is probably spying on you. “Do you want to come in?” You ask Marc, and he nods.

Closing the door behind him, you lead him to the living room and sit next to him on the couch. “I just don’t understand why you came back. You know I was actually beginning to accept you not coming back.”

"I know I've caused you pain, Y/n. And for that, I will never forgive myself." His voice wavered with emotion as he continued, each word heavy with the weight of his confession. "But meeting Osiris...it made me realize I fucked up.”

You studied Marc's face, searching for any hint of deceit or manipulation, but all you found was raw honesty etched in his expression. A part of you wanted to push him away, to guard your heart against the possibility of hurt once more. But another part yearned for the closure and healing that only forgiveness could bring.

“I can't erase the past or the pain I've caused. But when Osiris showed me the truth... I couldn't stay away. Everything leads straight back to you.” You see a stray tear run down his cheek and he explains himself. “I know I don’t remember you. We all don’t remember you, but we want to.”

Your mouth felt dry as you listened to him speak. As you gazed into Marc's tear-filled eyes, a surge of compassion welled up inside you. You feel his hand take a hold of yours. His hand trembles in yours, but the touch grounds you in the present moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“Don’t say anything, just…” He sighs before continuing. “Help me, Help us remember you.”

As you sat there on the couch, silence enveloping you both like a protective cocoon, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath and when you opened them you saw him still sitting there. No trick of the mind or anything.

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes. A flicker of relief passes across Marc's features, gratitude shining in his eyes. Without another word, he reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if afraid that you might disappear if he lets go.

In that moment, as you find solace in each other's arms, a sense of unity washes over you. The past may be shrouded in shadows and uncertainty, but the present holds the promise of rediscovery and redemption.

“Let me kiss you.” he whispers softly.

You hesitate for a moment, “but you hardly know me.”

“y/n, I know I’ll remember you. Let me kiss you.”

Uncertainty begins to swirl within you like a tempest. However, his eyes ignite a flame of trust in your heart. Leaning forward, you meet his lips in a tentative kiss, a gentle exploration of emotions that have been suppressed.

In that fleeting moment of connection, you feel a glimmer of recognition as if a door to the past has been cracked open, allowing fragments of forgotten moments to seep through.

As the kiss deepens, a sense of familiarity washes over you, intertwining your souls in a dance as old as time itself. The weight of unspoken apologies and unshed tears melts away in the heat of this newfound intimacy, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that binds you together in shared longing and hope.

When you finally pull away, breathless and trembling, Marc's gaze meets yours with a mixture of yearning and uncertainty, as if seeking validation in the depths of your eyes. For a moment, the world around you fades into insignificance, leaving only the echo of his touch lingering on your lips.

“I will remember you,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath, “I promise.”

With a silent nod, you offer him a small smile. “I know you will. I’ll help you.”

join my taglist!

Taglist: @guacam011y

#moonknight #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfic #marc spector imagine #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moonknight imagine #moonknight angst #marc spector angst #fanfiction #marvel #fanfiction writer #fanfic

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 9 months ago

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Asking the moon boys about NNN

What if you asked them about doing NNN?

Jake:

November 1st -

"Hey Jake do you know about NNN?"

"Yes why?"

"Are you doing it this year?"

"Bold of you to assume I'm participating in such sins..."

"It's a challenge... for men... you know?"

He gives you a knowing look, he knows exactly what you mean, he's not stupid. "I know, mi amor. And you know what? Fuck it, I'm accepting it."

You chuckled. "Really?"

Jake shrugs. "You know I'm very patient?"

You would think he just uses Marc or Steven for relief but Jake could actually do it. You know Jake isn't lying, and his patience really shows off during november. But expect him to get you back as soon as it's december 1st.

December 1st -

"Mi amor!" Jake almost sing sang. "Stupid challenge is over! I won! Now my reward?"

Marc:

"Hey Marc, you doing NNN this year?"

Marc almost choked on his own spit. "What?!"

"No Nut Nov–" he cut you off before you could finish it.

"Uh I know that, why do you ask?"

You shrug. "Just asking if you're doing it. You up for that challenge?"

"You're asking me to do the impossible?" he gives you an exhausted look.

"That's why it's a challenge, Marc. Did you forget about it yesterday?" you laughed.

"That's one month. One. Month." he says, running a hand through his face.

"Yeah that's 30 days. 30 days." you pointed out.

Marc gave you a look. "Couldn't you have told me about it yesterday??" he asks.

You furrowed your brows. "But yesterday was October 31st, why–" you stopped mid-sentence, realizing what he meant. "You can't be for real..."

Marc grinned wickedly at you. "I could have prepared myself."

Your jaw went slack. "There's no way you could have prepared yourself for 30 days without."

"I could have tried. Now this month is going to be such a torture for me." he sighed.

"Not for your balls?"

Marc raised an eyebrow and scowled at you. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't come up with something, he just threw himself back against the couch, looking like he's questioning his existence.

Marc is definitely not a fan of No Nut November, acting like he's having an existential crisis going on, and you should expect him going feral as soon as the clock hits midnight on november 30th.

December 1st -

You heard the front door open, acompanied by his voice.

"Honeeyy, where are youuu? It's december!"

Steven:

"Steven," you smiled, sitting down next to him on the couch, who was eating a bowl of cereal "you know it's november now, right?"

He put the spoon down. "Yeah, why're you askin'?"

"Are you going to do the NNN challenge?"

Steven looked at you, confusion written all over him. "Wot?"

"No Nut November." you explained.

He frowned but he tried to hide the smile threatening to show. "Wow, what?"

You grin. "A challenge."

"And what is the challenge?" he asked, getting curious.

"It's in the name. Basically a challenge for guys not to, well... nut."

Steven had to hold back his laughter. "Yeah I'm not doin' it, forget it."

You raised an eyebrow. "It's only 30 days."

"Do you actually think some guys wouldn't just wank off behind the back? Seriously."

You wanted to argue but couldn't. "You can try?"

"Not happenin' love."

"So you're confessing you're too horny?"

Steven's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me? Aight, fine, I'll do it."

You smiled, proud of yourself. "There you go. Maybe it won't be that hard for you."

Steven shot a dirty smile. "Whoa, hey, I catched your pun."

December 1st -

Steven knocked gently on your door. "Love? You hear me? November is over, can we get goin' again? I've got a big problem..."

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #moonknight imagine #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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character-babblings · 1 year ago

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mdni 18+ only

everyday i wake up

(this is a oscar isaac character home)

welcome to my moonknight headcanons (also, yes i'm always down to elaborate or discuss)

Steven Grant, my sweet boy:

steven is actually working on skills in the bedroom. he's 100% branching out thanks to you. he's an eager and ready to learn student.

he's not entirely inexperienced but he's just so deeply obsessed with you. the way your clothes just always looks so good on your. hugging your curves and always bringing out your eyes. he may be biased but he thinks you're easily the most perfect woman in the whole world.

and the way you moan for him is just as perfect of course. steven 100% prefers to be face to face with you when it comes to sex. he has to see your face when he does anything.

and he's obsessed with how vocal you can get. when he's eating you out (honestly his favorite most of the time). the way your hands play with his hair as he'll lick and lap at your pretty clit.

"oh good steven. you're so good. such a good boy." and he's like putty. you cannot tell me that this man doesn't have a praise kink. bless his heart. he just wants to make you so happy. the way he flicks your clit with his tongue with hooded eyes because he's lowkey playing with himself with one hand while one dances at your entrance.

"steven. i need your fingers. please?" and he's just ready to please as he plunges his fingers in you. hair starting to become wet with sweat as an idea bubbles in his head. inserting two fingers into before removing his mouth.

"you have the prettiest cunt, love. it's so delicious and warm. i can't wait to put my dick in here." he tries. and he damn near cums his pants watching your eyes roll as you let out the most earth shattering moan. his eyes widen as he abandons your pussy all together. he didn't expect that.

"oh? do you like it when i talk like this? that's awfully naughty of you darling..." you're beginning to squirm as you wrap your legs around his torso. "steven just fuck me now please! you whine as you reach to take hold of his face to kiss him. and with that he's back to being a whiney mess at your words.

"fuck alright love."

Marc Spector: Resident dom (fight me. fight me rn)

absolutely dom. only a handful of times have you ever had any control. and that's fine because he 100% knows what he's doing obviously. he's gifted in the eating and bossing department.

he's got you on your knees in front of him just ramming the fuck out of your face and relishing in the gurgles and choking sounds your mouth is making. one hand in your hair and the other on the back of your head.

"oh what a good girl you are. good fucking girl. hey, relax your throat more. there you go little slut. swallow around my dick." he's tapping the side of your face before pulling your face off his dick. "you alright sweet girl?" he asked as he checks your face. he's revels in how ruined your makeup is as you nod at him, you're the one eager to please him now. he smiles almost darkly at you before grabbing you by your neck.

"good. because i didn't forget what a fucking brat you were today." he states as he drags you over to the bed, pushing you on it. "you have five seconds to strip. whatever's left on is getting ripped." he sighs taking his pants off. "you know i love you, but the way you acted today...i should have bent you over right there." he states as you assume the face down ass up position. reaching over to grab your face before

"remember i don't like brats. that shit may fly with Steven but never me. and i know Jake doesn't tolerate it either. so do me a favor. act like your brain actually fucking works." he warns as he lets go of your face. sitting up fully before beginning to pound your shit.

"let me enjoy this, don't make a sound. you make a sound and that's one more orgasm i'm giving you."

Jack Lockley: Hard dom.

(thank god this dude got minimal screentime bc idk how to act)

as aforementioned he's got a 0 brat tolerance. absolutely don't give this man attitude. he won't hesitate to smack your mouth a little or grab you by your face harshly before whispering to behave with a stone hard face.

he also will never hesitate to find a secluded area to fuck you hard in. he's fucked you against the window of both yours and his place for sure. no balcony is safe honestly. he loves to leave so many marks for the other two guys to find. he also has a safe word because when i say he gets rough i mean it.

he's choked you so hard he's made you pass out a hand full of times. then he'll patiently wait for you to wake up before continuing on while you whine and complain wondering why he stopped. muttering about how you're such a whore who only thinks about his dick.

he's giving your face a smack when he detects a little attitude. talking about "what was that? did you wanna say something little girl?!" and making you repeat yourself.

"your brain is fucking gone huh pretty girl? is that why you're talking to me like this?! i know i've fucked you out but talk to me like that again and i promise you that you can watch while i take care of myself." he literally growls as he grabs your hair and brings your head up so his hot breath hits your ear.

"because next time, i won't be nice and let you cum for the rest of the week." he says while releasing you.

(a/n please tell me this is a safe place for my moonlight slut thoughts please please please)

#steven grant smut #steven grant imagine #steven grant imagines #jake lockley smut #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley imagines #marc spector smut #marc spector imagine #marc spector imagines #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #moonknight smut #moonknight imagines #moonknight imagine

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brightjimini · 1 year ago

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some recent fanfic recs☑️

for: moonknight, batman/battinson/ jason todd/ cod

some are 18+ (please just dont read if you are not):***

the link is my short amazing *sarcasm* review, jokes aside go read them and show them love. also most of these are longer fics! (i think all are x fem!reader if yall want a gn!reader let me know)

moonknight 🌙

this whole series is 10/10 by @januaryembrs

the way jake is portrayed *heart eyes* by @phantomspiderr

just dropped their whole mlist here so you can binge read by @st4rymoon ***

i am a sucker for hurt comfort by @vintagemulti

batman 🦇

most prob already read this series BUT ILL NEVER GET OVER IT by @jangofctts ***

i just love sad bruce by @the-wintershade

nightwing longtime friend reader x bruce on pollen need i say more by @imaginedisish ***

the way bruce is portrayed A M A Z I N G by @vigilvntes

normally im not really into pregnancy fics but this one ooooh the tension, the angst, the buildup… by @afro-hispwriter *** (just read everything she wrote while your at it)

jason todd ♦️

recently did not read that many red hood fics😞

i actually have not read this one yet bcs of school but it is long and it sounds good by @lightwing-s

cod 💀

this series has me in a chokehold zombie apocalypse universe reader x single dad ghost with a KID now that i think about it its so genius to put ghost who is always kinda cold with a kid in a situation like this and reader by @nsharks

now the legend cod writer made a merman price fic.. im sold ofc by @halcyone-of-the-sea

i hardly see colonel reader fics and i found out i like them (x ghost and angst) by @bits-and-babs ***

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jayden-killer · 3 months ago

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HIIII!!!❤️

You can request these prompts w EDDIE MUNSON, MOON KNIGHT (Steven, Marc, Jake), LOKI AND STEVE HARRINGTON!!!

So, GO AND REQUEST💗 I'd be delighted.

:-"Soft things people in love do that makes me want to fall in love" prompts-:

(Tag me if you guys write these!!!! yeeeeee)

By @me-writes-prompts

Letting them sit in their seat during a train/bus transaction

Making food for each other as surprise

Picnic dates^^

"We could just stay like this, cuddling all day, if you want."

Random kisses on lips/hands/neck >\\\<

Giving them a head massage while they listen to the other one talk about their day

Late-night star gazing when they can't sleep

^^ "The stars are bright tonight, aren't they?" "Not as bright as you, love." and they pull them into a kiss because they start to laugh at the cheesiness.

Leaning their heads on each other's

"I know you're struggling right now, and it's okay, okay? We'll get through this."

"I left you a note, did you read it?" "Yeah, I left you one back to tell you I read it!" <3333

"I can't believe you remember the day we first had our kiss!" "It's an important day that needs to be remembered forever :)"

"Is it too early to say I love you? Because I do. I love you so much." "Aww, I love you too. So much."

Making the other one DIY bracelets/rings/etc with their names.

^^"This is lovely! But you spelled your name wrong, darling." "Oh...heh, guess I got carried away huh?"

Board game nights where their competitive sides come out

"I hope you know that I'll never leave your side, even though you ate half of my pancakes earlier." "Hmm, I won't either, even though you take my clothes and never return them."

#prompt list #writing prompts #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things headcanons #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #loki x yn #loki x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #request open

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oh-sweet-mama · 1 year ago

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possible fic

sooo I was reading through my archives. Which are literal dozens of google docs with my writings just to get my thoughts out. I've recently moved back into a small moon knight phase again, and was reading one of my old fics. If I relased it in a few parts, would anyone want to see it? It's a mild like break up, get back together in the end, with angst, and fluff type of fic. :))

#moon knight fic #moonknight imagine #moon knight x reader

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moonyflesh · 1 year ago

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a collection of my favorite Steven Grant moments because i related to him more than i think is deemed healthy.

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lostalioth · 9 months ago

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𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

→ premise: marc could get possessive, very possessive infact and when that happens he cant seem to hold back.

→ pairing: marc sceptor x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, face sitting, thigh biting, oral [f receiving], nicknames [mine, my girl, sweetheart], possessiveness,

→ a/n: kinktober 06

Marc tended to be a little hotheaded and possessive when it came to matters involving you. It was normally Steven taking the brunt of it, though it made no real sense for him to get jealous. Though in instances that didn’t involve Steven, you were normally able to pull him aside and calm him down.

this was not currently one of those times, the two of you were attending a work party at your office. A coworker of yours had practically pulled you from Marc's arms to go talk. Though his version of talking was him flirting relentlessly and trying his hardest to get you to leave the party with him.

By the time Marc found you again, he was seething in anger at the man. As he walks up he starts noticing your coworker was flirting with you and trying to touch you. Marc had been tired and ready to go home so he let his possessive nature take over, though he knew once it did it was hard to shut off.

“Yeah, hey bud she's with me and we're leaving now” he nearly growls out at the man as his hand snakes its way around your waist when he walks up next to you. His sudden and fuming presence beside you makes you jump slightly though you were grateful for the save.

With a small scoff and not so cleverly hidden eye roll, your sleazy coworker stomps off. You barely have time to question the latter half of Marc’s statement about leaving before he rushes you towards the exit.

The ride home is silent besides the soft hum of the car and the sounds of the night flooding the air through your open window. Marc tight knuckled the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as his gaze was fixed to the road ahead. You’d normally be worried or scared in a moment like this with someone else, but with Marc you knew he wasn't mad at you. He was protective as well as possessive and so he was more pissed off at your scumbag coworker who didn't seem to grasp the concept that you were taken. You were sat clenching your thighs, he looked so good in that damn button up shirt you made him wear to the party that you were ready to stay home, so you were more than happy to be headed back.

In the blink of an eye you’ve made it back home and Marc is quick to jump out of the car and rip open the passenger car door, pulling you out of the seat and throwing you over his shoulder. “Guess I’ve just gotta mark you up sweetheart, that way you go into work tomorrow and all those men you work with know you’re my girl” he explains as he walks towards the house, holding you up on his shoulder with one hand on your waist and the other across your thighs right under your ass. You loved when he marked you, proudly showing them off when you could, though you could never show them off at work sadly, and he knew that.

“Marc I could’ve just walked inside on my own- hey!” He cuts off your protest with a short but solid smack to your ass.

You let out a huff and try to ignore the ache settling deep in your core at the action, your pussy already aching for his touch. You’ve never told him although he already knew that you secretly liked it a lot when he’d get like this. It made you feel wanted, even if Marc had no problem telling you and showing you in a million and one other ways just how much he wanted and loved you.

You let out a squeal when Marc drops you on your back onto your shared bed, you bounce slightly catching yourself by leaning back onto your elbows. Marc stands at the foot of the bed, eyes already full of lust and lidded as they raked over your body. “Strip sweetheart, you’re gonna sit on my face” he commands, his voice oozing with impatience.

You move fast to peel your clothes off along with your soaked panties, quickly un-clipping your bra and letting It fall off your shoulders, discarding it all on your bedroom floor. He's on you within the blink of an eye, maneuvering your bodies so he is laid out on his back, your thighs either side of his head and your pussy hovering over his face.

“My girl, all fucking mine nobody else’s” he growls and grabs ahold of your leg, opening his mouth and biting the inner plush of your thigh. You let out a gasp in both surprise and slight pain, squirming in his grip. He switches over to your other thigh when he is satisfied with the mark his teeth leave behind. He hums against your thigh as he bites down, rubbing softly at your leg to try and soothe you. The pain morphs into pleasure the more you get used to it, the indents of his teeth in your thigh makes your core tighten.

While you're lost in your own train of thought, Marc’s mouth lets go of your thigh with a small pop. He licks over the mark of his bite, a smirk growing on his face, he knew they wouldn't show as you couldn't wear short skirts to your office but he has never been more graceful for an HR rule than that one. Being pleased with his marks he now focuses all his attention on your leaking cunt above his mouth. With his grip on your legs he pulls your body down onto his face, licking a strip through your folds, drinking up your slick.

You moan out in response as your hips involuntarily grind against his mouth. “Mhm! Fuck Marc.. baby~” you whine out as his nose nudges your clit when his tounge licks and pushes through your folds. Vibrations float through your body as he tries to mumble out something against your pussy. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you use that leverage to pull his face away from you. “What was that love?” You question, using the short moment his mouth is off you to catch your breath.

“Maybe I’ve gotta put a ring on ya’ finger, that way those assholes at work will definitely know your spoken for, that youre all fuckin mine” he groans and pushes against your grip to dive back in and resume his mouths asssult on your throbbing cunt. His tongue pushing through tour slit distracts you from his statement about potentially proposing to you. Finally giving your aching clit attention, wrapping his lips around it and sucking, even biting softly at the bundle of nerves. His teeth send shivers down your spine, your thighs slightly shaking at either side of his face, he uses his hands gripping onto your legs as leverage to pull you even further down, forcing all your weight to be put on his face.

→ a/n: this wasn’t proofread, i rushed it and i kinda hate it lmao but I needed to get this out, i can already feel my effort and motivation for kinktober dwindling a bit.

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januaryembrs · 2 years ago

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Marc Spector/Steven Grant x Reader [9]

Description: Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

Word count: 10.8k

Trigger warnings: MINORS DNI. 18+. SMUT UNDER THE CUT. (What the heck) Fingering, F!reader, blood, flares, guns, canon level murder. Hints at grooming (not between Steven/Marc obviously), hints at toxic relationship. (Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

Authors note: I have never written anything smutty in my life, I hope this is okay. It kinda hit me out of no where. Also there will be a full smut chapter when the series is finished as a little treat.

main masterlist | series masterlist

Life seemed to have this horribly funny way of ripping goodness out of Dove’s hands.

Just as Layla had found a match on her tablet for the constellations, coordinates popping up on the screen like a digital bat signal, Khonshu gave a groan of pain even a god couldn’t hold back. He dropped to his knees, one of his boney hands falling to steady himself on the warm sand, the other jutted into the night sky to hold the stars where they watched him weaken.

Dove watched in frozen shock as in a matter of seconds he slipped away into the darkness, though dragged seemed a better term for it.

The Ennead had imprisoned him, just as they said they would.

A flash of relief ripped through Dove as she watched the cruel god slip away, finally freeing the shackles he held around her Steven. A prison that kept him scared, kept him quiet, even more so than that of his own body, was gone.

Though with that went his suit, she thought with a moment of abject horror, frozen in her limbs as if waiting for her god to be ripped from her too.

Her breath caught against her chest, waiting, waiting to be freed from the chains around her legs, the leash around her neck. She wanted this over, wanted to be a gift shoppist again more than anything. She would take hours of Donna’s shrill voice berating her over merchandise any day than this sense of ownership he held over her.

Because if it was just Khonshu imprisoned, the mission would fall onto her shoulders. And she couldn’t do any of this alone, any of it without Steven. She could do none of it without Marc. She would be alone in this again.

She’d rather die than live long enough to see either of them hurt for real this time.

Just get it over with. She near begged the gods. I can’t be the one to save them. I couldn’t even save her, I’m not the one you want for this.

That is, until she watched Steven’s legs give out from beneath him and his eyes roll to the back of his lids, his body going limp, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“Steven-Steven!” Dove called, lunging to grab him under the arms to hold him steady. But it was no use. His breath gave a rattled huff, his body completely yielding to unconsciousness, nearly toppling her over herself had she not put a hand out to stop the two of them face planting into the course sand.

Hoisting him over to his back, she brought a hand up to his cheek, his eyes flickering closed in REM, shaking his head with more care than she knew she should. She couldn’t find it in herself to strike him any harsher.

Layla fell to her knees beside her, more forceful with her shoves as she pushed his muscled body with a desperate sort of anger, begging him for the both of them to wake up.

“Marc? Marc, come on!” The other woman yelled, bunching his jumper in her fists until her knuckles turned just as white as the alabaster fabric, “Come on! Where are you?”

Then she heard it. Dove felt her ears prick up, an engine stuttering in the distance, tires crunching over sand, a metal rattling of bodywork against a motor.

A car. A truck, full of bodies. Full of guns.

She could hear the bullets rattling in their chambers, hear the men’s breathing, jeering to one another.

Harrow’s men. Or maybe even Mogart’s. She didn’t know anymore. She just knew they spelled danger.

“We have to go,” Dove said exasperated, scrambling to her feet despite the sand shifting under their weight as the sounds approached, “We need to leave now.”

“Leave him, they won’t shoot him if he already looks dead,” Layla huffed, dropping Steven’s arm, grabbing the scruff of Dove’s collar ferociously, “Leave him,”

“We can’t leave him, what if they fire for good measure?” Dove asked, smacking Layla’s hand away from her with a scowl, “I’m not leaving him-”

A blinding light lit up their faces, their heads snapping to where headlights lit up the dunes surrounding them. The wind seemed to hold its breath as the women stood, spooked deers with targets on their backs.

“Stop being so god damn stubborn for once,” Layla seethed, grabbing the younger woman’s arm tight enough to pinch, “We’ll come back for him in a second, now move,”

It took everything in her to listen.

She was all but dragged into a run towards their own vehicle where they had been piecing together the map not even twenty minutes earlier. She hated how funny time was like that.

They waited on bated breaths, hoping the truck would drive past them with no consequence, no interference.

Though of course, that would never happen. That would be too kind.

Bullets whistled past their legs, something bigger than the pistol Layla had held from what Dove could tell, something made for killing quickly, killing messily.

The women winced hearing the trucks engine slow to a low rumble, carefully rolling down the dune as it shot blindly into the dark where they ducked behind the body of their car, Layla’s breath panting loudly in her ear.

She felt her heartbeat in her throat, praying on everything she’d ever believed in that they didn’t see Steven, that they didn’t shoot Layla. It was redundant worrying about herself, though part of her wondered if the God of chaos had been forced into a ushabti too, she wasn’t willing to figure it out by throwing herself in front of the barrel of the gun.

Layla reached up for the cold metal of the handle, clicking it open and practically forcing Dove in by the scruff of the neck into the wagon end of the truck, the grains of sand crunching under her boots as she lay still, waiting for the truck to hopefully pass.

Clambering in after her and shutting the door quietly, Layla ducked down next to her, the sound of their exhausted breaths cutting through the quiet night. She had faced worse than these men, than this one big gun, yet she felt without Marc there to tell her where to hit them, without Steven there to hold her face and tell her how brave she was, she was nothing.

“I saw them running!” One of the men called out, the two women freezing in their spots, “Check around the truck!”

The flickering of the headlights filtered in through the dirty truck windows, dust smattering the glass though Dove still got a clear view of the vehicle cruising around them, circling like a shark in bloodied waters, searching for the rest of the kill.

She felt Layla tense next to her when her boot hit something near the door, a red satchel with a muddied flame printed on the front.

Flames. Fire. There was a crate full of ammunition she could hear rattling around the back of that truck which only meant one thing. Gunpowder.

“Layla,” She whispered, grabbing the woman’s arm and pointing to the red bag, “Are there matches in there?”

“Flares- why?” Layla murmured back, a scowl on her face at the stupidity of the girl to be talking.

Dove hesitated a moment, keeping an eye on the truck as it rolled past them and looped back towards where Steven lay unconscious still. They didn’t have alot of time left. They would surely shoot at him to be sure, and without the suit anymore-

“There’s bullets in that truck,” Dove whispered, meeting the woman’s eyes through what little light the stars gave them, “Flares set on fire when you pull them right?”

Layla’s scowl seemed to drop as she understood what the girl was suggesting. The woman scrambled for the satchel, ripping the zip open to reveal six red, waxy tubes, the metal hooks hanging off as the triggers.

Shoving one into Dove’s hands, she took one for herself, head snapping to the girl nearly ten years her younger.

“You know what you’re doing?” Layla murmured, the two of them looking through the front windscreen where the headlights seemed to zero in on Steven. Steven, who was running out of time. Steven, who would throw himself in front of endless amounts of guns if it meant she was safe. Steven, who would wake up any second now and meet his end in the middle of no where because she wasn’t fast enough.

“You throw yours to get them away from him, I’ll go after them,” She replied hushedly, her hand opening the door quietly, sliding forwards until her legs dangled off the edge of the carriage. That is until a hand latched onto her shoulder to drag her back.

Her head whipped over her shoulder, worried they had been seen already, only to see Layla’s brown eyes unsure. Remorse ate away at her expression, twitching her eyebrows, scrunching her mouth bitterly.

“You had better be careful,” Layla bit, though Dove knew what the meaning beneath it was. Don’t die. Don’t get hurt. I’m sorry for what I said.

Dove nodded, dropping onto the sand silently, waiting for Layla to slip out of and throw her flare away from Steven.

She lost sight of the woman, her soft, tight curls bouncing around the corner of the truck, her own fingers crossing that the woman would stay far out of harm. She knew she was sorry, knew Layla had a way of exploding at her because she was the easiest target, she was the only one who would actually give her the reaction she’d wanted. She’d always known that hurt people, hurt people. And that’s all Layla was. Hurt, at the fact her ex-husband seemed to dodge every phone call, spill every lie, brush off every argument. She couldn’t say she agreed with how Marc handled the subject of Layla, but in the same way she was hurt, Marc was hurt too.

It’s just who they were.

Seeing a flash of red fly into the dunes, and the rumble of the truck's engine as it practically turned on two wheels and flew towards the commotion, shooting at the flare in the hopes of hitting one of them. She saw where the sand sprayed behind the wheels, stepping out behind their car and drawing her arm back for the shot.

Pulling the metal hook out of its socket, a small crack like a party popper sounded from the palm of her hand, and the red flame sprayed out the end. Before the men even had time to switch the gun onto her, she’d thrown it towards the rear of their vehicle, where she now saw a heavy artillery weapon, the clink and rattle of bullets rolling in the seat as the car came to a stop in front of Layla’s distraction.

She heard a shout of shock as her flare made contact, bouncing into the rear, before a white spark flew into the air and fizzled, like a star reaching its supernova within the inky black night.

She worried for a moment that that was it, that was all her brilliant plan could give, until ten more shots of the same ivory light flew into the sky, a crackle lingering in the truck before a huge ball of flame engulfed the car whole. Yells of fright from the passengers were cut off with one final whoosh and the yellow blaze licked into the black once more, silencing whatever protests the men had.

They had died. They had burned at her hand. And yet, thinking back to how suddenly they could have stuffed Steven full of bullets, she struggled to fight the relief that had filled her body.

Steven.

Spinning on her heel, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she collided with a hard body, one that seemed to have watched the conflict splayed all over her face in the warmth of the fire. She readied herself to shove them away, to call Layla for help, until she snapped out of her haze and saw a very tired, very sandy face that looked at her as if he’d seen an archangel lighting his way.

Steven.

She said nothing, though she wanted to tell him how pretty his eyes looked in the dark. She wanted to tell him how she’d thought of him every single day since the day they’d met, that he’d be the one to drag her out of the shadows that smothered her, that if there was one thing that could take away her pain, her sorrow, that could make her feel alive again, it was him.

But she didn’t. Because there weren't enough words, wasn’t enough time, to tell him how she felt.

So she pulled him into the tightest hug she could muster instead.

She felt her breath leave her when his arms went around her waist, nose burrowing into her neck, sighing. She didn’t care he was dirty, so was she, didn’t care that he was breathing so close to her skin, she revelled in it in fact. Her every hair stood on end as he kissed her shoulder, bare from where her shirt had ripped, kissed it again for good measure, her whole body shivering under his lips. He was so warm compared to her, she’d felt cold ever since that night she’d died, like a constant reminder she was just a body, and he was so full of life. He was so Steven it filled her heart until she thought it would come running out of her eyes in tears.

“I missed you so much,” He whispered in her ear, as if utterly unaware how receptive she would be to the sound of his voice, “I thought I was going crazy,”

“You’re never crazy, not to me,” She murmured back, feeling him kiss her cheek.

She begged him to kiss her lips next. God she’d missed him. She wanted him more than the syrupy air they stood in, had a greed for him she’d never known before. One kiss hadn’t been enough, she needed more.

She needed all of him.

The pit in her stomach that had laid stagnant for weeks, that had been a dormant pit flared with heat as he pulled away from her, his eyes soppy and dizzy as he watched her, her heart caving in through her chest.

She could kiss him right there and he would kiss her back. She didn’t know how she knew it but she did.

Sighing as she heard Layla shuffling behind her, crawling out of her hiding place behind the truck, she tilted her head forwards until it met his forehead, the feeling of her nose brushing against his having her squeeze him tighter.

“I missed you too, Steven,” She whispered, feeling his body tense as her words fell in blankets on his lips.

Her mouth was right there for the taking, his head screamed to him. Her plush lips were seconds away from his, the scene he’d imagined for himself over and over and over was right there.

Yet they both pulled away, meeting each other's longing gaze once more before they turned back to the truck.

The drum and bass was pounding in her chest, constricting her throat. Her top rode up her stomach, breasts hiked up enough to touch her chin, the mini shorts hugging her legs much too tight for comfort. But this was what they paid for. For her.

It wasn’t so bad as far as nightclubs went. It was fast paced which kept her shifts moving quick, the drinks were easy to memorise, and for the most part she was behind a thick bar that separated her from the handsier customers. But tonight she was on shot duty, her job was to entice as many willing buyers into slamming little vials of jäger that would only drain their wallets. She knew it was unethical, knew she should have more shame, but life was shit like that sometimes.

Matty had brought home a whole baby, Billie, who she loved more than life itself, though the poor little girl couldn’t escape the colic no matter how hard the five of them rocked her, burped her, winded her. She kept them up most nights, and who’d have thought babies were so expensive.

Billie and Matty alone took the majority of their funds, if not the bills on the house, if not them then it was Sammy being bailed out of the holding cell every other weekend for “disturbing public peace”, that one she could believe.

Joey, her clever clever boy, had managed to get a scholarship to see him through most of university, but that didn’t negate the fact he was so busy with his extra classes, being the genius child he was, he hadn’t the time for an extra job to contribute to the family.

And then there was Mikey.

Mikey, who she had pretended to ignore came home with bloodshot eyes or a manic sort of excitement, or a slackened jaw. Mikey, who had done what he did best and tried to make friends, only to get mixed with the wrong crowd and end up addicted. Mikey, who needed to be sent to the very expensive rehab downtown quickly if they had any chance of pulling him out of this habit before he found himself too deep.

Times were tough, eighteen-year-old Dove liked to think she was tougher.

She pretended to ignore the way the men’s eyes trailed her body like a public footpath, barely any acknowledgement in their eyes that she was human and not just a nice ass and a tight top. She pretended they didn’t brush against her one too many times for it to be an accident, or even the fact they tipped her bigger if they were brave enough to brazenly touch her stomach, the soft of her arms, the plushness of her legs as she walked through the sea of dancers.

They began to blur into one horrid mess of men she choked out thanks to as they handed her a twenty and told her to keep the change.

“You’re worth more than that, you know?” A voice interrupted her, where she stood near the bar, the waitress refilling her tray with shots.

Golden painted eyelids flicked up as she caught sight of the man, ready to give a catty remark when she saw someone leaning against the glass countertop, sticky residue of sweet alcohol under his neat suit. Certainly out of sorts in a place like this.

“You think?” She asked, boredly, picking at her fingernails as the man spoke. She couldn’t lie to herself, he was handsome. Not the most handsome man to ever flirt with her, though the others usually were slurring and asking if they would get their drinks free if they give her something nice in return. This man seemed sober, however, his drink small and barely touched, “Good to know,”

“I think a girl like you deserves to have the drinks brought to you on a silver platter,” He said cheekily, sipping his drink slowly as the bartenders looked between her and the man with teasing smiles.

“Don’t bother, Frank,” Eddie said, shaking a cocktail over his shoulder with little more than an eyelid batted, “She’s hard to get. Even said no to a date with me a few times,”

“How could I ever be so cruel to turn down such a stud?” She sneered, though the grin on her face told an entirely different story. She was kidding, ofcourse. “Such a pretty boy, and yet my answer is still the same. I don’t have time for boys,”

“Who said anything about boys?” Frank asked, aghast, placing a hand on his chest, “I would never expect a grown woman like you to want a boy. It’s a man you need.”

She was painfully aware of how much older than her he looked, easily approaching his thirty year mark if his grown attire and mature voice was anything to go off of.

It had been her birthday two weeks ago.

“A man, huh?” She asked cockily, rolling her eyes at the lust in his eyes as she became meaner to him. Men were so predictable. She treated him nice, he was interested. She was a bitch to him, he wanted her more. “Let me know if any of you find one,”

With that, she slid the silver tray of shots off the bar and took off into the sea of people, a little snigger leaving her lips at the way Frank watched her like a hawk.

She had certainly not been expecting a hand to grab her by the belt loops on her shorts, spinning her back to where she had just come from, only to be met with the grey eyes of the man at the bar that she thought she’d left in the dust.

“Are you out of your mind-” Dove cried, slapping his hand off her, though his smile only widened with a snicker of his own.

“One date?” He asked, tugging her closer by the front of her shorts, “One date is all I ask,”

“You don’t even know my name,” She bit back, back when she had it in her to be mean, when he hadn’t ripped the disobedience out of her.

His finger came up to flick the name badge on her chest that she purposely stole from someone else, the one reading Sandie. She never gave out her real name, not just for her safety but for her boys too.

“One date, Sandie,” Frank said, producing a business card out of his pocket, “Just your start date,”

She recoiled. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting what so ever. She’d thought he was flirting, she’d been so sure of it. But a job offer, that was something else.

Ripping the card out of his fingers, she read the sparkly red writing on the front.

for a good night, simply follow the yellow brick road

-frank osbourne

“This is the fakest looking piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” She retorted, which only made him laugh at her attempt of damaging his ego, “I bet this number isn’t even real,”

“No?” He goaded, stuffing his hand even further into his pocket to pull out a wad of twenties.

Her eyes widened as he wedged the roll of money into her front pocket, squeezing it into the fabric where it clung to her skin. Her mouth bobbed open once, perhaps to ask what he did for a living or if he was compensating for something smaller elsewhere. But the usual smartmouth she had on her was gone.

In fact she couldn’t even say anything when he picked up a shot off her tray and slammed it back right there and then on the dance floor, the black liquor dripping down the corner of his mouth.

He smiled at her, wiping it away with the back of his expensive cuff, diamond cufflinks she’d missed at first glance flashing under the strobe lights as the beat in the song dropped and rattled through her chest.

“Keep the change, honey,” He yelled, winking at her smoothly and disappearing back into the crowd as if he had never even been there.

She was embarrassed at how fast she pocketed his number.

Her body was jolting forwards, saved luckily by the seat belt wrapped over her chest, a small gasp crawling out her lips.

She realised with a quick look out the front of the window that they had come to an abrupt stop, a terracotta mountain face staring back at them through the bullet holes cracking the windscreen.

Seeing Layla’s stoic expression and the tension that immersed the car as she woke up, she felt whatever words had been said while she slept bite at her skin, rubbing the sleep dust from her eyes.

“Damn, girl. What did the brake pedal ever do to you?” She muttered, and she hated the way her tummy flurried at the sight of Steven’s bemused smile. She loved making him smile. She saw the bags that dragged at his soft doe eyes, wanted to grab his chin and force him to look at her to get just a moment more of his honeyed gaze, his pretty eyelashes, his expressive brows.

“We’re on foot from here,” Layla ordered, unbuckling herself and hopping out the side of the truck, slinging her rucksack over her back. Dove thought for a moment if she should ask what had happened while she had been asleep in the back seat, yet then she thought better of it. Layla was a bear she never wanted to poke with a stick, let alone more than she already had.

“Good sleep?” Steven asked, swivelling around his position in the passenger side, watching her carefully with a giddy smile.

She licked her lips, fiddling with the tips of her nails, where the odd one had begun healing, where they didn’t hurt as much since she’d stopped gnawing at her loose skin.

“Not as good as our sleepovers,” She mumbled into the quiet of the car, the air like the inside of a candy floss machine; sweet and wispy as he giggled.

“Never,” He replied, the two of them sharing a childish glee. They near jumped out their skin when Layla’s knuckles came down on Dove’s window, harsh and interrupting.

“Are we going, or what?” The woman said loud enough for them to hear the frustration in her tone even through the thick glass.

Guilt flashed across the younger woman’s face as she unlatched her door, the desert heat smacking her in the face like a hand.

Layla simply rolled her eyes at the two bumbling idiots, the way Steven seemed to half tumble out of his own seat just to be near her faster, the way it was clear from the way their hands kept falling to their sides they itched to touch even for a single moment.

She kissed her teeth, spinning on her heel as they looked to her for direction, feeling more akin to a babysitter now Marc didn’t have the body. She hated him when he was in control, hated him when he wasn’t. The entire idea of him was exhausting her, the knife twisting deeper when Steven told her Marc had agreed to disappear without a single goodbye for Steven’s sake.

It wasn’t that she wanted him back. But she was only human. She would have appreciated a real goodbye at least.

“This way. Map says they should be just on the other side of this gorge.” She called behind her, Dove and Steven trailing after her mindlessly, their eyes flicking up to one another wordlessly every few steps.

They took it that Layla wanted some time to herself as she took off on her own, muttering under her breath with a sneer from what they could see. She would keep close enough to listen for trouble, but far enough that she had some peace with her thoughts.

Dove felt a guilty sense of gratitude that her and Steven had a moment alone. She hadn’t known such calm in weeks.

“Marc said-” She started after a few minutes of quiet, “He said you didn’t know about all of this before. How are you doing, finding out you’re sharing your body with a whole other person I mean,” She prompted, chancing a glance at his face, his lip tugged between his teeth.

“Honestly,” He sighed, his tired eyes falling on her face that gazed back with nothing but worry. No judgement, no fear. Never from her. “Honestly, it’s frazzled me a bit. I mean it’s like being in a dream where I’m watching everything happen around me but I’m stuck in the backseat shouting how shit a driver Marc is-”

She couldn’t help the small chuckle that fell from her lips, the one that had him smiling too, not missing the way her shoulder bumped him lightly.

“It’s like I’m yanking on the reins, trying to get my own body back to being mine, and yet no one’s listening, you know?” He continued, and she felt the lump shift in the bottom of her throat.

Yes. I know exactly what you mean, Steven. I think you’re the only person who can ever know, only person since Grace who has ever known me-

And Marc. They were the only two to understand.

She nodded silently, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Oh god, what am I saying?” Steven muttered cursing to himself, looking at her with sorrowful eyes, “Seth still has you, doesn’t he? It was only Khonshu who they punished.”

She nodded again, keeping an eye on the ground as the terrain became a bit more rocky, stepping down carefully where she saw Layla’s boot print.

“Love, you have to know, that evening in the museum-” He began, following in her footsteps, stopping when his foot slipped on the grainy bank, feeling her hand grab his own, the very touch catching his breath as he stepped down safely to the rest of the sand. “Thanks- in the museum, I never meant for you to get hurt-”

“Steven, it’s okay, you don’t need to say that,” She brushed off bashfully, turning her head to the ground and pulling away from his saccharine touch.

But he wouldn’t let her. She needed to hear it. Needed more than the fair and few nice words Marc had given her the past few weeks. Not when she’d endured so much, so much for him.

He grabbed her hand again, feeling the cold skin under his warm palm, not letting her slip away so fast this time as her eyes flicked up to his and stuck as they traipsed through the sand.

“No, you shouldn’t have been hurt that day. You shouldn’t have had any of this happen to you, and I’m sorry, Dove.” He said perhaps the most serious she’d ever seen him and all she could do was nod wordlessly. “I’m sorry you’re in this mess because of me,”

“It’s not your fault, Steven,” She murmured, squeezing his hand with a frown, “It’s not Marc’s either. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, end of.”

“Still, I’m sorry it happened,” He said, bambi brown eyes falling over the planes of her face, “I promise, Marc and I will find a way to fix it when this is over,”

She smiled again, and he could swear he could feel his chest rattling with his own heartbeat. It was terrifying the effect she had on every inch of his body, the way his stomach and heart seemed to butterfly the moment she looked at him, the way her eyes softened under his gaze, the same woman he’d wanted even after so much hurt.

“It’s not so bad anyway,” She said, her attention returning to the path Layla trekked along, her chocolate curls glistening in the sunset, her lithe figure just close enough to see where she followed her tablet’s directions, “Marc has been a big help, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see me again after this. I can’t imagine he likes me very much,”

“Who wouldn’t like you?” Steven asked, as if it were the most obvious question out there. He felt Marc writhe with a flick of sorrow inside the body, the feeling of being on the outside still unusual to him. “I think he likes you just fine.”

She shook her head with a doubtful smile, “If you say so, Steven,”

“No, honestly!” He pushed, and she only snickered more as he pulled her closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I mean don’t tell him this, but I think he likes you more than he even likes me,”

“Me?” She giggled, entertaining the cheeky look in his eyes with another nudge to his shoulder, “Why? All I’ve done is annoy him since the day I saw him in my room and thought he was you,”

“Well, you’re my best friend for one,” Her cheeks heated at that, “And you’re the kindest person to ever walk the planet. And you’re honest, most honest person I know,”

Her smile dampened, not that he seemed to notice as he was lost in a dizzy world of his own, his thumb stroking the back of her hand gently. Honest. That’s what he valued about her. That she was honest.

She felt the life suck out of her stomache.

“Steven-” She started, her chest sunken. She was sure she could feel every breath rattling around the empty chamber, grabbing her throat.

Liar. They whispered. Liar, liar, liar.

“No, I know you’re going to go all shy, but you are, you’re the only one who doesn’t hide stuff from me like I’m a child, like Marc, all he does is keep things from me,” It was torture. Actual torture. It was as though he was bringing the knife down onto her chest with every sweet word, words that he meant to soothe and warm, words that tore and mutilated her. “You would never do that, now would you?”

It took her a moment to realise he asked a question, took a moment for her to snap out of the wallowing guilt that threatened to drag her under.

She needed to tell him. Needed to have it out with him, tell him what a disgusting, used up mess she was, tell him what she had done to Frank, tell him what she had let happen to Grace. He would be horrified, he would hate her.

She needed to tell him.

But instead she said;

“Never, Steven,”

They continued through the crevice in the land until they came out the otherside, onto a wide sandy ledge, Layla already scouting out across the remaining land.

“There they are,” She called over her shoulder as Dove and Steven caught up, the former much quieter than she had been initially, “Let’s keep moving. Looks like they’re already inside. We’ll need to find another way to beat them to Ammit.”

“After you, love,” Steven said with a besotted smile, holding a hand out for Dove to follow, “Promise I’ll save you if you fall,”

She smiled at him kindly, the ache in her chest weakening as she focused on the task at hand. He would understand. He would understand her reasoning for lying, he had to understand-

She stepped on in silence, carefully following Layla’s bootprints down the steep decline, the sharp rock edges scrutinising her every footstep. It wasn’t for another thirty minutes until they stepped foot on even ground, nearing the deserted campsite, fires reduced to a pile of small embers, not a soul in sight.

That is, until the trio talked to the centre of the camp, all three of them on high alert for any of Harrow’s men lingering for intruders.

Dove had barely seen the taupe four legged creature behind her until it bleated in her ear with a low grunt.

She squealed, stumbling back into Steven’s awaiting arms that wrapped around her shaken figure, her eyes wide as she turned to see two large onyx eyes blinking down at her through inch long lashes, munching happily on some hay.

A camel.

She felt her face warm as she heard the other two begin to snicker at her skittishness, Steven’s chest rumbling behind her with laughter. He stroked her hair softly, “Told you I’d save you,”

“S-sorry,” She muttered, releasing herself from him with a sheepish grin. Her hand came up to the camel’s snout to give it a short rub, the peach fuzz tickling her palm.

“You’d be scared of your own shadow following you,” Layla teased in probably the nicest tone she’d used all day. It seemed a brisk walk where you could curse out your ex all you wanted did the world wonders.

“You try having a god of violence following you, see how comfortable you are with bastards sneaking up on you,” Dove retorted, using the tips of her nails to scratch behind the camel’s ear, his lashes batting sweetly down at her.

Layla set off further into the camp, now it was clear they were the only ones there, urging them towards where an old mine shaft entrance seemed to open up into the middle of another mountain crest, undoubtedly where Harrow’s men had entered.

“Let’s check for supplies,” The older woman suggested, tightening the strap of her backpack with a small squint, the last of the Egyptian sun beating down on them.

Dove nodded, heading off towards one of the nearest tents, seeing a handful of tools resting against crates, small army grade beds set up, raised off the floor. She dug around the few crates, to find the odd bit of clothing, jackets she didn’t need, a torch she flicked on only to find it had run out of battery.

She snagged a few bits of mountaineering rope, tucking it into her satchel Layla had given her from the truck, a pickaxe she held and quickly saw how impractical it was to carry around.

The knife stared at her from on top of the bed. She should pick it up, she knew it was smart to defend themselves, if not for her then for Layla. Or for Steven. Sure, she would be fine, but they were human.

Her hand shook as she held the leather handle, the blade a good eight inches and covered with a rusty brown liquid she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She wasn’t there anymore, she repeated to herself in a mantra, she wasn’t with him anymore. He was gone, he could only haunt her now. She did what she needed to-

Dove was quick to wipe the blood off the metal onto one of the nearby jackets, stopping only when she could see her dishevelled appearance staring back at her in the shine of the blade. Chucking it into the backpack with the rest of her find, she stepped out the tent, heading towards the big canopy she’d seen Steven head towards.

Their conversation from earlier still gnawed at her gut, twisting and writhing inside her like a rot that ate at her. She needed to tell him. He would despise her, he would find her sickening to so much as look at, but she needed to. He deserved the honestly he thought he found in her.

Once they’d stopped Ammit she would tell him. She would hate herself every second until that moment, hate herself every second after too. She would be alone again, she understood. But even if her sweet, sweet Steven forgave her and wanted anything to do with her, there was not a chance in any hell that Marc would allow her around him. He might even turn her in himself, he’ll probably regret saving her life after all. He might even carry out some of Khonshu’s vengeance, might just finish her off, make her pay for lying to Steven, lying to him, liar, liar, liar-

“I know I’m not alone-” There was shouting. But it wasn’t that of Harrow’s men, it wasn’t angered, it wasn’t an order. It was Steven. It was raw, wounded. “I know I’m bloody not alone. I’ve got Layla, and I’ve got Dove. She’s got my back more than you ever have, Marc,”

This was wrong. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping, especially when Steven and Marc seemed to be at odds with one another, it seemed intimate, like watching family fight. But Steven sounded upset, god she hated that sound, he sounded like a dog backed into a corner, unsure, lashing out.

There was no verbal response as she stepped closer, one hand on the drape that acted as a door, preparing to call for him, ask him to tell her everything so she could just fix it for him.

“I appreciate your concern, mate, I really do-” Steven continued, a bite to his words she rarely heard, a snappy tone worlds away from the sweetness he addressed her with. This was violating his privacy, this was wrong, she needed to go in, needed to help him- “So what if I do? You and Layla are divorced, and I definitely didn’t sign any papers or say any vows. The way I see it, I love her and even if theres the smallest chance Dove feels the same way about me, I don’t want you being a grumpy git ruining it for me-”

Her eyes widened. I love her. He loved her? Her heart pounded behind her chest, far harder than anytime it had from fear, from anger, from guilt even. It consumed her lungs, swelling with a warmth that numbed her legs, her hand drawing back the flap to enter the tent.

She had to see him. Had to hear him say it for real.

He cut himself off hearing her enter the tent, his breath catching in his throat. He prayed for a second it was Layla, it would be so much less humiliating, less to explain if it were, though he was sure he was about as flushed as a school boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he spun on his heel to see her gobsmacked face staring back at him.

“D-Dove?” He spluttered, nearly knocking himself on his arse as he stepped back, practically falling away from her, the very sight of her burning him, “W-we were talking- just talk about-”

“Say it again,” She said quietly, yet it spun the room into a stifling silence of its own.

Steven breathed heavily, gasping for a breath that seemed to come too late as he felt his brow begin to sweat, his ribs rattling with a difficult sigh.

“I don’t-don’t know what-what you’re…” He hadn’t even the heart to finish his sentence as she stepped fully into the tent, the drape slipping over her shoulder fluidly, her eyes wild, desperate.

“Say it again, Steven,” She begged, and he could hear her laboured breaths about as hard for her as it was for him.

He gulped, his mouth becoming as dry as it was outside of this little bubble they were stuck in, bringing the cuff of his jumper up to swipe away the sweat that bunched up at his temple.

“Well, the thing is,” He started shakily. He had to tell her, rip the plaster off. He could only hope she would ever, could ever feel the same, even if he was enamoured with her and she just wanted him to entertain herself for a while, he could die happy. Even if she realised he really was the weirdo everyone at work avoided like the plague, he would live forever grateful to have been given a chance. He had to tell her, her eyes were too big, too warm to say no to, “See, the thing, love, is I think- no, I-I know, I-” He continued, his arms and legs numb with the shock of seeing her here, shock of what he was confessing after so long, “I love you,”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her mouth gaping open, showing off her teeth that blew a held breath past them, her chest rising and falling irregularly as they settled under the weight of his words.

“You don’t need to say anything- or do anything-” He carried on after she stared at him with a gobsmacked expression and he began to fear the worst, “or even feel the same-” He felt like an idiot, felt like his face, chest, body was on fire, “If you want to stay friends, that’s alright with m-”

It only took her two full strides before she had grabbed his face with a fervour she had only ever dreamt about and taken his lips onto her own, silencing his bumbling words hotly.

Her body melted against his, pressing up against every crevice as he gasped into her mouth, hands squeezing into nervous fists at his sides before they seemed to wake up and grab her hips, feeling the plush fat underneath her shirt.

He made a sound, somewhere between shock and joy, something that slipped into a whine as her fingers wove through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Wait-” He gasped in the small moment they broke apart, his eyes fluttering open to see her face more at peace, more blissed than he’d ever seen, “Dove-”

“More.” She mewled, her face scrunching in desperation, brows pulling together as if in pain to be parted.

It took little to no thought on his part what came next after hearing her plea. Steven had never been one to take control, never thought he would be kissing a woman with so much heat, let alone her.

He tugged her closer, harder than before, so sudden she all but fell into him where he was waiting with dry lips that pressed against hers so hard she could feel his teeth behind them. His hands wrapped around her waist, clawing at the bottom of her spine, fingertips pressing into her skin as if worried he’d feel her slip through them like sand.

She breathed heavier into his mouth, whining like a dog for affection, her fingers weaving further into his chocolate curls and squeezing.

He gave an open mouthed bleat of surprise as she bit down on his lip, his own hand migrating up, up under her shirt, following her bare spine, feeling every groove, every mole, every millimetre of skin with a fire that burned her with feverish tingles. He seemed to freeze when he got to her bra, as if to forget such things existed, because he really did forget where and who and what they were wearing, his mind entirely unravelled, shedding all thoughts other than her, her, her.

He didn’t care that her shirt rode up as his arm pushed on, blunt nails pawing at her skin, until they reached the base of her neck, further until he grabbed at the roots of her own hair. He didn’t care for the surprise in her yelp as he flipped the two of them around, pressing her against the post in the centre of the tent, the thick wood scratching at her back, his hand protecting her head as he kissed even harder.

“Steven-” Marc’s voice pulled him out of his paradise. He couldn’t believe he was kissing her, that she was letting him kiss her. He couldn’t believe the way she grabbed at him just as tight, as if she felt the same frenzied need for his body on hers that he did, as only shown by the way she tried to pull him back when he disconnected their lips, “Steven, stop it. Steven-”

“Steven-” She whined, and if there was any chance of him listening to the American man screaming at him from the mirror, the same mirror he had been in a heated row with when she had first entered, that flew out of the window the moment he heard her soft voice in his ear.

He was so sure he had never wanted anything so badly in his life.

“Steven, stop it. This isn’t safe.” Marc tried to command again, his voice a venomous hiss, thick with something sad, only Steven didn’t listen.

Instead, his lips migrated to the bottom of her lips, catching the corner of them, his hand in her hair tugging tighter as she whispered his name again, the laboured breaths rattling against her chest that pressed impossibly closer to him. His hand reached up past her head, ripping the mirror from the nail on the wooden beam, tossing it far enough away he barely heard the clink of the glass breaking into three pieces.

“What was that for?” She whispered, her breath catching when he moved further down her face, a nip to her jaw, before he reached the soft, velvety skin of her neck, the air sucking out of her at the point of contact.

“Marc talks too much,” Was all he said, before he dove into kissing her pulse point, the beat jackhammering against her plush skin, vibrating on his lips as he settled back into kissing the very soul out of her.

She gasped a laugh, right hand remaining in the thicket of his hair as the other detached to reach for the toned fat of his hip bone, the sensation making him groan, flinching as her fingers glided under his own shirt.

He was a man starved, kissing harder and harder with every whimper of approval he received, a note to not stop whatever it was he was doing if it meant she would keep sounding so heavenly.

He tensed as her hand moved over his stomach, feeling over the wear and tear scars he had always wondered how he got. Ofcourse, being who he was now, he knew they were from Marc running all over the world, risking his skin for a moon god they both despised, the same skin she stroked softly where they raised in ugly white lines from his stomach.

He wanted to say something clever, say something to make her laugh, maybe about how Marc wasn’t as good a fighter as he seemed, but his every brain cells vanished when her fingertip so much as traced the hem of his trousers, teasing him with a slight tug at the material.

He felt the cotton brush against where his boner crushed against his soft tummy, harder and more vulnerable than he had ever felt it. The months spent pining after this woman did him no favours, granted him no justice as he melted at the knees under her touch. He felt her smile, not cockily nor with any semblance of lust, just happy. Happy to have him so close, feel him pouring over her with an affection she never deserved.

Feeling no signs of rejection, she tugged at his hemline again, her fingers looping under his boxers this time, the sensation of the warm dusk air flooding his underwear and hitting his sensitive tip like a freight train, the feeling enough to rip him from kissing at her throat with a gasp, his forehead falling down to rest on her collarbone, eyes squeezed together in a near pained mewl.

“Love-” He murmured, hand still grabbing at the back of her locks, pulling tighter when she tugged his clothes again, exposing him for the briefest of seconds to the thick air they’d found themselves in, “You make it so hard to think when you do that,”

“Do what?” She asked, the innocence in her tone snuffed out by the lust twinkling in her eye as she looked to him, gaze bleary, face puffing out from the thrill of it all, her chest rising between the two of them, taking in enough air to sustain a bird mid-flight.

He smiled back at her, a look of adoration and pure, unbloodied happiness smothering his face as he leaned in to kiss her lips a few more times, each one a little braver than the last as he nibbled at her lips, albeit a little too excited. But she didn’t care, it only made her smile wider.

“I want you so badly,” He said, the tips of their noses meeting as his forehead pressed against hers, sharing each other's breaths as her eyes shut in a dizzy sweet glow.

“Have me,” She replied without a beat of hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips again, “I was always yours to have,”

If he thought he couldn’t get harder, he was sorely mistaken.

His stomach flurried with what felt like a sea of warmth that spread down to his legs, numbing his body as it crawled over his olive skin. He wanted to devour her with a hunger he had never known, wanted to commit every inch of skin to memory, wanted to kiss her until they both lost breath and then kiss her some more, even if his lips turned blue and his brain shut off from deprivation, because he was already feeling giddy from the taste of her alone.

“Really?” Steven asked, his nut brown eyes fat with puppy love, the hearts practically swirling in his gaze like a comic book, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Pictured a bed and candles and chocolates, the whole shebang,”

She giggled at his Steven-like ways that hadn’t faded away even when his lust was as clear as the boner that poked at her leg.

“The whole shebang?” She echoed with an amused smile, but the desire for more had yet to die out, “That sounds lovely, Steven, but there’s just one problem.”

“Which is?” He asked, the frown that flashed over his face smoothing out when he felt her kiss him again, a sharper bite to his lip than before, a harsher tug at his boxers to where she stood patiently waiting, her touch edging even closer to where he wanted her most.

“I want you now.” She whispered, trailing off into a whine, “Please,”

He stared at her with a slack jaw, only spurring her to kiss along the bone with a sweetness soft enough to rot teeth.

Pulling her hair back firm enough to move her away, not hard enough to hurt, he forced her back into his line of sight again, his eyes darker than she would have thought possible for a sweetheart like him.

“You ask me like that ever again and I’ll give you anything,”

A breathy laugh bled into a gasp as his hand released her head, moving down to her flowy trousers, the elastic waist giving in almost too easily as his large, warm hand skirted across the skin of her stomach, goosebumps chasing after the tips of his fingers as they brushed gently over her skin too quickly.

He wanted to kiss every spot of the velvety plushness he could get to, but he could save that for another day, instead he knew exactly where he wanted the most.

“Are you sure-”

“Please,” She whined, his fingers that lingered at her bare hipbone, freezing for a moment before they edged towards the lacey hem of her underwear.

The two of them gasped as his shaking hands went further, crossed the line in the sand, went further down. Steven was sure the air was sucked entirely from his lungs when he brushed over soft, neat hair, as if the feeling of it woke him up from whatever trance he was in.

“Oh my god,” He whispered against her cheek, nose pressed against her temple as she mewled under his palm, melting into where his other hand held her waist, “Oh god-”

He dared himself to go further, though he was sure his heart was in his throat. He could stake his life on waking up in his bed any second now, ankle tied up, a raging boner against his sleep shorts. This was too much for his poor, tender pulse, the sound of the thumps ringing loud as her voice in his ears.

Shaky hands ventured down, until they reached her waiting entrance, already soaked from where his kisses had weakened her insides, melting her into putty under his saccharine lips.

Fearing she would moan all the louder, her hands returned to his shoulder blade, looping under his arm that was busy trailing light touches over where her cunt waited patiently for more of him. She pulled his face back to hers, kissing him hard where she could groan comfortably, the sheer thrill and terror congealing in her gut if they were found in this position. It made her want him more, because no one had ever wanted her, her, so much as to risk their own life.

She felt herself squeak into his searing lips, a drawn out kiss that branded her for all to see, all to know that she was entirely his, when his index fingers curled up, exploring, mapping out what got the best reaction.

“You’re so-” He tried to say. Wet. But she had pulled him back for more the moment he tried to pull away, groaning as his digits slipped between her sex effortlessly.

It was then that he braved another finger, pushing just that bit further into her, still relatively unsure about what he was doing.

“You can go harder,” She seemed to sense his hesitation, but then why wouldn’t she. She knew him sometimes better than he knew himself. Read the exhilaration that faltered on his face as if as easy as flipping a page in a book, “You won’t hurt me,”

Steven nodded, the confirmation exactly what he needed to push his fingers into her further, eyes wild with lust as he watched her face contort in pleasure, her cushion walls squeezing his fingers tightly as he went deeper.

“Like that?” He said, the bite of her lip taking his attention wholly. He tried to hide the glee, the smugness in his tone as he said it, but when he pulled them out only to enter her again and she gave a mewl under her breath, his face was entirely cheshire cat.

“Yes,” She said, and he could have sworn it was something out of a dirty movie. Her face was something out of this world as he kept up with his movements, his mouth watering as her eyes flicked open to stare up at him, entirely at his mercy.

His breath was swept from him for the fourth time that day.

The thousands of years of faces passing this early, the sculptures and paintings even the greatest of hands had crafted, and yet it was his rough, tired digits that created the pinnacle of them all.

Feeling sure of himself with how his ministrations so far had been received, he pulled his fingers from her cunt, trailing back up gently to where he knew her clit would be. He fumbled for a moment, the spur of the moment confidence he’d found dwindling as he realised he was still as inexperienced as he had been the day before, that although he knew women’s anatomy, he had never actually touched a woman like he was now.

Again feeling him waver beneath her, his chocolate eyes dopey and pleading for help from anyone listening, she grabbed hold of his wrist and moved him to where she needed.

“Here, Steven,” She whispered, jolting into his chest when his warm digits met her sensitive nerves. She gave him a soft, loving smile and kissed his lips gently, not pitying but simply adoring his Steven-ness that she felt herself bathing in, felt his entire being shooing away every dark speck of dust that crowded her head too often these days.

“Here?” He asked, circling the small bundle gently, her head dropping to his shoulder with a knee weakened neediness. She drew a sharp breath, the bliss wiped from her face and met with a hot ecstasy, raw and soul sucking as he continued to kiss her cheek where her face buried into his neck more.

“There,” She moaned again, her fingers pulling harder at his hair, clawing at his back like an animal begging for mercy, “Fuck, Steven,”

It was muffled into his jacket, and yet the sound of his name said like that only had him pulling her closer, practically keeping her standing as her legs went to jelly, and he rubbed over her nerves faster, her arms shaking as she yanked at his clothes, his hair, anything she could hold onto.

“I love you so much,” He confessed into her hair; he just needed to say it again. If this, all of this, even without what they were doing, even if it meant he could hold her in his arms tight enough to hear her hummingbird heart against his for the rest of existence, he would die happy.

“I love you-I love you so much,” She returned in a needy whine that made him growl and move his fingers all the more faster. He pressed into her more, his cock raging against his seams to be inside her, to have her as much as she’d asked for, her body pressing harshly against the wooden post behind her as his legs straddled her thigh that shook weakly.

He was everywhere. His voice was in her ear, his chest was in her face, his scent was in her nose, his fingers were inside her, his hand tugged her even closer where it spread widely across her spine.

She felt it pooling in her stomach before she could put a name to it, her squeals and pants getting lost in his neck as he moaned with her, and she realised his own sex was pressing angrily against her, a problem that only made her cry out more, grab at him harder.

“Steven-I’m gonna-” She gasped, pressing her forehead to his jaw, “I’m gonna-”

If Steven wanted to say something, it seemed lost to his glazed eyes that watched her like a man on death row, took note of every facial feature as if he’d ever be able to forget how she looked when she came.

She felt the heat in her stomach fizzing up, felt the whole of her pelvis knotting together, her legs jittering as they fought to hold her up, Steven’s body taking the brunt of it as she all but fell into him, dragging his lips onto hers in a harsh, toothy kiss, her moans spilling onto his tongue, his fingers never halting or slowing in their circles.

“Fuck-” She cursed, the last of her pleasure seizing her body, ebbing and flowing away from her until the touch on her clit became too much and she grabbed his wrist desperately and pulled him away, “Steven,”

Fearing he had done it incorrectly, he pulled away as if burned, his free hand immediately freeing her waist to cup her cheek, eyes searching her face for signs of disappointment.

“Was that not it? Was that not right?” He whispered, face heating in regret, only to be met with a breathless smirk before she pulled him back towards her with a quick yank of his sweater.

She kissed him much sweeter this time, a worn out giggle weaving in between their lips, pulling away with dazed eyes that stared at him as if he’d handed her the entire universe in one go.

“That was perfect, Steven,” She said, pecking him again when he seemed unconvinced, “I’ve never been so happy as I am right now, here with you,”

“Neither have I,” He said, his gaze entirely dopey with love as he watched her breaths even out, lips twitching into a sweet smile as she stared back at him.

He wasn’t lying. He’d give her anything if she asked for it.

She seemed to snap out of their honey glazed daze, fingers fiddling with the somewhat softening pull at his trousers, her nail that had surprisingly not been mauled by her stress for a week or so, trailing over where his sensitive tip pressed at his leg, the sensation drawing in a breath from his chest once more.

“Wait,” He started, holding her wrist gently, pulling her hand up to his mouth where he gave her palm a gently kiss, “I want to just be here with you, we don’t have to do that,”

She smiled, though her eyes seemed incredulous that he would deny such an offer. She couldn’t say she was entirely surprised however, Steven had this way of proving her wrong about everything she worried he would be, had this way of making her feel ridiculous for ever expecting anything but softness from him.

“Don’t you want a turn?” She asked quietly, his nose brushing against hers gently as he shook his head, “I just want to make you happy,”

He pulled away then at those words, smiling at her disbelievingly, “If you think that didn’t make me happy, then you’re a very, very silly girl who needs convincing, I guess,”

Without giving her much room to reply, he grabbed her in for another searing kiss, before pressing small pecks all over her mouth sweetly.

“Don’t worry,” He said with a smirk and a mischievous twinkle in his otherwise soft brown eyes, “I’m more than happy to convince you over and over and over again once we get home,”

Her cheeks ached from the smile that grew at the thought of home, home for the two of them.

There was no place like home.

Taglists:

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant smut #Marc Spector smut #not safe for minors

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takenbypeter · 3 months ago

Text

Anniversary Gift

Steven Grant x reader

Words: 630

A/N: Second part to mooniversary guys!!! Last part is coming out tonight.

“Close your eyes,” you said and Steven did as told. He heard some rustling coming from where you sat across the table and then a sound of something being placed in front of him.

“Okay, open them,” again he did as instructed and his eyes immediately fell to the book that was on the table before him.

Steven didn’t even have to take the ribbon off the cover to know exactly what book this was, at the mere sight of it his eyes widened.

This wasn’t just any book, no, it was a specific book that he mentioned months ago. One that he’s wanted for a while but never had. It held various information about all known types of museums around the world.

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Taking the ribbon off and opening the object he smelt that new book smell that wafted up from the material while he skimmed through the pages.

“This is so thoughtful, I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Of course I did,” you said, grinning wide from the successful gift. Steven scanned through some of the pages before his excited face began to deflate and the book fell in his lap.

“Oh now I feel awful.”

That was not the reaction you wanted to hear. “No. What happened?”

“My gift isn’t nearly as thoughtful as yours.”

You smiled again. Steven was always thoughtful in everything he did.

“Oh please, I doubt that. Let me see it.”

He grimaced at your words and set his new book down before reaching behind the chair that he sat on.

Pulling a gift bag with colorful paper out, he set it on the diner table.

“Just, be gentle with my feelings please. And remember I can always get you another gift, one that you actually like.”

With a smile still present, a raised brow was added to your expression as you grabbed the bag, surely it wasn’t that bad.

Feeling a heavy fabric you pulled it out and unfolded it. Once unraveled it was revealed to be a crew neck sweatshirt, with the word Grant in capitals across the front.

Once you stared at it, Steven again reached behind himself to pull out the exact same sweatshirt from but his had your last name on it.

“They’re couple shirts. You wear my name and I wear yours.”

You were silent holding your Grant sweatshirt up and taking it all in.

Steven, deducing how much worse his whole idea was from just your reaction wasn’t hesitant to add, “I know it’s terrible. Don’t fret, I will absolutely get you something better.”

He reached out to grab his gift back but you pulled it away, holding it close to your heart. “Are you kidding me? I love it.”

“Really?” Steven asked his voice lifting as a weight was practically lifted from his shoulders. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I think it’s really cute, in fact I’ll be right back.”

You left him sitting curious at the table and a few minutes later you returned wearing the shirt over your date clothes.

“Oh don’t do that,” he said, his grimace returning.

“What? You don’t think it looks good?”

He sat up in his chair, “no, you are definitely pulling it off. You can pull anything off. But don’t just wear it for me.”

“I’m not. I’m wearing it for me. Plus It lets everyone in here know that I’m all yours.”

Finally his grimaced expression relented and gets replaced with a blank look. Then he grabs his own sweater and puts it on over his dress shirt.

“And I’m all yours.”

You smiled back at him.

“Are you sure though, you don’t need anything else?”

“Steven this,” you wrapped your arms around the sweater that was over your body, “is all I want.”

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the-offside-rule · 9 months ago

Text

S.G, M.S, J.L (Moonknight) - The Three of You & Me

Requested: gotta love the moonknight ppl

Warnings: not really no

Steven Grant fumbled with his keys at the door of the flat, the heavy thunk of the lock finally giving way as the door creaked open. His face showed a mixture of exhaustion and that unmistakable, endearing Steven charm; hair a bit tousled and his shirt wrinkled from a long day at the museum. He stepped inside with a weary sigh, tossing his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes, not caring where they landed. “Ridiculously tired doesn’t even cover it.” He muttered as he spotted his girlfriend, Y/n, sat on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs. He trudged over and collapsed next to her with a gentle thud, head immediately falling onto her lap. Y/n chuckled, her fingers tussling through his hair as his eyes shuttered shut, his body relaxing into the comfort of her presence.

“Love, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” Steven groaned, his voice tired yet animated as he began to recount the day’s events. His hand traced absentminded patterns on her arm, seeking comfort as much as he was giving it. “So, yeah, Donna’s been on me all day. She goes, ‘Steven, I need you to catalog all these artifacts before lunch,’ right? And I’m thinking, that’s impossible. She’s giving me-" He paused dramatically, lifting his head slightly to make his point. "Mummified cats! Actual ancient felines, Y/n. Who just tosses that at someone before lunch?” He shook his head in disbelief before lowering it back against her shoulder. “And the tourists, don’t get me started. Asking me questions like I run the whole museum. I’ve had to tell people ‘I'm not a bloody tour guide’ at least six times today, because Donna like, freaks out when I go about 'nattering' on about Egypt.”

Y/n smiled softly, letting him rant, knowing he needed this space to unwind. She ran her fingers through his hair as he spoke, his voice growing softer with each complaint, the day clearly catching up with him. His eyelids drooped, his words becoming slower and less coherent. “I don’t know how you put up with me.” He mumbled sleepily, already half-asleep in her arms. She kissed the top of his head gently. “Because I love you, Steven.” He muttered something unintelligible, trailing off as sleep finally claimed him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing becoming slow and steady.

But after a minute, Y/n felt the subtle shift she had come to recognize. Steven’s body tensed slightly, his muscles twitching in a way that was different from the usual sleep movements. His breathing changed, becoming deeper, more controlled. When his eyes fluttered open again, they no longer carried the soft, dreamy expression she knew from Steven.

Marc Spector was awake now.

Y/n smiled knowingly as his gaze met hers, his expression focused and alert. Marc gave her a small, almost apologetic smile as he stretched, cracking his neck with a quiet sigh. “Hello, Marc.” She greeted him softly. Marc’s lips tugged into a brief smile. “Hey.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Steven was exhausted.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell.” Y/n said with a chuckle, watching him stand up from the couch and head to the kitchen. “You hungry?” Marc asked, already rummaging through the fridge, pulling out ingredients without much thought. “I can make something.”

“Sure, I could eat.” She replied, leaning back into the couch, content to watch him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone used to taking over when needed. In a matter of minutes, Marc had whipped up a plate of grilled cheese. He sighed as he plopped down beside her, handing her the plate and grabbing the control for the TV. "I expected some alfredo or something." Y/n joked. "You said you were starved, pasta takes too long to make." Marc replied, the quiet hum of the television filling the space. "How righteous. You sure it's not because you can't cook?" He scoffed. "Steven can't cook, I made our food before you came along." He said, putting the control down and grabbing a half.

After dinner, Marc flipped through the channels yet again, landing on something mindless, and sat back down, pulling Y/n close as they watched TV. But even Marc couldn’t stave off sleep forever. He yawned, stretching as he set the remote down and leaned back into the couch. “Guess it’s my turn to knock out.” He murmured, his voice rough with fatigue. Y/n smiled, brushing her hand through his hair. “Goodnight, Marc.” He mumbled something in response, already slipping into sleep. But it didn’t last long before that familiar shift happened again—his body changing, his posture becoming more relaxed yet somehow more confident. When his eyes opened this time, they held a sharp, mischievous gleam.

Jake Lockley was awake.

Y/n couldn’t help but smirk at the sudden change in his demeanor. “Buenos días, Jake.” she said with a teasing smile, despite the fact that it was still very much night-time. “Buenos días.” Jake replied with a chuckle, heading straight for the coffee machine. He moved with a smooth, confident ease that was completely distinct from either Steven or Marc. “Coffee? At this hour?” Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow as he poured himself a cup, the rich aroma filling the room. “I’ve got a job to do.” Jake said, taking a sip and leaning casually against the counter, his dark eyes focused on her. "Cab driving or cab driving." He chuckled. “Don't worry about it, cariño. Won’t be long.” He said finishing the cup of coffee and placing it in the sink. "Marc will clean this later, right?" She chuckled. "He won't like it but probably." He nodded along, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "Vale, hasta luego, cariño." He was about to reach for the door handle when he felt a delicate hand on his arm. “Be careful, okay?” Jake’s grin softened just a bit, his rough exterior giving way as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her temple. “Siempre tengo cuidado. No te preocupes por esa carita bonita.” He murmured, his voice low and full of quiet reassurance. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, watching as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He gave her one last glance, his expression full of unspoken promises, before slipping out into the night. The flat felt a little quieter with him gone, but Y/n knew better than to worry. Jake always came back, and she’d be waiting for him.

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 7 months ago

Text

Moon boys as Vampires

The boys know living with them is unique enough and them being vampires now was another level and a bit unusual if you think about them having full on mood changes depending on each phase of the moon.

Although they have certain needs now, they refuse of being the cliche vampire you would normally see in movies. Apart from the need for blood and cold skin, mind you.

Whenever they see a spot for a vampire movie or show, the boys can't help but make remarks about it or fun.

How Steven just laughs and makes fun of the vampire being shown.

“If they call that thing a vampire then we should be called frickin’ Dracula...”

How Marc just cringes whenever he sees the vampire practically glitter and immediately seduces like all woman around him.

“Uh, what kind of freaking soft porn is that? Ugh...”

How Jake just makes disgusting faces and cusses in Spanish when the vampire's skin starts to evapurate as soon as he gets exposed to the sun.

“Qué carajo es este espectáculo de mierda? Qué clase de coño es ese? La piel se quema con el sol, pff!”

(What the fuck is this shitshow even? What kind of pussy is that? Skin burns in the sun, pff!!)

The boys are still the same, they just have a hunger for blood and their senses are heightened.

For example you can try as hard as you want, they always know if your body is acting up or your emotions going wild. You can't fool them.

Moon phases affect them positively and negatively if you will, and since they most probably are still serving Khonshu, the cheeky god can manipulate the moon into different phases, resulting in the other gods just yapping at him, so he gets away with it too.

On full moon, Marc Steven and Jake have especially heightened senses and their emotions and characteristics are stronger too.

Steven gets even more clingy and affectionate.

Marc gets even more possessive and horny.(good luck with that btw... honestly)

Jake gets even more in the mood to hunt.

Whenever a Blue moon happens (or if Khonshu manipulates it to get the boys to chill), they are so calm and sweet that it almost makes you forget they are vampires. Even their hunger seems to be lower during that time.

Steven is sugarcoated anyway, but during blue moon he is candilized in the sweetest way possible.

Marc is just utterly chill and sweet, his sweet side is practically shining out of him.

Jake just loves being near you every second he can, he is almost like a cat wanting nothing more than to lounge around you.

But with a blue moon, comes also a red moon, or Eclipse. During this time their vampire demeanors shine through the roof.

Their eyes are practically glowing red if they get hungry. Not even Steven is sweet during this phase.

Their need for blood is tripled up, their... lets say feral sides are more prominent and their sex drive is shooting up real fast.

What's also through the roof is their possessive and jealous nature during a red moon. If any of them catch you staring at someone even for a second longer, they'd assume you find that person attractive and want to put you back in your place once you're alone.

What's common for them to do with you during red moon is fucking you while drinking only so much that all it would take is one more single drop until you pass out from bloodloss.

They are simply feral during an Eclipse.

But during normal days, they act like they usual do.

Steven is the one who doesn't like the feeding because he always thinks they're hurting you with their fangs.

Marc does actually have some contacts willing to be donors for them so they won't have to feed on you if you don't want that. Though, if you're okay with it, he is on board.

Jake actually prefers others too, but he will try to make you comfortable enough before he feeds. If they only have you for the time being, he doesn't shy away to feed on you.

All three of them despise animal blood, especially Marc and Jake. Steven usually just downs it immediately before he regrets it instantly and makes faces.

They do have cold skin, which may be good in warm seasons but not the cold ones. They all hate the cold skin too but when you cuddle up with them anyway, they feel warm inside.

The boys also hate the Twilight movies because they hate the portrayal of the vampires in them. Just because they have the abilities doesn't mean they have to use them in order to make people fall for them. That's not how they met you.

They for some reason do like Dracula though, because they think he's just cool.

Sometimes the boys can't help but get jealous, especially if thanks to their enhanced smelling, they smell the scent of another person on you. They get especially jealous if it's another guy.

“Love is that the smell of what I think it is?” Steven would ask if his face is buried in your neck after you came home.

“Mi amor, were you with a man?” Jake would say the moment his nose catches the smell.

“You know we can smell you were with guys, right sweetheart?” Marc would remark after his face was close to your neck.

Their prefered spot on where they want to feed is also different.

Steven mostly uses your wrist for a quick feeding but won't say no to your snacky looking neck. (I mean, can you resist his soft, tiny bit worry filled brown eyes looking at you while your blood dribbles down his chin?)

Marc prefers your neck more but has no problem with your wrist as long as he gets his snack. Though if he's feral he's attacking your neck...

Jake only drinks from your neck since he's into that tasty vein of yours and won't take your poor amount of veins in your wrist...

Speaking of biting... they all are into love bites and hickeys, especially your neck. They would even try to convince you not wearing any scarf so their marks would be visible. Gets them going.

The boys also have their prefered spots for love bitings. Jake loves your neck and shoulders, Marc loves your chest area, stomach and sometimes your waist, Steven loves your thighs and everything between. But they all love each part of your body equally.

It's obvious the boys can be assholes if they want to, especially Marc and Jake.

The most asshole-thing even Steven does is just sneak up on you from behind to scare you. You never even expect him until it's too late with his cat-like steps.

What Marc and Jake do is a bit more asshole-like, like staring you down like some delicious snack, teasing you about it and flashing cheshire cat rivaling grins to flash their fully extended fangs at you. Some habits die hard even after death.

The most asshole thing they can do though is asking Khonshu to manipulate the moon phase to their liking so they can be all-scary-vampire-like.

But they can be total sweethearts too. Their charming sides come out even more often, so they like taking you out on fancy and expensive restaurants followed by Jake driving you around until you fall asleep. Hand kissings included.

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

Tags:

@nekoyin @iolaussharpe-24 @steven-grants-world @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty

@tokkiwrites @mochiitoby @basicalyrandom @buckyssugarchick @alexxavicry

@silvernight-m @faretheeoscar @rosegnome @monowritestoomuch @ghoulzsstuff

@klillaah @heavydirtysoulsblog @appeltaartglitter

#moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #vampire steven grant #vampire jake lockley #vampire marc spector #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #moonknight imagine

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mgparker · 1 year ago

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Come Back to Me

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: Mark leaves on a mission for Khonshu while you deal with a confrontation of your own. Unfortunately, this particular foe is aware of your specific skill set and uses your weakest spot to deliver a fatal wound. Laying there defenseless and abandoned, your final desire is to speak to the love of your life one last time.

warnings: ANGSTTTT!! (the fav), character backstory, flashbacks, character death, reader wound, sadness, despair etc etc, cliffhanger

masterlist!

“M-Mark?” Fuck. Fuck. Your voice was wobblier than you had expected.

“Baby?” You heard some shuffling. “What’s wrong?”

You pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Despite your assurances, he wouldn’t be fooled. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk.”

The pain was spreading from your side, crawling through your torso like deadly vines. It was nearly blinding. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you tried to steady your breathing.

This isn’t how you wanted to go. Whimpering in pain and regretting every decision that got you here.

No. What you wanted was to hear your lover’s voice one last time. The warm timbre of his essence. Your favorite sound in the entire world.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pressed. “Where are you?”

Your man was nothing if not stubborn. “Yes, baby. I’m okay—“ you really weren’t. “What—what did you do today?”

Marc sucked in air through his clenched teeth, gripping his phone with white knuckles. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m coming home for a few days… our leads haven’t gotten us anywhere and Khonshu believes we just need a comfortable place to think.”

You would’ve scoffed at that if your chest and throat weren’t on fire. Khonshu believes?

The big bird knew what Marc would be returning to. He knew you were lying in a pool of your own blood.

The thought sent a surge of panic through your body, even as the pain was beginning to overwhelm you. “No! Uh—um you— you’re already so close. W-what are you stuck on?”

Tears welled in your eyes, it felt like a blazing iron rod was being shoved into your chest and dragged up slowly until every organ could feel the flame.

It was silent on the other end for a heavy moment, before Marc’s deep voice hesitantly spoke your name. His tone lifted, suspended in question.

A shake courses through you, fear beginning to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The last thing you wanted was for him to panic… and now you’re beginning to panic as well.

You weren’t ready.

A sob broke through your lips before you could stop it. As if you even had the strength to.

“Marc,” you sobbed, turning your head to gaze at the phone beside you. As if it would give you one last glimpse at the love of your life.

His breathing picks up frantically. “Where are you? Tell me now.”

On his end, fabric is wrapping around his body at a faster rate than it ever had before. He could feel the strength of Khonshu enter him, the god’s presence filling the void.

The corners of your vision darkened and just when you thought you’d scream from the pain— it was gone. Miraculously, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Your heart dropped.

“I’m sorry,” a daze washed over you. There was nothing else to do but wait. A forlorn smile graced your paling face. “I’m so sorry, baby. There isn’t much time left.”

“What time?! Stop this shit, where are you? I can make it there as soon as you tell me.”

“There’s not enough time,” you pressed. You were coming to terms with the distant bright light that was supposed to be illuminating your vision.

You would’ve wished that that was what you were seeing as you drifted off, but one wish stood above all the others—

Your desire to be with Marc and Steven.

You barely notice the frantic yelling on the other end of the line before you’re cutting it off weakly.

“I—“ you go to clear your throat but the numbness had spread too far now. “I love you. Every part of you, baby. I just— I just wanted to hear your s—sweet voice one last t-time. Okay? I love you…”

The last word died on your tongue. And the darkness had taken over before you could hear Marc’s broken response.

A strangled yell left Marc’s lips. His stomach was knotted. The shadow of Khonshu appeared in his peripheral vision.

But Marc was rooted in his own grief. His lips were quivering, snot mixing with salty tears as he bared his teeth, shaking from the pure emotion of it all.

Why wasn’t he home? He had vowed to protect you, shield you from the horrors of the world— his world— but it wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t be there all the time, and you’d always reassured him that it’d be okay. That you didn’t feel like you constantly had to look over your shoulder, you didn’t want Marc or Steven to spend every second of their life protecting yours.

It’s his fault. God, the thought made him choke. Hands flying up to grasp at his throat as if he could stop it from tightening. It’s all his fault.

Maybe—maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, you’re alive.

He could still feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder. “Take me to her.”

It’s silent. The wind breezing past his ears, the serenity of the night sky brazenly mocking his wild panic.

“Now, Khonshu!” He spun around quickly, voice wavering in rage.

If it hadn’t been for the God’s power over him, Marc would’ve been with you. The only person who truly matters to him in this world.

By some beautiful twist of fate, Khonshu unexpectedly relents, nodding his giant head in the direction of a portal.

Marc couldn’t find it in himself to thank him, everything else had faded away until all he saw was your mangled body on the other side of it.

His feet took him across the rooftop at an immeasurable feet, practically flying over the distance, until his surroundings had changed completely.

“No,” he cried, dropping to his knees painfully. Shards of glass pierced his skin as if he weren’t already bleeding out with you. “Baby? Baby, wake up. Wake up!”

Your body was lifeless in his arms, and the embrace felt strange, nothing like how you’d lay in his arms at night. Fingers gripping his necklace loosely, head tucked into the crook of his neck… legs tangled with his as if your bodies were one.

Blood left a trail from your nose to your chin and shaky hands went to wipe it away before pausing in midair to hover over your face…

“Love?”

Bewildered, Steven nearly gave himself whiplash as he snapped his head away from the sight of your bloodied body.

And despite wanting to run away, his hands tightened around your frame, his lungs failing.

Everything burned, his chest, his stomach. God, his arms and legs were going numb.

And where Marc couldn’t go, Steven went.

Denial.

“Love, come on,” his head has turned to you again but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Wake up. The gag has gone long enough.”

No response. Your laughter wasn’t shaking your frame, your voice wasn’t reassuring him that it’d all been a silly, cruel joke.

“Lovie…” he knew how much you hated the name and despite it, absolutely nothing.

Weren’t you going to argue? Playfully punch him in the shoulder as you giggled at him to never call you that again. Weren’t you going to put on that half-assed angry frown that you always did before smiling and pulling him to your lips?

Weren’t you going to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright?

His heart dropped with the realization that you already had.

You already spoken those words sweetly and he’d dismissed them, twisted them into something rageful when all he should’ve done was pulled you into his arms and never let you go.

“Steven,” you tried, grabbing onto his hands with an unusual hint of desperation. Almost as if you knew something he didn’t. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

The sincerity in your eyes practically sparkled or maybe that was just the pure love that you felt for him. But it didn’t get through to him this time, instead his panic and anxiety twisting his words and actions into something else.

“How can you say that?” Steven stressed. “How can you be so positive all time?! Consider the possibility that maybe sometimes you’re just wrong!”

His soul shattered when he realized… it was the last time he’d ever hear those words.

He hadn’t believed in them and now this happened.

Steven forced his eyes to open slowly.

In the pale moonlight, your face was still as beautiful as the first time he ever saw you.

It was early in the morning; the sun was barely over the horizon and the streets of London were not all too busy for this hour.

Thankfully for Marc, the little coffee house that was nestled in the array of buildings on Russell Street was practically empty. Save for the steady stream of customers who would fly in and out with a streaming cup of coffee or tea in their hands.

But tucked in the corner of the large window seat was you.

Exactly as he’d seen you in his numerous hours of laborious research. Hair tucked behind your ears, oversized round glasses slipping off the tip of your nose, lips tucked in concentration, a loose sweater hanging off your shoulders.

There was a sense of tranquility about you. A stillness despite the bustling customers mere feet from you.

A girl immersed in her own world; a utopia all within the threads of your pale green sweater, the gentle sway of your feet under the table, the hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.

How odd it was to find such astounding beauty in someone you knew everything and nothing about.

Because in your little world, you may have been closed off from the reality around you, but an open book to anyone who cared to look.

And Marc couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t.

He just hated that he had to be the one to shatter your universe.

“Excuse me,” Marc said when he finally worked up the courage to enter the shop. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Then you looked up at him and he knew it was a sight he’d remember for the rest of his life, an image that would flash behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes.

Your eyes piercingly studied his through your eyelashes for a long moment. The hint of a smile was gone.

“Sure,” you eventually smiled brightly.

A dazzling smile that kept him rooted to the spot a little longer than necessary.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to mind it. “You’re American?”

Marc finally sat down next to you, gripping his chocolate muffin tightly. “Actually, I’m from Chicago.”

If your chuckle was charming, he couldn’t imagine your laugh.

“Which is in America, if I recall correctly.”

“You do, it is... in America.” God he needed to work on his social skills. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Partly because of your particular line of work, mostly because you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

You shut your book softly. “What brings you to London?”

Marc was sure you would’ve shut him down by now, questioned his intentions or tried to put his ass down. But you were graceful, serene... Seemingly not worried at all about his intentions.

If he’d asked, you would’ve told him that you had a keen eye for vibrant souls. His being one of the brightest you’d stumbled upon.

“Uh, work,” he replied unconvincingly. “What about you? You’re a fellow American yourself, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” You were teasing him.

Maybe he could hear that laugh again after all. “Your accent and the whole sweater thing you’ve got going on? Practically screams California.”

Your laugh was surprisingly booming, genuine. He found himself smiling at the sound of it.

It can’t be this easy to fall in love with someone you just met.

“It’s New York actually,” you corrected between fading giggles. “Close enough.”

Embarrassment tinted his ears red. “It’s not.”

Smiling widely, you shook your head in agreement. “It’s really not.”

It’s silent for a few moments and just when Marc thinks you’re going to open your book again, you speak softer than before.

“I’m assuming you sat in my little corner for a reason, Mr. Spector.”

The gravity of your simple statement uncharacteristically flew past his head. Instead, he was a little more focused on trying to hear that twinkling laugh again.

“What’re you doing?” You rose an eyebrow, watching as the man wildly looked around the space you were occupying. From the two adjoining walls to the wooden round table.

“Looking for any indication that this is in fact entirely your corner. So far I see nothing except...” There was no way he wasn’t making a fool out of himself but he was in too deep to stop--

The pin suddenly dropped.

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

A nonchalant expression adorned your face. “People like you don’t seek people like me unless they need something.”

His brain short-circuits.

“People like me...” Marc repeated, his voice lifting slightly as if almost in question.

“I’m aware of every single entity within my range whom fit the qualifications of a very secure database. Yelena Belova, Alexei Shostakov, Spider-Man who happens to be around on a school trip...” you listed idly, twirling the little stick that was stained with your hazelnut coffee. “... Marc Spector.”

The rose-colored glasses were slowly slipping off. His years of servitude under Khonshu’s hand began to harden his exterior until he could finally look at you as a threat. Just to be sure.

“Why would I be on that list?”

You motioned toward the untouched muffin. “Are you gonna eat that?”

“Why would I be on that list?” His jaw clenched.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” You take a sip. “Moon Knight is an incredibly promising prospect in the eyes of those who protect our world. You’re incredibly powerful.”

Marc scoffed. Is that what he was to you? A potential business deal, a recruit?

“But it doesn’t really matter to me anyway.”

His eyes shot up in interest. The corner of your lips had turned up again.

“I don’t work for any agency anymore,” you explained. “I’m just a girl with an incredible skill set and impressive resume.”

“Humble much?”

There was a knowing twinkle in your eye. “Only when I need to be.”

Your stares met with a shared interest. As if you two were really seeing each other for the first time.

To Marc, your beauty was astounding, ethereal. He could only hope that you’d choose to stay in his life.

“I did come for a reason... I have a mission and I could use someone with your specific skill set.”

“You need help.”

“Well, I didn’t say that exactly--”

“It’s what you meant,” you narrowed your eyes playfully. “Thankfully, I’m a woman of the people. But why should I help you?”

“I’m backed into a corner. I’m just trying to do things right in the best way I can. But I need you to trust me.”

“Trust is gained, Spector.”

“Then allow me to earn it.” The mercenary countered.

You allowed your eyes to look over him. At his open grey button up, his ironed white shirt and black pants. His ebony hair, brushed away from his face, sprinkled with a hint of grey. The scruff on his jaw and the brown of his eyes.

Falling in love with someone you just met can’t be this easy.

Your resolve crumbled and you knew he was going to be in your life for the unforeseeable future. The fluttering in your abdomen pulled you in before you could stop it.

Not that you wanted to.

“So what does this mission entail?”

Slowly, a genuine smile curved Marc Spector’s lips, one that you reciprocated with a blinding beauty that made his heart nearly stop.

And as he walked out of the coffee shop that morning, your number scribbled on a note that was neatly folded in his pocket, there was a sudden change... brief but enough for Steven Grant to suddenly find himself on Russell Street. Confused and a bit frightened, but only for a quick moment--

Until he turned his head and gazed into the large coffeehouse window...

To see you for the first time, with eyes that had adoringly gazed upon yours for hours.

And the sight was like a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with something he didn’t quite know he needed.

The close-lipped smile that spread from cheek to cheek behind the fist of your closed hand, idle strands of hair that fell to cover your joyous expression, the simple rise and fall of your chest...

And between the moment that he saw you and Marc reemerged to front, Steven Grant couldn’t help but wonder who had made your eyes light up in that way.

Steven Grant wondered if he had the chance, could he make you happy?

But he couldn’t see the light in your eyes anymore. Eyelids rested over those effervescent eyes and a part of him finally shattered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. Bringing your forehead close to his, his lips tenderly touched your warm skin. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.”

Softly, as if to not disturb you, he reached for your hand, catching a glimpse of the fading paint job he’d done on your nails before he left last week.

“I-I-I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t breathe anymore, gasping against your body as he tightened his embrace.

Acceptance.

With a shudder, Marc kept his eyes closed despite the sudden switch.

This way he could imagine that you weren’t dead, you weren’t cold and lifeless. No, you were alive. Finally squeezing in a nap between your tireless research, hours upon hours at the computer, hacking databases and trying everything you could to help the boys.

Yes, yes, he could take a moment to indulge in that fantasy.

Because once he opened his eyes, it was finally over. Marc Spector would have to live without you.

“How wasteful...”

That pent-up anger reared its ugly head. “What?”

If he wasn’t holding onto you, Marc would’ve committed violence against the god.

“To let such a valuable asset go would be a pitiful waste,” Khonshu drawled from behind his avatar.

Marc shook his head at the audacity. “I don’t want to hear this. I--I don’t want to hear this.”

“Perhaps you do, Spector,” the god insinuated. “Feel the warmth of her skin... look at the color beneath her skin...”

This was cruel. “No...”

“Your grief may be premature--” what? “-- her fate lies in no one’s hands but her own.”

He finally looked up. “Stop with the riddles. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just as I once appeared before you, the goddess Isis requires an avatar. Your lover is still in the fight between life and death.”

Deception was a skill Marc was certain Khonshu had mastered but yet, he found nothing but the truth in his tone. He felt the god’s sincerity.

Shock stilled his body, mouth slightly open as he stared into the night sky and then slowly back at you.

Despite his aversion to serving a god, the only thought running through his mind was the desire for you to come back to him.

In any way, he’d have you.

Otherwise, neither he nor Steven would make it.

“This is up to you, baby,” Marc whispered into your hair. “But fight. Please... fight. Come back to me.”

Please.

Come back to me.

The voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, echoing until it faded away.

It was the voice that would always bring you back.

“You have a choice to make,” a different voice reminded you, sweet and smooth. “Be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was.”

You were on the tip of the iceberg, held back from what you’d seen Marc and Steven deal with for years but itching to get back to the broken man that was begging for you.

“What does that even mean?” You groaned.

Isis gave you no further explanation than what she’d told you before. You glared at her for another moment before feeling a phantom pain shoot across your body. Well, metaphysical body.

You realized you’re running out of time.

“So I do this or what? Die? I love how you all deal in absolutes,” your snark was still intact. “Any room for negotiation?”

The Goddess of Magic and Fertility towered over you, mighty with large wings that spanned the length of the golden chamber. Eyes that pierced into your soul, quite literally, and a beauty that wasn’t made to be seen by mortal eyes.

It was easy to tell why. Such beauty was captivating, breath-stealing and enough to send any man or woman to their knees.

But yet here you stood, slightly annoyed and about three feet under.

Unamused, Isis blinked expectantly.

Please... Air caught in your throat. Baby...

The decision suddenly wasn’t hard at all.

And it seemed as if Isis knew it as well.

“Will you be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was?” She repeated.

The other half of your soul was missing and you knew how to soothe the agonizing pain for the both of you…

“Yes.”

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