#moon knight (tv)

[werewolfgirl1995]

I LITERALLY GASPED

[spctrsgf]

morning banter

summary: something about you and marc? he wakes up early, and you most certainly do not.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: language, my shitty spanish (i’m trying okay)

a/n: took a quick break from b+h for a lil marc spector drabble!!! hope you all enjoy

Es tan temprano para esta mierda, Marc. Jake’s annoyed Spanish drawl smacks into the side of Marc's head. The combination of his drowsy, slow mind and that Marc knew next to no spanish caused the said man’s eyebrows to crinkle. “What the fuck did you just say?” He can barely hear his own voice, but he knows Jake can.

Don’t worry about it.

“Jake.”

Marc. Only Jake would pitch up his name in a high voice: it’s a mimic.

“Hey! I don’t sound like that.”

Yeah you do.

“No, I don’t! Back me up, Steven.”

Don’t bring me into this. 

C’mon, Stevie— Jake cuts off abruptly, probably the doing of Steven.

“Jake,” Marc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what you said.”

Go to sleep, puta.

“Okay, I know that one,” Marc hisses, toiling you in closer to him. “Rude.”

You deserved it.

“You wanna know what you deserve?”

Oh, yeah, Jake taunts. What’s that?

“A fucking pun–”

His voice goes legato as soon as he senses you moving, causing him to fall silent. You curl tighter into a ball, spiraling the covers more into your fists and tucking them again beneath your chin. Jake, by some miracle, also goes quiet, as if somehow his words could expel themselves out of Marc’s mouth and to your ears. 

But, the soft exhales are the only noise you left out, and if you heard them, you didn’t show it. Marc’s shoulders roll back from where they were hunched, surely Steven’s gentle gesture to the position he hadn’t even realized he’d been in. 

Would it kill the two of you to just be nice to each other? The Brit muses. 

Absolutely. Jake’s response is automatic.

“One hundred percent true.” Marc chimes in.

HAH! Steven ejects the exclamation in triumph. Now I got the two of you agreeing.

“Sure, whatever.”

Only time we agree is when you finesse us into it, hermano.

Marc slides his arm out from where it was wrapped around your waist to give the two a thumbs up in agreement with Jake, reluctantly.

Or, he tried to.

“Noooooo…” You groan groggily, tightening your hold. 

Marc freezes. “Baby?”

“Mmmmm?” 

“I- I didn’t know you were aware.”

“Well,” you snuggle closer into his chest, his warm embrace. “You ‘n Steven ‘n Jake aren’t exactly quiet when you argue.”

He sighs, guilt pooling in his stomach. “Listen, ‘m sorry. You know how we can be.”

“Yeah, I do. And I love you all,” you reach back, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. “But I also love my beauty sleep.”

“You don’t need to sleep to be beautiful.” He ducks his head to place a featherlight kiss to your neck, savoring the sigh you let out in return.

“You’re sweet, but we both know that’s not true.”

“Do we?”

“Mhm,” you turn, nudging Marc’s arms off of you as you face him. “‘M a menace without it.”

“That’s true,” he chuckles when you slap his arm, letting out an effortlessly beautiful smile. “But it’s nothing a cup of nice, warm coffee can’t solve.”

You giggle softly. “That’s true.”

“C’mon, sleepyhead,” He moves to slide you both out from under the covers. “Let’s get going.”

“Nope.” You let him go, rolling to burrito yourself in the covers again. 

“Nope?” He inquires, rounding the bed to stand over you.

“Nope.”

His shadow covers your shut eyelids and you know he’s bent over your face. “I’ll make you coffee to apologize for waking you up, baby, I promise.” You scrunch your nose. “Tempting, but no.”

“Not even because I’m asking you?”

“Not even if you were on your knees and begging.”

“Oh?” The sentence your half asleep brain had kindled clearly took him by surprise. 

You huff, flipping over in the bed dramatically. “Go away, I’m tired.”

“What’s so great about this bed that I can’t give you, huh?”

“Well,” You take a deep breath, and some small, rational part of your brain tells you that maybe the spew of words about to come out of your mouth is what he wanted to happen all along. “The bed is warm. It’s cozy. The covers are just the right heaviness and just the right thickness to provide optimal warmth and the right amount of pressure to keep me sleeping like a bear in hibernation. ‘Nd my pillow is the right firmness, but has my desired amount of sink to put me out as soon as you turn off the light and wrap your arms around me. Even though that only happens sometimes.”

Marc huffs in frustration. “Hey!”

“Yeah, Marc, my bed is always here on time. It never goes anywhere, and the only life it’s saving is your sorry ass right now.”

“Uncalled for.” He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Thought you liked a bit of banter.”

“I like a kick or two,” He leans over and pulls your shoulders to level on the bed and your eyes to meet his own. “But not at eight in the fucking morning.”

“Neither do I,” You reach up, pulling his face in for a kiss.

He gives in almost immediately, setting a knee on either side of your legs and scooping his arms underneath your body to pull you up.

“Nuh uh,” you pull away and unwrap his arms, flopping back onto the bed. “Sleepy. Time to sleep.”

“You can't leave me hanging like that!”

You yawn, pulling the covers up to your chin again. “I can and I did.”

For a second, a naive, small second, you think he’s going to leave you be. Your brain relaxes, you feel yourself on the precipice of sleep, the hypnotic, rich swirl of unconsciousness sucking you deeper into its whirlpool. But then you feel the covers lift, and Marc’s— frighteningly cold— fingers are dancing along your sides to a tune you illustrate with laughs. You slap his hands away, reaching out towards the lure of sleep that now sneaks away to taint another victim.

“You ready to get out of bed now, sweets?”

You groan, turning to face him in defeat. “You fucker.”

He throws his arms mockingly. “What’d I do?”

“You manipulated me! I hate you.”

“I did no such thing. What are these accusations?”

“You knew I would get worked up,” you sit up in the bed now, and Marc shrinks ever so slightly under the weight of your deadly stare. “You knew that would wake me up.”

“Hey, let’s calm down–”

“You knew that if you pushed the right buttons, you would get what you wanted.”

Marc’s face is ghastly, and he looks two steps away from summoning his suit and flying away.

“I warned you earlier about this, Marc, were you listening?”

He nods frantically. “Of course–”

“I’m a menace when I get woken up early.” You launch off the bed, and you might as well be Moon Knight yourself with your accuracy.

The takeaway from this event? For Marc, it’s to never try waking you up before you’ve recharged fully, or to have some coffee made ahead of when he was to attempt it. For you, though?

It’s that Marc shrieks like a little girl. 

translations (HELP I FORGOT):

es tan temprano para esta mierda - it’s too early for this shit

puta - bitch

i felt very fancy using these

[traveller-of-the-knight]

STEVEN HAS A TEDDY BEAR ON HIS KEYS!!!!!!

AHSHSHSGSHS SWEET BOY STEVEN!!

Every like is another hug to our sweet boy Steven

[theavengers]

Moon Knight (2022) 1.05: Asylum

[gebstargeb]

Steven and Layla :3 🌙🌙🌙

[michillangelo]

@moondoposting @xenonmoon @luxshine My friends have I got a post for you

BEHOLD! a steven

[falconfrost]

I got to see the Moon Knight costume up close and personal today and guys it is SO cool. Did you know there are columns of hieroglyphs on the inside of the cape and around the edge of the chest plate??

[broken-arrow-ambassador]

[mind-travel-er]

The London Daily Ride

09:33

# Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader Jake Lockley x female reader # Synopsis: Before you know him as "Steven from the gift shop", you know him as "Steven from the bus stop". Every day, a new opportunity to discover the lovely little quirks of a stranger; becoming more and more familiar. That is, until someone else shows up. # Warning/Content: Fluff/Angst, Character Study, Accurate DID (can be triggering), Touched-starved!Steven, sex (future chapters). # Word Count: 1.3k [read me on AO3] · [next chapter]

There is comfort in being alone.

A bliss in enjoying yourself endlessly with no prying eyes. No expectations from anyone.

Yet, there’s a fine line between solitude and isolation. Withdrawal. Sometimes, you couldn’t tell the difference between the two, and occasionally, you would slip. Going to bed later than you should, burying yourself in one of your hyper-fixations. Not only avoiding social occasions, but preventing the chance to create them altogether.

Still, there is comfort in that. Even in that. Trepidation. A sheltered world you have been masterly building; the possibility of negative interactions denied at its borders. No trespassing. Only safety. That’s the bubble you’re in, that early morning on the bus. Absently seated, not even aware of your own body, since you’ve spent the last few weeks embedding your mind into passion, like a hammer on a nail, geeking out. You have no energy for anything else.

The bubble is about to burst. You don’t want that. Yet, it needs to. It needs to since, out there, strategies of coping are required. Every so often, even a disdainful look from the local cashier is all it takes to shatter to pieces. And of course, being a woman entails, before all, being sharp and quick enough to know in seconds if a stranger’s eyes should be avoided. Men’s eyes. You’ve read the statistics. Experienced some yourself. You know that even when you know them, there’s a risk.

Such is the world. And thus, such is the need for the bubble. Even when alone merges into lonely.

That’s when you see him.

Not much worth a look.

He's on the driver’s side of the standing area, seated backwards. A countercurrent. A perfect diagonal; opposing your figures. Between, the automatic gates of the bus intermittently opening and closing, as the passengers get to their destination or are entering; taking shelter from the cruel Londoner’s rain. Your eyes caught the head tilting down, as he’s clearly drowsing off, and you smile. That’s the little but meaningful details that you like to observe. When the empty interactions slip to reveal authenticity. Even for a few precious seconds.

When you lie in your bed at night, what will you remember? The day passes in a rush, always occupied or preoccupied by work. If not, responding to emails and messages, watching endless feeds on your phone. All that, the long-term memory part of your brain doesn’t care for it. It is devoid of emotions. During the night, the brain will implacably select what is worth keeping. What will you remember, in the dark of a room, after a long day?

The odd-ish, luminous, mischievous details that made you feel, you bet.

It's what makes the difference between boring repetitiveness of the days and fondness for a new one coming.

So, you observe him with new-found attention. Like witnessing a scene in a theatre. The smell of rain on coats tingling your nostrils. The tip-taping on the windows, insistently conveying a sense of shelter in your chest. Your outfit hugging your flesh into reassurance; humid vest, yet clothes underneath dry.   

Not much worth a look. It’s true. His clay-grey gabardine seems to fall too big on his shoulder, even if it isn’t. There, droplets of rain are holding on; still not quite dried. He’s dressed proper, with a shirt almost the same colour; a tad darker. Your eyes descend to his shoes. Navigator shoes. And your smile widens: Typical dad shoes, you think. They are taken care of. The leather has recently been polished, and you nod lightly in appreciation that you know isn’t needed from anyone. However, they aren’t neatly tied as one would expect. Tidy, but distracted, you deduce. Next to the paradox embedded in his shoes, a black saddleback. Effective, yet not remarkable. And you wonder if people, co-worker or friends, would state the same thing about its owner. Your eyes drag across his figure, ultimately coming back to the top. You can’t see much of his face, leaning forwards. Only his mane, a mess of brown -you can only guess- soft curls; damped by the dreadful weather of the day.

He must be narcoleptic, you deliberate. Following the movement of the bus as it takes its turns, you see his head lolling to the side; only to land on the man in his 50s seated next to him; reading a newspaper. The businessman, aquiline and imperious nose, bothers to shoot an exasperated side-eyed look. Still… he says nothing. It’s not really a kindness, but it warms your heart anyway. That alone would have sufficed to light up the coming night. It makes your smile-turned-into-grin need to be tamed. You force yourself to observe the linoleum of the bus, constellated with shoe marks brought by the heavy rain -small dull mirrors- to regain control of the muscles of your face. 

The next bus stop comes. The newspaper-man folds its adjective and gets up. The other shoots its head straight up, one eye half hooded, the other wide; a literal sketch from a comic book. Promptly, he’s apologising profusely, running on sudden adrenaline. And you notice two things: One, a lovely, distinct Londoner accent. Two, how the phrases coming out of his mouth sound a bit boyish.  "Oh sh -. Oh, So-Sorry about tha’. I didn’t mean to- I-" and he offers a contrite smile. "Don’t get much sleep is all."

And as the older man folds his copy of the London Daily, stepping out indifferently: "Y- Yeah, okay. Goodbye then.” And he waves. 

"Thanks for the shoulder!" A full chuckle is menacingly creeping up your throat, as a powerful fondness melts your core.  It’s hard not to see yourself in him. Apologising for things that aren’t really serious, or demanding one. Apologising to someone that doesn’t have the appreciation for it. Now living under your chest, something tender has made its home. Despite that, a sting. As you realise that just a few seconds after he has waved goodbye, he turns his head to consider the dreadful weather by the window and his expression falls. A disappointment of sorts, perhaps, to see the disregard in the other’s reaction. And you think again: Why can’t people just be nice? Not nice. Just decent. In the back of your mind, Humperdinck echoes the end of his refrain: "Lonely is a man without love". Any kind of love, you think. Even from a stranger.  After that, you don’t allow him out of your sight, but he doesn’t notice. His hands laying on his laps with no purpose, he looks behind him, at his right, then at his left -the empty seat-. Then, he looks up at the bus's hanging screen with narrowing eyes; mouth opened. A new stop, people in, people out. By the time he’s in your line of sight again, he has fumbled a book out from the bag near his feet, adjusting his glasses on his nose and frowning at the pages. The glasses of a librarian. Or an archivist. And you wonder again, if what you imagine somewhat defines the person he really is.

Oh, bless him, you think.

Hardly anyone reads in the bus or the train these days. Yourself included. The dopamine-inducing-apps are too hard to resist. A book always seems too much trouble, with a significant chance of missing your own stop when your brain finally settles into the reading. Instead, you much prefer observing the passers-by, searching for the details. You examine his deep frown. His ravish looks from time to time; as he must be reading a particularly interesting passage. His fingers fumbling to crook a corner, you fantasise, for him to read again later. Undeniably, if not found in others, love can be found in other passions.

And then, the realisation hits you. What you’re witnessing has an intimate familiarity. The bubble. His bubble. Laid bare for everyone to see. Yet, no one is paying attention.

No one, except you.

[lizzie-is-here]

lonely is a man without love

part iv- the hunt

“the moon in me finds the sky in you” - dikshasuman

summary: you and steven do a little bit of grave robbing. oh yeah, marc’s there too.

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: language, violence, red room talk, idk

a/n: yall i’m so sorry i dropped off the planet for a bit 💀 there’s been a lot going on like i’m in a situationship now w a friend from high school who moved to my college this semester, i finished my finals early, i see taylor swift tomorrow, i’m back home, but ANYWAY i hope y’all enjoy and pls forgive me ik it’s been 3 weeks 😭 love y’all

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit @vainillasmil157 @doublevirgogirl

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Hijacking a car is the easiest part.

Driving with a pounding headache isn’t that bad either.

On the other hand, watching Marc fling off his shirt is very hard.

“How did Harrow know those things about me?” you ask, averting your eyes back to the road. “He saw right through me.”

“He’s just trying to mess with you. You know, he’s trying to get in your mind,” Marc says. “No, don’t let him do that. He’s got this idea that he can see the ‘true nature’ of people or some baloney like that.”

He starts putting on a new shirt, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed as he continues. “If that were true, I don’t think he’d have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, would he?”

You tap the steering wheel. “But he knew.”

Marc’s face twists with sympathy. “I know.” He raises a hand to pat your shoulder, but he thinks twice and sets it on the headrest instead. “But he’s just manipulating you. Weaponizing your past.”

You glance at his hand.

“… You can touch me, you know?” It comes out a bit awkward, but meaningful nonetheless.

He gives you a small smile and rests it on your shoulder, a light chill going up your body. You didn’t receive a friendly touch in your life until the Red Room fell, and the first time Nat hugged you after a team dinner you had sobbed your heart out.

It had become your love language, in a way. You may be picky with who touches you, but every passing graze means the world.

And the weight of his hand grounding you feels nice. So you sniffle a bit before nodding sharply.

“Thank you.” Marc doesn’t take his hand back. You don’t want him to. “What did he tell you? I kind of zoned out.”

He shrugs and begins working a knot in your shoulder. “Nothing much. ‘You’re unlovable’ and ‘You’re a monster’. It’s all the same with him.”

You can hear the underlying hurt in his tone, but don’t bring it up.

After a few seconds, you pipe up, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Have I told you about the time I jumped off the collapsing sky base for the Red Room without a parachute?”

———————————————————————

Pulling off into some sand dunes, you drive across the sandy terrain in hopes of finding a place to put this tattered cloth together.

Under the light from the headlights, you and Marc lay out the fabric on the hood of the car and start trying to piece it together.

“Try that,” he says, passing you a triangle.

Working in tandem, you make little progress. It’s like a puzzle with no directions. It’s frustrating to come to so many dead ends, and it’s starting to grate on Marc.

“I’m not getting any whole constellations, it’s just little pieces and fragments.” He slams his hands on the car and walks to the side.

“Marc,” you begin cautiously. “I think we may need Steven. I know you don’t want to, but he understands all of this. We need to give him a shot or we’ll be out here all night.”

Suddenly atop the car, Khonshu chuckles. “I summon the gods, you summon the worm. He won’t return the body.”

“Why do you feel the need to do that?” you grumble, heart rate slowing after the bird practically jumpscared you.

Marc grabs the side mirror before ripping it off and gathering the strips of cloth.

“What is it with you and mirrors?” you ask.

He pauses his irritated work and points to the broken mirror.

“I see Steven in reflections. Figure he’ll be happy about this.” He holds up the cloth.

Sighing, he walks away. “Alright,” he says. “Go ahead. You’re in.”

You can see the change before you hear the British accent.

Steven crouches down in the sand, ripping tape and assembling the scraps faster than you or Marc ever could have. You step closer, unsure of how he feels about you. You did lie about your job to him.

“Steven?” you ask, sitting down next to him. He looks up, momentarily taken aback. He stares for a bit, different from Marc’s half-lidded gaze. His eyes are wide, taking in every detail.

Well, every detail of you. But you don’t know that.

“Egyptians invented modern navigation,” he explains. “There’s not a lot of landmarks in the desert. So, they came up with a way to get about using the sun and stars. It’s bloody genius, innit?”

He holds up his work. A star.

You carefully take it, marveling at the cohesive map.

“Oh, woah, that’s amazing.” Steven blushes a bit at your words, but it goes unseen in the dark. “What do we do with it?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but if… Oh wait, hang on a minute.” He holds it up to the light. “You see that? You see those little pinpricks there? That’s a constellation.”

You nod. “Orion. We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates, right? Let me scan it.” With your phone, you pass over the star, letting it pick up the image.

“Well, um, actually… Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.” That much is revealed when nothing turns up. “Yeah, you see, Senfu marked that tomb, like 2,00 years ago. And stars drift over time. Not much as far as stars go, but it could mean the difference between us searching miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking.”

You pick up his insinuation. “So unless we know what the sky looked like on that date…”

“We’re buggered,” Steven finishes.

The god appears ahead of you, a warning before he speaks. “I remember that night. I remember every night.”

When he makes no movement, you and Steven begrudgingly head up the dune to meet him.

“I can turn back the night sky, but it will come at a cost.”

“Doesn’t it always,” you sigh.

He nods to Steven. “I cannot do it alone. Steven, when the gods imprison me, tell Marc to free me.”

Steven is wrapped in the same suit from before a few seconds later, eyes glowing. As the god raises his hand, he begins swiping it through the air. Steven mimics Khonshu’s motions, and before long, you gasp aloud.

The sky is spinning, whirling past as trails of stars blur together. The moon is little but glowing white dots, rapidly switching phases.

You’ve never seen something so beautiful.

“This is the night,” Khonshu says as the spinning stops, freezing the spiraling constellations on the night you were looking for.

“This is surprisingly painful,” Steven shouts.

You hurry to grab your phone, scanning the stars.

“I know, I’m sorry! But it’s working,” you call.

Khonshu collapses to his knees as Steven says, “I can feel my energy leaving me.” The head cover disappears as he loses control of the night sky. He reaches up again, holding it long enough for you to finish scanning.

“I got it! 29 degrees north, 25 east.” Steven collapses, and you tuck your phone away to hold him.

He crawls to you, coughing and trying to control his racing breaths. You help him stand, but it doesn’t do much. He faints as soon as you let go, falling face-first on the sand.

“Steven!” you shout.

“Hey, Steven?” No response. “Marc? Come on, idiots. Where are you? Marc, come on.”

You keep trying until you give up and start dragging the poor man across the sand, but it doesn’t last for long.

Headlights blind you as a car speeds toward the two of you. Shortly followed by gunfire.

“Shit, why do you have to be so heavy?” you grunt. “Oh my god, fine.” Reaching the top, you toss the body over the hill rather unceremoniously, racing down and hopping in the car.

The other car circles you as you duck down, grabbing any weapons you can find. The men step out and start inspecting Steven/Marc, and you take the opportunity to sneak out.

Striking up a flare, the red glow immediately catches their attention.

You hear them yelling before they make a sharp turn and start shooting again. You drop the flare and run around the other side, readying another.

Just as the truck pulls to a stop by the van, you run out, tossing the flaming signal onto the top of the bed, where there was plenty of ammunition just waiting to be exploded. It doesn’t take long for the fuse to spark.

It’s safe to say that you receive a small firework show, and both bodies tumble out with no sign of getting back up anytime soon. If at all.

When you turn around, you immediately shriek.

“OH MY GOD!”

Steven stares back at you, now completely fine and a bit confused.

“…What?” he asks.

You shove him lightly. “Don’t scare me like that, Иисус Христос [Jesus Christ]. I could’ve thrown a flare at you.”

Steven meekly apologizes and your anger dissipates, so you wave to the car.

“C’mon. We’d better get going if we’re going to catch up to Harrow.”

———————————————————————

By the time you’re almost at the tomb, the sun has begun to rise.

“We can’t lose more time,” you grumble finally, breaking the silence. “Harrow must be headed back to this tomb.”

You bite your lip, weighing your words on your tongue. “Listen, if he’s there, we’ll need Marc.”

“No,” Steven says.

You blink. “No?”

He shakes his head. “No. See, the thing is, we made a deal, Marc and I, that when he was done with Khonshu, he would disappear for good.”

Steven glances to the mirror where you figure Marc is yelling at him.

‘But that deal didn’t involve you getting (Y/N) and us killed. That’s not gonna fly with me.’

“You made a deal?” you ask, unaware of the words of the other alter. “That he would just, never come back? Never eat, sleep, live? I understand this is a complicated situation, but both of you belong in your body equally. Besides, that would mean he would also completely disappear from my life.” You add the last bit much quieter.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitate, gripping the wheel. “Yeah, well, the guy’s kinda grown on me. Both of you have.”

‘Steven, you’re gonna make her upset, stop. Give me the body.’

“Even if he would want to ‘lone wolf’ this whole thing,” you continue, waving your hand. “I’ve been there before, and I’m not going to let you dive into a suicide mission alone.”

Ignoring the frustrated man in the mirror, Steven nods. “Yep, it’s just you and me, and the open road.” You brake hard, stifling your amusement as he jolts forward.

“We’re gonna go on foot,” you say, more of an order than a suggestion. He agrees readily, and both of you trek through the narrow path to your destination.

The shadows are a welcome relief from the heat, yet every sound has you tense. Every bit of movement could be a sniper. Every crevice could hide a hitman.

“There.” You point down to a camp. “It looks like they’re already inside, so we need to find another way to beat them to- What’s its name?”

“Uh, Ammit. She eats dead people’s souls.”

“Great. Let’s check the camp.”

Steven heads into a tent, rifling through the belongings. It’s going well, at least until a glass table reflects Marc instead of himself.

‘You look scared.’

“I’m not.”

‘You should be.’ Marc gives a wry grin that’s barely visible on the glass. ‘Without Khonshu, there’s no more suit, no more healing, no more power.’

Steven shines a flashlight directly into his eyes and blinks away the dancing spots. “Yeah, and no more you. I thought. It’s what you said, innit? But believing anything that comes out of your mouth just shows what a plonker I am.”

‘Look, I wish I could just disappear, I really do. But unfortunately, I’m still here. If you’re gonna go through with this, you gotta be smart.’ Marc hesitates a bit. ‘For (Y/N)’s sake. I’ve been in situations like this before.’

Steven shrugs. “So have I. It’s the same body, innit? It’s in there somewhere. Muscle memory and all that.” Marc rolls his eyes from the desk.

‘Yeah, I’m not sure it works that way. Just-’

“Oh, whatever,” Steven huffs, cutting him off.

‘I’m here,’ Marc calls, voice permanently in Steven’s head, even as he tries to walk away. ‘You’re not alone.’

“I know I’m not alone! I know I’m bloody not alone, I’ve got (Y/N). She’s got my back.”

Marc’s snide response shocks both of them. ‘Oh, are you in love?’ he calls. ‘You’re gonna get all of us killed.’

“And you don’t love her?” Steven snaps back, stomping down his flustered-ness to prod at the other man. “Look, I appreciate your concern, mate, I really do. But we’ve got it from here.”

As he eagerly hurries out of the tent, Marc yells from a mirror.

‘If you touch her, I swear to you, Steven. I swear, I’ll throw us off a cliff!’

Meanwhile, searching the camp, you freeze when something catches your eye. A bloodied tool, but not something modern. It’s old as fuck, from what you can tell. But the blood is fresh. Like someone stole this from the tomb and stabbed the nearest person with little regard to the trail they’d leave.

Blood covers the nearby crates. Only more reason to get out of the open.

Charging up your Widow Bites, you head to the entry point where Steven is waiting. You quickly start putting on his harness, trying to ignore how close you are by constantly glancing over your shoulder.

“I have to say, I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” he excitedly whispers. “The adventure, I mean.” Not surprising. His love for Egyptology makes this basically the most dangerous yet exciting field study ever.

You smile. “Yeah. We want what we’ve never had.” Tightening the buckles, you can’t help but notice his breath ghosting over your cheek. “You know, family, freedom. Relationships…”

There’s a moment of connection. Your eyes meet and you don’t look away.

He’d be really easy to kiss. You know he would be. And a part of you really wants to. But not right now.

You cough a bit and look away, grabbing some gloves as you clip his harness on the rope.

“I will go down first,” you manage, voice quieter than usual. “Before I belay.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steven says. “What’s belay?”

You chuckle and wordlessly drop, reaching the bottom with little issue. What you don’t see is Marc summoning enough control to punch Steven directly in the face, partially for almost kissing you and partially for not doing it.

Underground, the oppressive heat finally relents and you let out a puff of air.

Grabbing your flashlight, you scan the room and run a finger along the dirt atop the sphinx hidden in the dark.

Before you know it, you’ve traced the signature hourglass of the Red Room.

“Shit,” you whisper. Before you can focus on it for too long, shouting from behind you causes you to whip around.

Steven tumbles down the entrance, falling flat on his back with a grunt. You help him up, dusting him off a bit.

“There you go,” you chuckle.

He blushes a bit. “I kinda wish you hadn’t seen that.” You shrug, smiling.

He glances up, eyes widening. “Oh, wow, look at you…” It’s your turn to blush now, almost giggling at the feeling in your chest before you notice that he’s looking at the sphinx, not you.

“Oh, yeah. They really are… gorgeous, aren’t they?” You’re staring at Steven as you speak. “They’re just, they’ve been standing guard for centuries.”

He nods excitedly. “Right! Look, I just- If they sprang to life right now and asked me a riddle for passage, I’d be thrilled. I’d shit myself,” he adds, “but I’d be thrilled.”

“Did… did you do this?” Steven asks, pointing to the hourglass drawing.

Reluctantly, you nod.

“Force of habit… the… The Red Room protocol was to leave the emblem wherever we went. A subtle reminder that Dreykov’s power went beyond borders.” You gesture to the symbol. “A reminder that he was all-powerful.”

You chuckle ruefully, pointing to the symbol. “Even without the pheromone lock, without his agents, he’s still controlling me.”

Steven notices the way you’re voice has quieted, how your usually-relaxed posture has slumped in on itself.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, as if the stone sphinx can hear him.

In an instant, you’re brushing it off.

“Yeah. No, it’s fine, really,” you say, confident once more and hurriedly striding down the dark hallway.

The path twists and turns, disorienting you until you freeze in a small room.

“It’s a maze,” you huff.

Steven can’t help his quip. “It’s a-maze-ing.”

“No,” you snort before pointing around. “Like, there are six paths.”

The man behind you starts muttering to himself as you scan the room. A familiar smell lingers in the air, one you would know anywhere, even if it is hidden by the smell of sand and dust.

Gunpowder.

A few bullet shells lie in the sand.

“What were they shooting at?” you whisper. No one else should be here except Harrow’s dig team.

Steven begins tracing on the center table, much like you had. When you notice a shape forming, you step closer to inspect it.

“This whole structure is the Eye of Horus,” he says. “Look at that. It’s the royal symbol, protection in the afterlife.”

You nod, keeping up with the research you’d done. “But, the resources needed…” The epiphany hits you. “Ammit’s final avatar was a pharaoh.”

“Woah, a bloody pharaoh,” Steven gasps.

“So, do you think this is a map?” you ask, not wanting to disturb the drawing.

“Right. The Eye of Horus is also the eye of the mind, yeah? Representing the six senses, six points. The eyebrow denotes thoughts. Pupil, sight, obviously.”

He continues pointing about the shape. “This point here is, uh, hearing. Smell, touch. And this long line ending in a spiral, is the tongue.”

“An avatar would be Ammit’s voice,” you mutter.

Both of you turn to the corresponding tunnel at once, heading down it together. It ends in an open room, still very musty smelling but less claustrophobic than the previous areas.

You explore for only a few seconds before Steven’s gagging.

“Oh my- Oh my god, is that fresh blood?” he manages. “Isn’t that little chunks of meaty bits?”

You nod in affirmation, really hoping he doesn’t hurl. That’s when you notice canopic jars, very full of organs and coated in very fresh blood. It hasn’t even crusted.

Another bloodied tool lies on the operating table.

You’d read about doctors and sorcerers buried with a pharaoh to protect him from intruders, but this? Checking down the exit hallway, you only see a thick trail of blood.

“Okay, okay,” you hiss, glancing up to the secondary level. “Steven, there might be a way out up there, go check.”

He clambers up with a bit of help from you, wood creaking and echoing around the stone walls.

“So, according to the ancient texts, Ammit should be bound to an ushabti, a little stone statue thingy.” You let him geek out a bit before gunfire stops your heart right in its tracks.

“Harrow,” you say, just loud enough for Steven to hear.

“What are they shooting at?”

You don’t have time to respond when a sickening clicking sound comes from right outside the door.

“Hide. Hide,” Steven calls.

With nowhere to go, you duck down by the table.

The clicking grows ever closer until you spot something, mangled and grotesque, tossing a barely-alive digger onto the stone surface.

The stabbing and squelching sound that follows is enough for you to know that some more jars are about to be filled.

In all honesty, you’ve heard worse, so you silently exhale and try to stay as still as possible.

That plan gets shot the moment you shift and bump a jar.

Wincing, you silently shift away from the table, steadying your breathing as the clicking grows more aggressive. From Steven’s hiding spot, a loud creak rises up and the creature -whatever is it is- jumps atop the table to search for the source of the sound.

You can hear it start climbing the wall, fighting to get to Steven. And that just won’t do.

With a click of a button, you fire off an electrical blast from your gauntlets. It stuns the mummified man, who falls to the table.

Steven shouts with a force you’ve never heard from him and topples a shelf, effectively crushing it.

“I squished it. I squished it,” he whispers.

“Yes,” you say, forcing an encouraging tone. “You definitely squished it, now come on.”

He clambers down the ledge with no semblance of grace, and you take his hand, rushing through the hallway to want you hope will be your destination.

As you’re stepping across shattered stones, a grin finally forms on your face.

This is it. The walls are lined with hieroglyphs, gilded statues line the chamber.

And a sarcophagus lies in the center, water surrounding it.

“Oh, my days,” Steven whispers. “First ones in. Tomb fit for a pharaoh. Thutmose II, Nefertiti, it’s gotta be one of the big ones.”

You point to the sarcophagus, eyes narrowing.

“Steven?”

“Yeah?”

“Those aren’t hieroglyphs. That’s…”

You speak at the same time. “Macedonian.”

He mutters to himself, inspecting the writing. Thoughts spilling out as his mouth races to keep up with his mind.

“I think we’re looking at the long-lost tomb of Alexander the Great,” he concludes. You understand why he’s excited, but a part of you also knows that now is not the time. Not when you’re in a time crunch.

Setting your hands on the lid, you nod for Steven to join you.

“Everything inside me is, like, screaming not to open this thing,” he says nervously.

“Well, it’s either us or Harrow. Your pick.” You know it’s a bit unfair, but it works.

He sets his hands by yours, bracing himself.

You raise a brow. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

[spctrsgf]

laser tag

summary: first date w marc BRO I NEED HIM (i'm just a girl)

word count: 1.2k

warnings: language?? i don't think this one needs any??? crazy unheard of ik i just miss my man

a/n: me spawning every three months to drop a piece ain't cool I KNOW BUT LIFE HAS BEEN SO BUSY i miss u guys i am trying so hard to be more active :((((

Marc.

Marc Spector.

His name is Marc Spector.

His name is Marc Spector, and he is downright nervous.

His palms are sweating, this is getting embarrassing. It's just a date. All he had to do is get dressed nice, the verdict being in something that he'd found in the back of his closet. It's been ages since the last time he'd needed to suit up, in not his Moon Knight getup.

He walks back to his mirror, turning to the back to make sure all of his clothing is straightened properly for what feels like the millionth time. He runs his hand down the back of his suit, bringing himself to face front and tightens his bowtie.

This is stupid. He pulls off the tie, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt and flattening it nicely against his collarbone. A tilt of his head to the clock tells him the time: 5:45. He shakes his hands out lightly, trying to muster up some sort of confidence before he grabs his keys and makes his way out the door.

He navigates his way to the place you two had picked out, nervousness bending to excitement as he sees the flashy sign. Its effervescent light is so enticing he finds himself pumping on the gas in excitement. After parking and stepping out of his car, he sees you at the door. 

Well, that's sure to stop him in his tracks.

You're dressed up in his favorite color. You’d asked him, the night before. He snorts. What a sneaky move. Your outfit fits you perfectly, and your smile when you notice him is to die for. He feels his hands getting clammy again and his cheeks dusting as he wills his wobbly knees to move towards you.

“Hi,” he drops out, nearly breathless as he comes within talking distance. You're even more stunning up close. “You look…” You smile brightly at him, your own cheeks pink as you giggle at him. “Hey, Marc. You look,” you pat his chest, pulling at the edge of his shirt. “As well.”

He shoved your shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

“My bad, sir.” You tease.

“Don't hit me with that,” he pushes open the door to the place, letting you walk in ahead of him. “I’m paying. Could get you a shitty gun.”

You toss your head back at him with a tilt. “Please. You know I’d still be better than you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

You both giggle as you make your way up to the front desk, Marc buying all of the tickets and you leaving punchy lines the whole way through. Soon enough, the two of you have been suited up and are ready to play. 

You two had decided that you would be on the same team, fighting against another sweet couple who were just as determined to win. “Marc, look at his shirt,” You point towards one of the men's shirts. “It's white. What a bold move.” Marc snorts, but you're right; the shirt glows like headlights. You can't miss it. “How good do we think he is?” He whispers back.

“Either really fast or a newbie who doesn't quite know they use UV lights yet.”

He snorts. “Laser tag newbie. Who hasn't played laser tag?”

“Not everyone.” You bump his shoulder. 

“Watch the video, baby.”

“Oh, pet names,” you giggle as you face the screen with a shit eating grin. “Didn't know we were there yet.”

“We don't have to be.” Panic flashes across his face.

“No, no. I think it's sweet.”

With that, you two go silent, both blushing from the high of your banter. You make your way out into the room soon after, settling into a competitive spirit. You quickly map out your plan to tackle the other couple based on what you had seen and previous experiences with laser tag, kicking into rapidfire excitement with Marc on your heels.

The game will start in… the automated voice booms on the loudspeaker, nearly scaring you. Marc giggles at your surprise, but a sharp slap to the side quickly quiets him. 

3…

He turns his focus to you, admiring the way your brows are furrowed in concentration and your fingers flex impatiently in time with the dart of your eyes. You're locked in, solely focused on the game.

2…

Your lips curl into a slight smile. You know he's looking at you; he hasn't quite figured out that subtlety, you've gathered. It's exhilarating, confidence boosting, to have someone so blatantly admiring you. 

1…

He realizes he's staring. That’s so creepy, he scolds himself, turning forward and remaps the room in front of him. He scouts out the best hiding spots, how to get to where he needed to go, kicking into his dump of internal lunar habits.

Fight!

He's off in a flash, bounding forward in a mess of anticipation and adrenaline. He's determined to impress you, ready to rub it in– only a little– when he places first and you second. 

Oh, is he in for a shocker.

You’ll give it to him. His moves are so smooth and calculated. He moves with the agility of a cat, dipping left and right. His eyes scan for any movement, so meticulous you’d think that maybe there was a cat up in his brain, telling him what moves to make next. But he lacks one thing. In all his glory, in all his advantages, you have one thing to top him. 

Patience. 

You pause, you don't move to take the higher ground, you crouch, and you wait. You let one of the men come forth, let him think you didn't see the way he crept behind the block to your left. You let him think he won. 

He launches forward, as you had expected, triumphant in the thought that he had captured you, unbeknownst to you. You turn, shutting one eye and slamming your finger down on the trigger button.

The shot seems to go in slow motion to you and to the man. It felt like a shot out of a movie, so picturesque that you couldn't breathe through the cliche. It blips into the plastic on his chest with a blue flicker, surprising him. You can hear his confidence shatter with the ring of the buzzer.

The man turns, heading back to his base to revive himself, only turning back once to nod with a sense of respect. You tilt your head back at him, smiling. With that, you dart off towards where you see Marc, gaping at you from behind a barricade.

Your free hand cups his cheek as soon as you get close enough to touch him, bringing your face up and just a hare's breath away from his own. “How'd I do?” You murmur. He blinks helplessly at you, barely managing to conceal his groan when you pull away from him.

“C’mon, lover boy,” you turn back, ushering him forward. “We got a laser tag game to win.” He follows you without a question nor a word, a dumbstruck smile painting his face.

He definitely chose the right person.

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Actual footage of Steven in the headspace watching Jake front

GIF FROM THE AMAZING @nowritingonthewall

Where did you even find this footage??

[gebstargeb]

date night 🌙

[michillangelo]

Somewhat of a follow-up to this one, Konshu introducing his (totally new) Avatar to the Ennead

[cosmicblogs]

Grape flavoured gloves

Dentist Steven au,semi public, smut,praise kink, Steven speaking French.

Got this idea from Reddit.

On a sunny Thursday afternoon, Y/N entered Dr. Grant's clinic, her heart racing as she greeted the receptionist. Moments later, Dr. Grant warmly welcomed her, his eyes lighting up in a friendly smile. "Hello, Y/N. It's good to see you again. How have you been?"

"Hello, Dr. Grant," Y/N replied, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "I've been well; thank you. Just busy with my university.

“What have you been learning, pretty girl?” Steven quirked at her.

Her body tensed and warmed, pretty girl. She could die right now. "Well, I study mythology in different cultures," she replied shyly.

“That sounds interesting. Is there a certain place you like learning about more?” Steven leans in, interested

"Egypt,” she says while looking down shyly.

"Hmm, that sounds interesting. Maybe you can tell me more about my next appointment?” He said, looking at the clock above the door, “We don’t want to keep people waiting,” he said, smiling. She nodded shyly and walked over to the clinic chair and sat down, her eyes being met with Dr. Grant’s now masked face, her nervousness still apparent. “I know this is your 2nd appointment with me. I’m practically a stranger, but there’s no need to be shy,” he said gently. "You're not a stranger; you’ve been in my mouth before." Her sad attempt at a joke left the curly-headed boy speechless, his chest rising and falling while he let out a loud huff of air. "Well, then let’s get started.” He finally broke the silence.

Time skip

It was her third appointment. She sat on the clinic chair, and she stayed quiet as he inspected her teeth. his gloved hands holding her mouth open, his breaths becoming shorter, and his face slightly red. She looked at him, confused, wondering what she could’ve done to embarrass him this time. He continued working in her mouth. He let out a quiet breath as he continued. Y/N's body tensed up. She remembered he had grape-flavoured gloves, and she was abstinence-mindedly licking his gloves. her tongue swirling around his fingers, a little of drool at the corner of her mouth, Dr. Grant grunted, “Miss y/l/n, please stop.” He groaned, “Fuck if you keep doing that, love, I swear." He pulled his hand away from her mouth, a string of saliva connected to his wet gloves. “Do you want me to be in your mouth in a different way, pretty girl?” She nodded quickly. "Good. On your knees,” she listens to him getting off his chair. “Dr. Grant," her whine being cut off, "Steven,” he replies, "What?"She said, confused, “Call me Steven,” he said, looking down at her, "Okay. Steven,” she smiled, her hands resting on his thighs. “If you listen to me, I promise to make you feel so good, sweetheart. Be a good girl, yeah?” She whined in response. "Good," he said sternly. He unbuckles his belt, pulling out his leaky vainy cock. “Open your mouth, Mon amour.“ She listened to him. He shoved his purply tip into her mouth. “You wanted to lick my fingers. Now lick my cock, sweet girl.” She swirls her tongue around his leaking tip, tasting the salty, clear liquid. Steven's hand finds the back of her head instinctively, not using any real force or grip. When she fully envelopes his tip with your warm mouth and sucks down at the base of his cock softly, all coherent thoughts of his are gone. His gaze locks onto her while she continues to lick at the tip, tongue dipping into the slit, then fully wrapping around it while bobbing her head up and down slowly while staring up at him. "Mon chéri, if you keep going, shit just like that, such a good girl," was the last word Steven said before painting the inside of her mouth. She swallowed it, emptying her mouth and sticking her tongue out at him. Steven grunted at the sight in front of him. “Did I do well?”She said sweetly, “You did amazing.” Steven said, zipping himself up and stroking her hair as if he were rewarding a child for doing well in school.

@chichimisaki lemme know how I did 😭

[the-archxr]

THE WAY IN WHICH I FUCKING GIGGLED IS INHUMANE THIS SHITS SO SOFT DUDES (AND SO FUCKING LONG I ACTUALLY HAD TO INCLUDE A KEEP READING BREAK).

STEVEN - steven's kisses are soft. gentle, and oh-so-smooth, yet extremely public. when you first started dating (when steven's nerves were at their very highest and you were just starting to get to know each other), the most steven would do in public is lay a quick peck to your cheek. I think during the beginning of relationships, steven would absolutely give it his all in private, but would be extremely nervous about pda. think…the kind of shyness where people would still know you were dating, yet would never see him actually kiss you. steven likes having a piece of his life just to himself, and that includes you. but as you fall in love, as he begins to realize (with a little nudging from marc), that you actually want to be kissed in public—that that is your love language—the boy makes it his new mission to make it up to you. and that starts with him getting off of work one day, and instead of kissing you on the cheek and accepting the tea you brought him like usual, his hands come to the sides of your face as he pushes his mouth to yours. it’s the softest, yet most fervent kiss you’ve ever shared. and so, it becomes your lil’ habit: kissing in the foyer of the museum as the rest of the world watches.

MARC - soo….I firmly believe marc spector is an ah-mazing fucking kisser. now, I don’t think that this is necessarily a controversial opinion, but I think that even with his lack of meaningful relationships, he gives it his all when he kisses people. like his kisses are the kind that always steal your breath and make you feel like you’re floating. like imagine a kiss that makes you swoon?? that’s his default, m’kay? BUT. when marc is in love—head over heels typa beat, his kisses are a lot more subtle. marc has no problem kissing your mouth, in fact it’s one of his favourite things to do. but sometimes he doesn’t have the time, or, something comes up when the two of you are in public and he needs to leave quickly. so, when that boy is in love and he doesn’t have the time to tell you, he kisses your knuckles. he’ll be in the car, admiring how fucking beautiful you are, and as you turn the corner he’ll pick up your hand and kiss your knuckles. or if you’re in the middle of sex, and you’re just on the verge of coming for the first time, he’ll kiss your knuckles before pinning them above your head. sometimes you miss it. sometimes, especially at the most random times, you don’t really register that he’s doing it. but when you do catch him in the act, you just smile and kiss his knuckles back…an unspoken acknowledgment.

JAKE - NOW JAKE?? OH MY GOD, JAKE… so we all know jake lockley isn’t the biggest talker (I mean he literally stayed fucking silent for ever as marc and steven fought over the body, so his self control and ability to not ever fucking say a word is pretty high). he’s just quiet. a smooth-talker when he does choose to open his mouth, but for the most part, quiet. even around you (not that he wants to be). part of jake’s main insecurity is that he isn’t as vocal of the feelings he has for you as the other guys, and he isn’t as vocal as you. you always unapologetically tell your boys you love them. except when you say ‘I love you’ to steven and marc, they say it back. jake, not so much. again, it’s not that he doesn’t feel that way. he does. that boy’s so in love with you it physically hurts him. it’s just he can’t, he’s not good with words. but he is good with his actions. so whenever he feels like telling you how much he loves you; when the words won’t come out no matter how hard he tried, he kisses you on your forehead. wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, when he wants to say it, he’ll just walk up to you, cradle your head and press his mouth right into your hairline. it’s so much more different than his other kisses—a lot more gentler and full of emotion—that even without him having to explain it, you know what it means. forehead kisses are reserved for your love, and your love only.

✨the-archxr thoughts✨