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xcalciumx · 9 months

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Lost | Moon Knight System x Reader

Word Count | 4.5k

Summary | When you let a broken-hearted Steven into your apartment, you never thought that this would happen. They needed comfort, you wanted to give it to them - but somewhere in the midst of it all, ‘comfort’ became something much, much more. Something it shouldn’t have.

Just like The Casanovas said, how can something so wrong, feel so right?

(Mentions of cheating. Dabble of fluff, bucket of angst and a little bit of NSFW. <33)

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It was pouring outside, the dim street lights a mere flicker in the darkness when you heard the knock at your door. The wooden spoon you’d been using to stir your dinner came to an abrupt halt, your eyebrows drawing together. You rested the spoon gently against the side of the pot, turning down the temperature on the stove before making your way towards your front door.

It’s late. The sleeping city outside offers nothing more than the barks of restless dogs and the coo’s of awakening owls. Your footsteps against the hardwood floor of the hallway are soft, toes buried deep in a pair of fuzzy socks you’d gotten for your birthday last year. The apartment is bathed in black, the only light coming from your small kitchen. It should have been comforting, cosy even - but all it did was remind you of how lonely you really were. The knocking at your door was an anomaly in your never-changing routine, a little bit of excitement for the day. After this, you would finish making your dinner, sit down to eat it in the lounge and then you would go to bed - only to wake up in the morning and rinse and repeat all over again.

London was supposed to be the change you needed. It was supposed to be all fun and adventure, relationships and new opportunities, but all it did was lock you in an office 24/7 and make you feel like more of a recluse than ever before.

You’d lived here for a couple of years now, but it never got easier. For you, at least. Your sister on the other hand, whom you’d moved into London with from the homely abode of your small family farm, had had a better time. She’d gotten a job that paid well, a small house in a quiet suburb, she’d made friends, taken risks and after a year (you really tried not to roll your eyes in jealousy) had landed herself a nice, handsome fiance who worshipped the very ground she walked on. But that didn’t matter, right? You still had individuality, didn’t you? Freedom? A chance to reroute your whole life and drag yourself from the inevitable dark pit you were stuck in…?

Okay, you were miserable. So what?

Talking of your sister, it came as a big surprise to find said fiance, Marc Spector, on the other side of your peephole. At least, you thought it was Marc Spector. Maybe it was Steven. Or the other one, Jake Lockley. To be honest, you still didn’t completely understand the whole altar thing. Your sister, in all her indifference, had never really bothered to explain it to you, but you supposed it wasn't really any of your business anyways. As long as she was happy and he (they?) were happy then who the hell cared.

You didn’t hesitate to unlock your door, swinging it open to come face to face with one seriously frazzled looking man.

“Hiya...”

The British accent and mumbled greeting was lost on you as you took in how he was standing, jacket sopping wet from the rain and hair flying around his head like a crazy scientist. He wouldn’t make eye contact, hunched in on himself, neck craned awkwardly downwards and foot tapping incessantly against the ground.

You blinked at him stupidly. What in the…

“Steven?” you questioned, stepping back to usher him inside. “The hell are you doing? Are you alright?”

You had met Steven enough times to be able to pick him from the accent. He was usually the one to appear at family gatherings and he’d been the first one your sister introduced you to when she started dating them. The downcast look haunting his face was concerning.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled as he shuffled over the threshold, coat leaving droplets of water across your floor. “Didn’t know where else to go.” You tilted your head but didn’t reply, closing the door shut behind him.

The both of you stood there in silence for a second, neither really knowing what to say. Finally, you found your voice.

“Let me take your coat, you look like you're one shiver away from catching a cold.” He stared wide-eyed at you but nodded mutely, handing you his drenched jacket hesitantly. You motioned for him to follow you as you made your way to your living room, chucking the coat carelessly into your laundry as you passed. As you got to the open space of your lounge, you quickly flicked on the light, embarrassed at how you seemed to be living in the darkness like a vampire. Steven didn’t say anything though and you relaxed a bit, snatching up your warm, fluffy blanket from the couch. When you turned, he was standing in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets and lips pulled into a frown. He looked rough.

You cleared your throat, holding out the blanket awkwardly. Steven’s eyes came up from where they had been locked on the floor, staring at the offering in your hands quizzically. When he didn’t come any closer, you chose to approach him, hands carefully wrapping the fabric over his trembling shoulders. With a nervous wince, you pushed the hair splayed over his forehead back, hoping it wasn’t too intrusive. He gave a tightlipped smile at you then, his hands softly grabbing the blanket that covered him. You almost missed the quiet thanks that left his lips.

“Yeah, right, um.” You fumbled over your words, eye darting towards where his shoes had trekked mud across the floor. You blew out a breath but didn’t comment. “Do you wanna take your shoes off and go sit on the couch or something? Um, I’ll get you something warm from the kitchen. Coffee? Tea? I could do hot chocolate? Um..”

Steven smiled at you again, this time a little more genuine. “Thank you, love. Tea would be good, if it’s not a bother. Ah,” he glanced back at where he had walked. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. You waved him off and motioned towards your small black couch. He was quick to take his shoes off, padding towards it. With a sigh, he dropped back into the pillows, hands instantly moving to run through his hair and head dropping forward.

Before you got stuck staring at him, you quickly made your way into the kitchen, switching on the kettle. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the bubbling red of your dinner.

“Shit,” you cursed, having forgotten about the food. It probably wasn’t edible anymore, if the burnt brown of it meant anything. You sulked as you turned the stove off and moved the pot off the fading heat. As you waited for the water to boil, you took a second to look at your reflection in the microwave, realising that, damn, you kinda looked like crap right now. It was probably a good thing Steven seemed a bit too out of it to notice, not that he would have said anything even if he did see your unruly state.

The kettle whistled and you scurried over, assessing the different boxes of tea you had spread along the wall. You loved the stuff, but you had no idea which one Steven would want. With pursed lips, you took a sachet of green tea from the previously unopened box; Steven did seem like a green tea kind of guy.

When you came back into the living room, he was sat hunched over, his head buried in his hands. You frowned at the sight, collapsing down onto the couch next to him. He looked up as you did, eyes glossy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Quietly, you passed him the cup.

“Thank you so much,” he murmured, blowing over the hot contents. He took a sip of the tea and a look of calm washed over his features, eyes closing momentarily before looking over to you. “How’d you know green tea was my favourite?” he joked weakly.

Your lips quirked upwards into a grin. “You just seem like a green tea kind of guy.”

Steven smiled at that, shaking his dark curls that were now beginning to dry.

WIth a thoughtful hum, you continued. “Personally, I can’t stand the stuff, by all means, take it home with you. Don’t tell my sister you got it from me though, she was the one who gave it to me in the first place.” With the cuppa clutched tightly between his hands, Steven paused. His mouth instantly curled into a frown. You watched it happen, hands fiddling together anxiously in your lap. “Steven,” you tried. “What happened? Why are you here?”

His eyes closed again, but this time they were clenched tightly as though he was in pain. His lips sealed shut.

“Steven,” you urged, but he just shook his head. You sighed. You didn’t want to push him, but when he showed up at your door in the middle of the night, soaked from head to toe and looking like death was on his heels, you couldn’t help but worry.

You went to speak again but stopped as something in the room changed. It was barely noticeable, like a spider winding a web in the corner of a room when you weren’t watching. But it was there. Whatever it was. Steven’s back straightened, and suddenly he was staring at you. His sad, brown eyes now narrowed and cold.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Steven caught her fuckin’ another man,” said Steven. Though it wasn’t Steven, was it? No, the accent wasn’t British and the words definitely weren’t ones that would pass the reserved lips of Steven Grant.

“Marc?” you asked.

He smiled wryly at you. “Try again.”

Your mouth opened and closed, “Jake?” Your eyebrows knit together, fingers clenching at your side. Unlike the other two, you had only met Jake on two occasions. The first time was at some random supermarket in the middle of the night. You’d been trying to fulfil your chocolate cravings when you’d bumped into Jake, mistakenly taking him for Steven. You’d eagerly embraced him (in your defence, your sister had told you about a promotion he got at work that he’d really been wanting - and by told, you mean complained - and you thought he deserved a little bit of recognition and congratulations for it) and you very soon found out that it was in fact not Steven, if the heavy drawl and suggestive comments were anything to go by. The second time, the odder encounter of the two, Jake had shown up to your apartment, drunk out of his mind and rambling about some old Egyptian bird or something like that. Needless to say, that one warranted a quick call to your sister to come pick him up...you weren’t too sure how he even knew your address anyways.

When you registered what he had just said, your eyes widened in surprise.

“She was cheating on you?” You shot at him in a scandalised whisper. He shrugged his large shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“And Steven caught her doing it?” you gasp.

“Sí.”

“Oh my god.” You squeak, nearly falling off the couch in surprise. “Oh my god,” you repeat.

“Careful, you look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” The dark haired man glared at the cup in his hands before taking a small sip. His face crumpled like paper. “¡Mierda! What is this shit? You got something better? Scotch, whiskey, a beer? Dios Mío, woman.”

You stared at him blankly, too stunned at the revelation that your sister would do something like that. Jake waved a hand at you.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god,” you said one last time, for good measure. “Yeah, yeah I’ll get you something else. I - I’m so sorry. Wow. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Can you tell Steven I’m sorry? That is just. Wow, I shouldn’t have pushed him about it. I, I just, wow.”

It was Jake's turn to stare at you blankly.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, sweetheart. I hardly liked the bitch anyways.” Your eyes widened even more (if that was possible) but you kept your mouth shut. That was your sister he was talking about… “Steven was being too much of a pussy to tell you what happened,” Jake stretched back onto the couch and grinned at you. “So about that drink?”

You shot up from the couch. Right, the drink. Surely you’d have something in the fridge. Before you could hurry away to the kitchen, Jake was suddenly tugging at your shirt.

“Wait, wait, hold up,” he grunted. You looked back in confusion but he was staring across the room at a mirror hanging on your wall. “Yeah, well why don’t you come out and deal with this shit then, puta? No, no, and you - you're the one who dragged our asses here.” Jake sneered, looking mightily affronted. “Ay? I’m not making her do anything! It’s her pleasure to do this, she - “ he paused before looking up at you expectantly. “You wanna help us, don't you, sweetheart?”

You glanced around in confusion but slowly nodded your head. “I guess?”

“You see? Oh for fucks - oh my god. I’m done. No, no, deal with it yourself. Dios mío, pequeño idiota estúpido.” Jake’s chocolate eyes met yours and he smiled sarcastically. “I’ll see you around, beautiful.”

Like a switch being flipped, Jake’s body tensed up and his cold brown eyes turned to molten lava.

The hand that had been gripping at your shirt dropped and a scowl appeared on his lips.

“You don’t have to run after Jake and Steven like a fucken’ maid, y’know.” You didn’t reply, mind-boggled. The angry brunette in front of you stood up, shrugging off the blanket that had been covering him and started pacing across the carpeted floor of your lounge. You watched it happen in shock, not knowing what had just transpired.

Before you could ask, Marc (or at least you assumed it was Marc) started muttering to himself.

You sat back down, hoping it would ground you a little.

“Uh, Marc?” You asked. He didn’t reply, still walking around like a man possessed. “Marc,” you called again, worry evident in your voice. When he still refused to stop, you sucked in a deep breath, mustering up what little firmness you owned. “Marc!”

He stopped and his wild eyes met yours. “Sorry…sorry.”

Your lips parted slightly. So it was him. “Sit down, Marc,” you requested softly. To your surprise, he actually listened, slumping back down onto the sofa. “I’m sorry,” you started, not really sure what to say to him at this moment.

He stared at you for a second before glancing away.

“It’s whatever. It’s not your fault.”

You pursed your lips. “It’s still my sister who did that. And, y’know, I’m sorry for making you mad. I really was just trying to help.”

Marc looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Mad? No, no I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at them. At her. At - at me.” Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape.

“If you need something…I mean, I'm no expert in relationships but I reckon you’re feeling pretty bummed right now.”

Marc scoffed. “Bummed? My fiance was having sex with another man. I think I’m a bit more than bummed.”

You lowered your head. “You're right. Sorry.”

Across from you, Marc huffed. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t treat you like this after you let us into your home. Just -” Marc groaned, like trying to speak about his feelings was the most difficult task he’d ever been given. “I just loved her, y’know?”

You smiled sadly at him. “From what she told me, she loved you too. Loves you.”

“Yeah? Well if she loved us so much, she wouldn’t have felt the need to fuck someone else.” his full lips tugged down. “I mean, shit, sometimes it felt like she didn’t even like Jake and I. Feels like she was just with us ‘cause she wanted Steven. And even then, she took advantage of him because he was too much of a dumb, in-love idiot to know better.”

You wanted to argue this - say something that would make him feel better, but truthfully you couldn’t. Your sister didn’t talk about them much, but when she did, it was always; Steven that and Steven this. And, more often than not, it was her complaining about something he had done. Hell, one time she had rang you up to whinge about an apparently ‘awful’ date he’d taken her on to a museum.

Honestly, you thought she was just lucky to have someone take her anywhere.

It wasn’t that your sister was a bad person (though that was questionable after what you’d just found out), she was just a little bit spoiled with the riches of life. She got what she wanted. She got who she wanted. And clearly, she took it for granted. But even then, it was beyond you how she could do something like that to a man who, from what you had bore witness to, would give her the world. You didn’t know them very well, but from Steven’s kindness, to Marc’s dry humour and even Jake’s unparalleled charm, they seemed, to be honest, not short of the perfect fiance.

Maybe you were a little jealous.

You said instead, not quite sure how to properly respond to Marc’s heartfelt confession, “So, no marriage then?” You worried that it might have been a tad insensitive.

Marc cracked a sad, small smile. “No, I don't think so.”

“That’s probably a good thing. Let me tell you, she probably would have been the biggest bridezilla to walk this earth.” Your attempt to lighten the mood didn’t go unnoticed.

“You know, one time she got pissed at me because I didn’t fluff the pillows for her after getting out of bed.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you at Marc’s unexpected words.

“Sorry, what?”

He continued in a reminiscent tone, “She said that if Steven were there, he’d have fluffed the pillows, fixed the blankets and gotten her a cup of coffee.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “I told her she could do all of that herself and threw a pillow at her face.”

Your face scrunched as you tried not to laugh again.

“Maybe it is my fault she cheated on us,” he said blandly, head dropping back against the couch as his eyes met yours. A giggle escaped your lips and you instantly clapped a hand over your mouth. “You think me being cheated on is funny?” he asked. You quickly shook your head.

“No, no I’m sorry, Marc. It’s not funny at all. Promise.”

Marc shook his head, “Was just teasin’.”

The smile stays on his lips but his eyes drop, a hefty sigh moving his chest. When he looks at you again, he reminds you of a little boy. Lost. In need of comfort. He reminds you of yourself.

“You know, maybe Steven met the wrong sister first.”

His cheeks raise for a second as he smiles tightly at you. For a second his words don't register, but when they do, a hue of red rushes to your cheeks.

“Thanks, Marc,” you say gently. “I really am sorry about what happened.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know.”

And as you sit there watching him, his dark ruffled hair and full pink lips, something painful gnaws at your stomach. Maybe Steven did meet the wrong sister first. You stand up, toes sinking into the plush carpet below.

“I know I don’t have to, but let me get you something to drink anyways.”

“Marc,” you gasped as his large hands slid around your waist, pulling you deeper onto him with every thrust of his hips. “Oh, fuck.”

The softness of your bedsheets sink against your clawed grip, the wooden frame of your bed scratching up against the wall with every movement from the man on top of you.

He was everywhere. Everything. Touching, biting, kissing, loving.

It was enough to make tears well up in your eyes. Enough to make you turn your head and conceal a quiet sob into the pillow beside you. It was enough and it was nothing all at the same time.

How did you get here? With your legs sprawled over Marc’s strong, muscular shoulders and his warm, soft body pressed tightly against you. How did you find yourself reaching a high you’d never felt, his name falling off your lips in hurried gasps for breath and whispered sobs of ecstasy?

He wasn’t yours. He never was.

But still, as you came, clutched tight to his body, lips pressed close to one another, just for a second, it felt like he was. Like he could’ve been.

And shit, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt like hell.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered into the skin of your neck, teeth pulling at whatever they could find. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck. Yeah.”

He sighed, his hands clenched into fists, breaths unhurried and heavy against you.

This could be paradise.

You wished it was paradise.

But fuck, all you could think about was how you were the worst sister in the world.

You shouldn’t have let this happen. You shouldn’t have been so weak. When Steven showed up at your door close to tears, his large frame shivering and his eyes so wide and sad, and when Jake took control of the body for a split second, with his dry wit and crude grins and when Marc, sweet, rageful Marc, had tried to make things less awkward, had tried to act like the woman he loved didn’t just shatter his heart…you should have done what any good sister-in-law would do, you should have offered him a spot on the couch until he could sort things out and go back home. You should have comforted him, given him a shoulder to cry on, called your sister and bitten her head off for being the most ungrateful woman in the world. You should have, but you didn’t.

You shouldn’t have given him that beer. Or the one after that. Or the four that followed. A grieving man and a shit ton of alcohol was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

“You really gonna make me drink alone?” Marc asked, lips upturned in an inviting smirk.

And how could you say no when he looked at you like that? “Yeah, alright, just a couple. I think we both need it after tonight.”

It was more than ‘just a couple.’

You shouldn’t have let him touch you like he did, shouldn’t have convinced yourself you were just being a good friend. You shouldn’t have been so weak and drunk and - and stupid.

But it was too late for regrets now.

The feeling of a hand cupping your cheek dragged you out from your inner turmoil. Marc was staring at you, his dewey brown eyes fixed squarely on yours. The crinkle on his forehead told you he was confused, an expression that reminded you more of Steven than anything else. You hadn’t even noticed him fixing up the blankets around you, or putting on his briefs. It had to have been the middle of the night by now, early morning even. The last few hours had been a haze…a sweaty, passionate, pink haze.

As your eyes roved over Marc's face, a sudden guilt churned in your stomach. You tried to rationalise it, he had come onto you, not the other way around. But you knew that it was as much your fault as it was his. You were both drunk. He was trying to forget about his fiance’s infidelity and you…

What did you want, really, in your drunkenness?

The question scared you. It scared you so much that you ground your teeth and refused to dwell on it any longer.

“You should get some rest, Marc,” you whispered gently, eyes looking everywhere but him. He mumbled something under his breath before burrowing himself down into the white sheets of your bed, his dark locks a mess. His back rippled with muscles as he got himself comfortable and you forced yourself not to look.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

You didn’t want to know if Marc was still tipsy, or if over the last few hours, he’d come out of the drunken fog like you had. You didn’t want to know, because if Marc really had been intoxicated the whole time - if he had been so out of it, that he could barely register who he was fucking, then that meant he didn’t mean anything he had said, or did. And that stung, just a little bit more than it should’ve - you were, after all, just his fiance's sister.

It didn’t matter now anyways, he was out cold.

When you heard his soft snores start to fill the room, you slinked out of bed, your feet carrying you through your apartment. The chill of the late Autumn weather had you wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

In the bathroom, all you could do was stare. The person looking back at you with the tousled hair and red marks left a sour taste in your mouth. Marc was your sisters fiance for fucks sake. It didn’t matter if she’d cheated on him, that didn’t give you the right to just - to just, what. Fuck him? Use him to fulfil your own lonely, desperate desires?

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Loneliness. A longing for something, or someone.

You liked Marc, you liked Steven - hell you even liked Jake for what little you knew of him, but they were due to be wed to your sister in a couple of months. Did this not make you some sort of homewrecker? Sure, your sister had done it to him first but…but.

But nothing. You didn’t know what to think. All these feelings bubbling to the surface were too much.

The tears caught you by surprise. What had you done? Your sister would hate you. Marc would wake up in the morning and hate you. Steven probably hated you for sleeping with Marc. You hated you right now.

You couldn’t look at yourself any longer, couldn’t stand to think about this for another second.

You left the bathroom and headed for the couch, the place where this whole mess had started, curling yourself around your deserted blanket. You clenched your eyes shut, begging for the quiet solitude of sleep. There was too much on your mind, and…

…And god it was wrong, but the feel of his hands on you kept you awake till the first rays of morning light shone through the windows of your small apartment.

Post nut clarity be like

#moon knight #moon boys #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight x reader #moon knight system #x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #cheating #angst #moon knight system x reader #i couldnt find my fucking drafts for ten minutes what the fuck even is this man #moon knight smut #i say smut but its like a little bit poetic and sad #writing is so hard man

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januaryembrs · 3 months

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [10]

Description: Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

Word count: 12.6k

Trigger Warnings: okay so; HEAVY TRIGGER for drug use and overdose/ accidental suicide. guns. blood. gore. abusive relationship. poverty. HEAVY ON THE ANGST PEOPLE. suggestive tones in parts.

authors note: I'm sorry this has taken forever and a day to post, I had planned to upload on valentines day however life got in the way in every way it possibly could and so this got put on hold for few days, I hope that's okay! enjoy!!

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Boys, get down here. Dinner’s going cold.” She called up the stairs, her voice already that of a tired mother. Mathew practically skidded past her bounding down the stairs, god knows that boy knew how to eat, even if the parsnips were stone cold he would still devour them whole, “Where’s Mikey?” She yelled after him, her tattered apron tied around her waist, greasy fingerprints dragged down the whites.

“In his room,” Joey said, his bulky glasses deep in his new crossword book, “Nine down, a second chance at life?”

His sister looked up the stairs worried, her natural expression whenever Mikey wasn’t under her constant watch, before she met his gaze, adjusting fake pearls around her neck.

“Huh?”

“Second chance at life. Nine letters.” He repeated, scratching the light smattering of facial hair he had only just been able to grow. He felt her fingers deftly begin to fix the tie around his collar, the golden fairy lights wrapped around the bannister illuminating where her red nail polish chipped around the edges.

“After life?” She guessed, straightening his shirt out for him, fussing like she had always done. He shook his head, wincing as she screeched over his shoulder into the dining room. “MATHEW, PUT THE ROAST POTATOES BACK- THOSE ARE FOR EVERYONE,” She tutted under her breath. Sometimes he forgot she was only seventeen. “Sam, can you get the stuffing out the oven,”

A grunt of agreement from the second boy, before a six foot tall, moody boy shuffled past the open door with bumblebee oven mitts on which took every ounce of attitude out of him.

“One word,” Joe said, his eyes flicking over to the vinyl player that stuttered on its eighth run through of ‘Fairytale of New York’.

The tinsel she’d braided into her hair rustled, eyes identical to his own watching his mouth quirk in thought.

“You’re supposed to be the genius of the family,” She teased, her finger nudging under his chin affectionately before she released him, pecking his forehead as he passed her to go take a seat at the table. She fussed some more over the baubles hanging from the tree on her way to the kitchen, straightening out the few stragglers, her pruning fingertips brushing over the fleece blankets covering the back of the sofa, as if she needed to feel their home to remind her where she was, “How about Migration?”

“Good, but it ends in T,” He called out to her, watching his eldest brother look up guiltily where he had a dollop of mash on a spoon, his mouth already full.

It seemed their sister caught onto his greed as she sharply smacked him over the back over the head, ripping the spoon from his hand, “Pig,” She spit at him, not that it seemed to phase him too much as his eyes already set on the small beef loin, the fat dripping off the plate tenderly, “I’m going to get Mikey. Resurrect?”

His eyes lit up at the suggestion, scribbling it down in his book. The cinnamon candle burnt strongly in the centre of the table, warm and spicy, just how Christmas should smell.

It didn’t negate the fact they had all had to go easy on showers for the week, or that the house was freezing at night or that it was obvious all of their “Fancy day” clothes smelled like a charity shop.

Joseph was only thirteen and already he’d noticed how exhausted his sister seemed every day. He’s stopped thinking about it so much, seeing as she’d always been that way, but the drain on her body was clear as anything nowadays.

Joey was just a kid, but so was she.

It wasn’t long before the final two of their little family came traipsing down the stairs, Mikey’s hand tight in his sister’s. At twelve years old, he was still a dot of a boy, scrawny, practically all ribs she would say, and he was a weepy one too. It wasn’t a surprise the kids at school were so cruel, even their own father, when he bothered to drag himself home from the pub or his friends’ sofas, would say the fire had died out a little more with every kid that came out of his ex-wife. His sister was so fierce she could melt the world’s core if she wanted to, Joey was convinced of it. Matt simply was untouchable despite the kids at school taking digs at him just as often as they did Mikey, as if he knew from birth he was getting out of this hell hole, that he was made for better than this. Children could sniff out the ones among them that were struggling like a cadaver dog onto a corpse, and once they latched on they rarely let go. Then was Sammy, and well, one look at him and he spoke for himself. At fifteen he was already broad enough that the kids picking on Mike turned to deadly silence when he was around; grumpy as a mule, cold as their mother, a boy with a bitter face. His sister would rub her thumb over the scowl that marred his brow, trying to flatten the crack where his nose met his forehead, where the anger seemed to settle. She hated seeing them upset; had the unshakable need to fix them.

Joey was her smart boy, trying to fly under the radar and cause her less anguish than he saw the rest of the boys gave her. He thought sometimes, when she would come home at 2am in her clothes from the club, bruises on her arms, when she would make them both a cup of tea and help him with homework, he thought then that he might even be her favourite. They all vied for her attention, only her and Matthew even remembered their mother, it only made sense that she was the next best thing for her boys.

But she was more than just a stand in for their mom. She was their everything, even with the fights over who was doing laundry, the yelling between her and Sammy when she would have to pick him up from the station for the nth time that month for petty thievery, even when Matt started wolfing down a rogue handful of carrots that had fallen onto the dinner table and she had all but dragged him by the ear into the kitchen to go get them drinks.

They revelled in their little bubble, knowing the only thing they’d be given for free in this world was each other.

And when they had finally sat down for christmas dinner, the smoke from the DIY Christmas crackers tiny Mikey had made lingering with a sulphur bite to their nose; when Sam flashed them all a rare laugh as she read out the terrible jokes hidden inside, the paper hats falling down over their eyes as they laughed, their full tummies hurting, plates polished of every scrap, Matt ofcourse eating the left over yorkshire puddings as if they were crisps. When they’d sat in front of the TV that only had four channels and a hefty video player underneath, Joey fiddled with the only film they ever bothered to watch on Christmas Day.

The sepia scene met the soft orange of the fire she’d lit for them, every light besides the ones on the tree turned off for their movie. Joey and Mikey sat practically two inches from the screen, a somewhat stale bowl of popcorn passed between them.

They watched in awed silence as Dorothy ran down the country lane, Toto at her heels, her auburn hair jumping behind her in bunches as she looked over her shoulder.

Running away, always running away, same as she was every year they watched.

“She isn’t coming yet, Toto. Did she hurt you?” Judy Gartland fawned over her pet, the gingham dress bunching around her knees.

Worried, always worried. Always preening. Always fixing.

And by the time the twister came to rip her away from her family and send her to Oz, the girl who wasn’t Dove just yet was already asleep on Sammy’s shoulder, the grumpy boy knocking his head against hers affectionately, silently, the crunching of popcorn and the slurping of an off brand Cola the only things that cut through the sound of the movie.

Unaware, naive to what was about to happen to her.

—

Dove and Steven had a glint in their eyes that she was sure would never be wiped off as they walked beside one another, their pinky fingers clasped tightly together.

He had a dopey look on his face, not even watching where they were going as he stared at her side profile, seeing the warmth meeting her eyes for the first time in a while. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from the smiling, biting her bottom lip like she had a secret.

She would glance back at him every so often, only to see him already staring, his brown eyes softer than a cup of hot chocolate, swirling with adoration and melting at the sight of her meeting his gaze.

After the fourth or fifth time, she reached up to brush her nose gently, “Do I have something on my face?”

He didn’t even answer, he just pulled her in for another kiss, his free hand tugging at the fat of her hips, squeezing gently as he kissed her with a greed she felt high on.

She held back a whine, the hands on her body kind and loving, overwhelming, invading, saturating her with something so entirely like home she felt her face run hot.

She giggled into his mouth as he released her, her hands finding the sides of his neck, thumb running over either side of his jaw as she felt him smile under her touch.

“Steven?” He seemed dazed, eyes never leaving her lips as she said his name again, giddy like his brain had malfunctioned and slowed, “Do I have anything on my face?”

He mumbled something wordless, shaking his head slightly, looking back at her goofy smile as she waited for a real answer. As if it had only just caught up with him, his brow creased, meeting her eyes with a bit more clarity than before.

“Huh?” He asked, to which she giggled and kissed him some more. She was sure her heart was pounding out of her ribs, and that he could hear it from how closely he was pressed to her front.

“You’re staring, I thought I had something on my face,” She said, his nose brushing against hers as he dipped in to kiss the laugh lines of her cheeks, “Do I?”

Steven shook his head, his gaze fanning over the entirety of her face and landing where he wanted her the most, back to her lips that smiled at him in content.

“No, just,” He stopped himself from kissing her again, worrying he was smothering her, though some part of him knew she craved the touch as much as he did. She told him as much by the way her fingers intertwined in the root of his hair, pressing into him like a cat purring under his hand, “You make me really happy,”

Her throat bobbed, the smallest of tears springing to her eyes as she kissed him one last time. She wished she could meld her body to his, couldn’t wait for them to have a moment alone when she could take him fully if he would have her again. Truthfully, selfishly, she couldn’t give a damn about Harrow all that much anymore, her entire being hollow the moment she pulled away from him. He’d changed the epicentre of her world the moment she’d heard those three words.

He loved her.

She didn’t deserve it, but he loved her.

Shuffling away from him, not entirely unaware of how his hand was reluctant to drop her waist, how his lips chased hers, how he seemed to pout when she put some distance between them.

“You make me really happy too, Steven,” She said, her voice mellow and buttery, moving to hold his hand properly, the two of them setting off back to where Layla seemed to be fiddling with something from her backpack.

She knew she would never be good enough for him, that he deserved someone so much better, but it was difficult to hear the horrid thoughts that whirred around the abyss of her head when she heard him softly chuckle, smiling to himself as if he couldn’t believe the words out of her mouth.

Sometimes it’s not about deserve. That’s what Marc had said. And maybe she could start believing him. Because it was Marc, and Marc knew everything. Marc would know what to say, know how to soothe the feeling of rot that threatened to ruin Steven’s sweet words, his soft kisses.

Marc would fix it. Marc would understand. She was sure of it.

–

“We’re going to belay down there,” Layla explained, securing the mountaineering rope to the clasp on her waist, tightening the notch and giving the cable an experimental tug.

The two of them blanked, looking at one another in their own sets of gear that the woman had them step into with little explanation.

“I think we should be right on time, Harrow shouldn’t be too far ahead of us-” Dove started, only to be cut off by the older woman with a scoff and an eye roll.

“Belay. It means we’re going to lower ourselves down using our own weight.” Dove’s face fell in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly as Layla shook her head with a hidden chuckle.

“Right, got it.” She held her hands up, nudging Steven’s when she saw his smile widen, if that had even been possible, “Floor is yours,”

Layla hid her laugh with a cough, taking one confident step off the ledge and down into the tomb, the rope gently dropping her into the darkness.

Dove and Steven watched with bated breath, the former leaning forwards to ensure she had reached the floor safely. Her eyes squinted, not seeing all too much other than the broken steps that would have once been functional, that were half buried in sand by now.

“Be careful love,” She felt his fingers loop into her harness, keeping her safe even though they both knew she could survive the fall and much worse.

She smiled, ready to reply when she saw a flash of Layla’s torch from below, and the woman’s face returned.

“Alright, it’s safe. Come down one at a time,” She instructed, the younger woman sticking a thumbs up at her and moving back into a hard chest where Steven hovered over her.

“I’ll go first,” She said, reaching for the clip and tightening it to her harness the way Layla had.

“Wait, shouldn’t I go first? Make sure it’s working properly?” Steven said, though his voice hardly matched the chivalry of his words. She smiled toothily at him, tugging on the rope once to set it in place.

“Put it this way, honey. I can survive broken legs, but I need every bit of you to function or else I don’t know how I’m going to repay you,” It was new. It was flirty. She had a cheeky twinkle in her eye that reminded him she was able to be girlish and happy and tease him and call him honey and it all felt normal and he wanted more of it by the bucket load. He’d not seen her like this perhaps ever. He fell in love with her even more. He didn’t even think he could.

His mouth moved in an attempt to say something, his face tinging red at the implication of her words.

“You don’t have to repay me,” He murmured, feeling her fingers loop through his belt, a heat to her gaze that had his skin prickling.

“I know,” She pecked his lips one more time before they had to be parted even if it was only for a matter of a minute or two, “I just really want to,” She drew back when she heard his breath stutter, his cheeks growing all the more darker in their cherry red shade, and gripped the top of the rope the way she’d seen Layla do.

“Ok-kay,” The man stammered, his palms sweating, nose tingling with heat.

“See you in a minute,” She quipped with a deep breath for courage, stepping into the darkness as her body weight tugged against the rope.

Her feet met the sand faster than expected, stumbling a moment before she steadied herself, fingers quickly undoing the harness that sat around her thighs and waist.

Taking in the small entrance to the catacomb, she saw Layla crouched over the foot of a statue, her own torch clamped tightly in her grasp. Figuring she was conducting her own search, she chanced a look back up to where Steven’s dopey grin looked down at her, as if cartoonish pink hearts swirled around his head.

“It’s safe!” She called up, as she fumbled with the latch around her harness, “Just need to get this off-”

The wind was knocked out of her as a body crashed into her own, two startled voices filling the cave, two hands pinning either side of her, landing on her back with a shooting pain through her brow.

She groaned in unison with the heavy body atop her, feeling where his head had banged against hers.

“Guess you could say I’m really falling for you,” Steven’s joke melded with a grunt as he pried himself off her, feeling Marc huff in annoyance from inside the head.

“Huh?” Her voice was muddled, her face scrunched in pain. She barely heard what he said before he had stumbled to his knees, holding his hand out to lift her off the floor.

“I said- Nothing- Sorry love,” Steven stuttered, his hand pawing at his aching temple, pulling the girl back to her feet, “Guess I just need a bit of practice at that Belay thing,”

“A bit?” Layla scoffed, though she watched the pair with a hidden smirk, the bumbling mess of limbs as they dusted themselves off and unhooked their gear, “You okay?”

“I’m aces,” He said, turning to where Dove had dirt collecting in her hairline. Reaching a hand up to help her brush it away gently, he was distracted by the huge statue of big cat, most likely a lion, engraved into the stone, “Look at you,” He murmured breathlessly.

It was her turn to warm under his brazen words, stilling her movements, fingertips rubbing away the traces of sand clinging to her clammy skin.

She laughed with more shock than anything, though it sounded more like a choke, swallowing heavily as she braved to meet his gaze.

Her brow furrowed as she flicked a glance over her shoulder at the artwork along the wall, untouched for hundreds of years, the paint lines a thick and dark umber red as if sketched only yesterday.

Looking back to him, she crossed her fingers he hadn’t seen her flattered expression, knowing better than to be embarrassed around him yet she couldn’t deny those three words spread the heat back through her gut that he had satiated only moments earlier.

Clicking her torch back on, she threw her attention away from those soft brown eyes, back to the sculpt of the lions, the stone cracking as chalky under their years of solitude, but striking nonetheless.

“If they just sprang to life right now and asked me a riddle for passage, I’d be thrilled,” Steven said, his voice that of a boy at Christmas, “I’d shit myself, but I’d be thrilled,”

Giggling behind besotted eyes, Dove moved to head further into the tomb, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw freshly drawn initials in the sand.

Glancing back to where Layla seemed to shrink in demeanour, she gestured to the markings with her light, “Did you do these?” She asked, curious to her motives.

“Yeah,” She cleared her throat, averting her eyes to the wall opposite them where vibrant blues and sunflower yellow strokes stared back, “Yeah it’s for my father. He would have loved to be here,”

“Big history buff is he?” Steven asked, the three of them setting off through the tunnel, leading them further into the crypt.

“So much worse,” The El-Faouly woman replied with a smile, falling into step with the duo, “Archeologist with a mission,”

They all breathed a laugh, the air stagnant and musky around them, the smell of a place only the dead seemed to know the past few thousand years.

“And to him it was a dream worth dying for. And he did,” She went on, Dove’s face falling into solemn sorrow. She knew, if Layla was anything like she was, she would hate the idea of hearing an apology, would hate the idea of someone feeling sorry for her. She had barely been treading water the past day or two, fighting to stay in Layla’s good books, she feared if she were to show any remorse now it would only earn her a slap to the face.

“Did he dig it?” She asked, her face forlorn and wary as she toed the boundary between their friendship. Casting a glance back at Layla and Steven, she gulped, “So history, you could say he dug it?”

The light bulb went for both of them, Layla frowning with a defeated grin.

“That was awful,” She playfully shoved the younger woman, who took it with no bother, smiling back in relief her joke had been taken kindly, “That was the worst-”

“I quite liked it,” Steven inputted helpfully, also earning a bash to the shoulder as Layla laughed.

“Not a word from the two of you now unless it’s something useful,” She scolded, leading the way through the tightening corridor, the darkness encompassing them in something that felt like comradery.

“Did you want to hear the one about the dinosaur’s dog-” Dove started, the words echoing around them as they headed further in, only to be stopped again by Layla’s softened voice.

“Do-you-think-he-saurus rex!”

–

She stared at the house, the one she’d been born in, the light in her room long since switched out. She wouldn’t blame them if they’d taken over her room, it was the biggest one, though that wasn’t saying much. She could see it now, Mathew shotgunning the double bed the moment she left, there was more than enough room for Billie’s small cot next to him. She’d grabbed what she could the day Oz had taken her away, but she wouldn’t bat an eye if they’d sold the clothes she’d left, or even thrown them on the fire to stay warm.

No, she wouldn’t blame them for erasing all memory of her. She’d been the one to leave, not them. As far as they knew, she’d not made contact whatsoever. Her letters had never been sent, never even left the house.

She’d not seen home in three years. It was smaller than she remembered. Darker.

The duffle bag was clutched tightly in her hands, wringing the fabric of the handle between her fingers. The accelerator had been to the floor the entire way here, the blood was still caked thick in her hair, under her nails, stained parts of her skin.

Frank’s blood. She wondered if the neighbours had called the police yet, if they ever would since he kept them so isolated. Wondered if she was already a suspect in his murder.

She shook in her shoes at the thought, though that may just be the December night air.

A figure came storming out of the front door, hands in his pockets, his coat thin and moth eaten.

Mathew had never been a tall boy, not even at eighteen when she’d last seen him, especially not now at twenty. He was always thin in his face, despite devouring the most out of any of them, his eyes always tired. Though, becoming a dad at such a young age would do that to someone.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes roving over her with a grand mix of anger and worry. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, as if he’d seen a dog returning home with its tail between its legs. Which was sort of how she felt.

“Matty-” She breathed, her exhale clear as day in the freezing night, only he scoffed at the words. He may as well have spat in her, “I don’t have time to explain-”

“What?” He growled, lip sneering in a way that looked too much like their mother, “Where the fuck have you been?”

She baulked, eyebrows furrowing in a way that she willed herself not to burst into tears. She wanted to head inside, wanted to curl up on the old, ratty sofa they’d had since she was young, wanted to feel Sammy’s head knock against hers affectionately, the only sign the grumpy boy ever gave that said he loved her, despite the fact she knew. She wanted to scold Matty for eating all the bacon out the fridge, help Joey finish his sudoku, wanted, no, needed to see Mikey, see he was okay. Last time she’d been here, she’d found him stashing pills for his friends she knew had a one way ticket to juvie or the streets.

She’d left for all of them, left to get them a better life. And now she was standing outside her childhood home, drenched in bloodied clothes, her body used, beaten, betrayed. Grace was gone. Frank was dead.

This was all she had left. Her boys were all she had left.

“I don’t have time,” She repeated, forcing the duffle bag into his hands, hoping he missed the way the blood collected beneath her nails. She’d scrubbed off what she could before she left, but she knew had it been daylight he’d notice the red ichor immediately, “This is for you,”

“Wha-” Matty looked as if he could swing for her, and she knew she deserved it. She’d left them. Her bottom lip trembled at the very thought. He said her name, only now it seemed dirty, filthy, tainted, like that name had been said by so many awful men she felt as though it was muddied even Matty when he said it, “You leave us to rot for three years, and all of a sudden you just swan in here with presents-”

“Mathew, be quiet,” She barked, hearing his voice grow louder and louder, echoing in the silent street she used to run down to catch her bus, “I have to go,”

He stopped, staring at her teary eyes for a moment, and then laughed. Loud and cruel, and she knew his vitriol was still ongoing, knew she wouldn’t even stop him if he wanted to throw a cruel hand across her face for running away.

She was such a coward. She was a liar. A murderer. But she was a coward above all of that.

“Did we stop being good enough for you, huh?” He spat, trying to hand her the bag back, “I don’t want your pity or your little presents, take it-”

“It wasn’t like that,” She pleaded, wrestling with him to keep the bag strap in his grasp, “Mathew, just take the bag,”

He shoved her away, but she didn’t relent, her mind set on getting him to take the damn money, the fucking notes that mean nothing to her anymore. There had to be at least thirty grand in there by now, probably more.

“We needed you, and you weren’t here,” Matt stumbled away from her as she forced the bag into his chest. His voice trembled in a way it hadn’t since he was a boy, since she used to bathe him with that damn toy boat, wash his hair with dish soap, “Social Services know about Mikey and the pills- they want to take Billie away-”

She stopped at that, the two of them looking at each other for the first time since she’d shown up. His eyes were watery, where hers were empty. His sister had always been strong, Matt didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry in all the years of shit she’d trodden through for them. She had always looked exhausted, as if her brain was fired up every moment of the day, as if she could go for a three day nap and it wouldn’t so much as touch her.

But this was worse. She wasn’t tired. Wasn’t thinking hard. His sister didn’t even look alive.

Whoever it was staring back at him was not the girl he remembered. Someone could tell him a wraith had crawled into his sister’s skin and dragged her back here with the sole mission of getting him to take the damn bag, and he’d believe them.

She looked dead. She felt it too.

“Is that-” He stopped himself, a bitter hand reaching up for a mark on her face that glinted under the moonlight, “Blood?”

She froze, and for a moment neither of them said anything.

Her breath rattled in her chest, the stickiness of Frank’s blood clinging her clothes to her skin, and he realised once he’d actually taken the sight of her in, that she smelled metallic, that she had a thousand mile stare that had not been there the day she’d left them.

“Everything I’ve done, I did it for you.” She said after a moment’s reprieve and the anger brewing in his frown wiped immediately, the words soothing his fury into a simmering guilt.

He tried to say her name again, only to have her cut him off, shoving the back into his arms with finality, her eyes blank, leaving no space for questions, for retaliation.

“Get Mikey a lawyer. Get him to rehab. Read the letters, or not, I don’t care,” But she did. She cared more than anything. Cared so much she needed to run, now, cared so much she knew every moment she spent talking was more time for him to be incriminated in what she’d done. “I have to go, it’s not safe,”

He wanted to hug her; he’d never been the affectionate one, she usually saved her cuddles for the younger ones. He wished he’d hugged her now. Wished he’d dragged her back inside, gotten her warm in front of their fire, forced the truth out of her. Anything to tell him what that look on her face had meant. Anything to make her stop seeming so dead it scared him like a child.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t, not even as she all but sped away in a car he’d never seen before, a limp he’d not noticed through his anger fogged brain as he’d stormed down their front path.

He barely caught Sammy, filling their entire doorway with his form that had only grown tenfold, if that had even been possible, since his sister left, looking like a kicked dog behind angry eyes that glinted with rare tears.

“Come on, Sam,” Matty said, brushing past his little brother, though he towered over him for a nineteen year old, heading inside their small house that had felt colder since she’d abandoned them, “We’ll sort it out in the morning,”

But Sam didn’t. He watched the broken tail lights of the car speed off into the distance, until they were no more than a sound rattling around the silent neighbourhood. Only then did he let himself begin to cry, hoping she came back for them soon.

–

“It’s a maze,” Layla said, as the three of them traipsed through the tunnels that certainly looked like they had seen better days. Dove startled a bit at the bugs that skittered up the walls as the light hit them, no doubt a little frightened themselves at the rude intrusion from the trio, though she stuck behind Layla. She’d fought demon jackals, men with guns, lived a double life but bugs were what scared her.

“It’s a-maze-ing,” Steven replied, snickering to himself, which had her giggling too, shaking her head at the man behind her.

“She means there are six paths, Steven,” D ove clarified, and he hoped the light covered the way his cheeks rouged.

“Right, yeah, yeah,” He replied, sticking his head down one of the thin alley ways to scope out the labyrinth they’d found themselves in, “Six points,”

Dove hung back as Layla went towards another one of the pathways, eyes clocking a stone surface planted directly in the middle of the antechamber, the sand laying thick over the top, yet uneven as if the stone wasn’t entirely flat.

Her brows furrowed, and she traced her finger deeper in the dust, carving out where the ridges grooved into the table. She made an almond shape, an arching line parallelling it, before she realised what the marking was, her brows shooting into her forehead.

She saw a torch flick over where she worked, felt Steven’s body press against her side as if he’d forgotten what personal space was exactly.

“You don’t think…” He started, watching how her soft fingertip swirled around into a spiral the two of them had seen a million times walking past the exhibits on the way to the gift shop, “This whole structure is-”

“The Eye of Horus,” She finished, curving around to create the iris. As if proving her point, Steven’s light reflected off the the shiny stone of the table, producing the identical symbol on the ceiling of the room, which had her nudging his hand, pointing to the light, “Look at that,”

“Wow,” He hummed, his eyes flicking between the eye and the wonder on her face as she smiled wryly at the stone, “It’s the royal symbol, protection in the afterlife.”

“I mean the resources needed to build this-” Layla added, looking between all of the corridors that had certainly not been crafted in a day’s work, nor had it been done cheaply, judging by the quality of stone that surrounded them. She stopped, her eyes wild with excitement as she looked at the two of them, “Her final avatar was a pharaoh,”

A breath whooshed from Dove’s lungs, jaw gaping, feeling Steven practically buzzing in his shoes beside her.

“A bloody pharoah,” He repeated, the joy coating his words like a kid on Christmas. He and Layla chuckled between one another, before their gaze fell on Dove, who stared at the drawing in the sand as if it would outright speak to her.

“So you think it’s a map?” Layla asked, her fawn eyes dropping to the girl who bit her lip unsure.

She nodded, gaze scanning over the drawing again, as Steven’s rough finger followed where her own hand had traced just moments before.

“Right. So the eye of Horus is also the Eye of mind, yeah?” He asked, his face now more serious than she’d ever seen him, as he thought harder, “Representing the six senses, six points.” He gestured to each of the corridors that lead away from the chamber they huddled in, “So you’ve got the eyebrow that denotes thoughts. Pupil, sight obviously.” He followed each of his words with his calloused fingers, the same ones that had been down her trousers not so much as a few hours ago. She felt her stomach writhe at the thought, “This point here is, uh, hearing. Smell. Touch. And this long line ending in a spiral is the tongue,”

She felt her eyes train on his lips as he said it, his gaze falling to her face where she stood besides him, watching every movement on his lips as if she could barely hold herself back from meeting their mouths then and there.

“The avatar would be Ammit’s voice,” Layla murmured, entirely unaware of the heated thoughts racing through the girl’s mind as she stared at the man, his own expression indiscernible, meeting her eyes with his own chestnut hues, “We should head this way,”

Layla took off towards the route the tongue pointed them to, the two of them hanging behind for a moment, unable to rip their eyes from one another.

“What’s that look for?” Steven asked, chuckling nervously as he tried and failed to pull his gaze away from her where she licked her lips slowly. Leaning towards him, her fingers found the front of his jacket as she pulled him closer, kissing him gently, though there was a subtle bite to it that went straight to his trousers as he melted.

Pulling away, she looked at him with a spritely kind of excitement, as if she loved every moment of looking at him like that.

“Did I ever tell you how amazing I think you are?” She asked, her face warm with adoration, and the words had his cheeks blazing instantly.

“You mentioned it once or twice,” He joked, both of them knowing full well the girl was known to give him every compliment she could even before they had been brave enough to admit how they felt for one another.

She snickered, pulling away from him to follow where Layla had wandered off too, looping a pinky finger in his own to encourage him to follow. Had she not, he was sure he’d be rooted to the floor, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down, or even for his cock to calm enough that he could move without feeling it press against his trousers.

He cursed himself moments later, when his brain caught up to him, that he hadn’t told her just how amazing he thought she was.

Yet Steven felt his jeans tighten again when he thought of one other way he could show her just what he felt.

The heavy panting was the only sign either of them were even there as they walked through the narrow corridor, the smallest slither of light meeting them at the end, not unlike when they had trudged into the Great pyramid. That had seemed weeks ago, when in reality it had only been six days, how her life had been flipped upside down all the more since then.

Her head rattled on her shoulders, thoughts flitting over Layla and her whereabouts as they stepped through the hallway, dust thickening in their lungs with every pant. Her ears were alert to the smallest of movements, her heart pounding in her chest, the image of that thing, the resurrected Heka Priest, replaying in her head, the screech of its rotted vocal chords keeping her arm hairs standing in goose flesh.

“She’ll be alright, won’t she?” Dove asked solemnly, her brow creased so tight she reminded herself of Sammy, knowing they had always looked the most similar out of all of her brothers. She knew, by the way Steven blanched at the sight of her worry, that she looked as guilty as she felt, “I shouldn’t have left her-”

“We didn’t have much choice, sweetheart,” He sighed, grabbing her hand tightly in his own, stopping in the middle of the darkened chamber to look at her properly. She tugged her lip between her teeth as she averted his gaze, the disappointment in herself shadowing over her chest, “We did everything we could- it’s Layla, she’s done this a thousand times with Marc. She’ll know what to do,”

Though he was more convincing himself than anything. He wasn’t so sure from the way Marc scoffed inside the headspace that she had in fact not run from undead creatures that threatened to rip her limb from limb a thousand times. Not even once. This was new territory for all of them.

She didn’t seem convinced as she nodded, her lips quirking as if she was about to say something, only for him to kiss her forehead before she could.

“I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if something happened to her,” She confessed, after he drew back, watching her thoughts swimming behind sad eyes, as if he could see the way she bit her tongue to stop herself from calling herself the worst names imaginable.

He stroked her cheek gently, tilting her chin to meet his gaze, his chocolate gaze warmer than summer and he smiled at her sadly.

“None of this is your fault,” He said, though she said nothing, chewing her cheek silently, “The faster we get the ushabti, and the faster we can go find Layla. Deal?”

She nodded again, and he squeezed her hand, pulling her towards the end of the corridor with a small smile.

Steven Grant was not a brave man, not by any means. But for her, he would be. He thought the same as she had, worried for the El-Faouley woman more and more with every step they took towards the tomb, his own body on high alert for an incoming attack from one of those creatures.

The end of the hallway drew near, the path widening out to accommodate an entrance, water trickling between the tiles in a silent stream, and he held her hand tighter as they navigated over the stepping stones, her boots slippy over the moss that clung to the rocks.

It wasn’t until he reached the end, where the corridor opened out, that he let go of her hand in favour of flicking his torch on. His entire body froze at the sight, satiated in awe of the tomb before him.

She hopped the final stepping stone, hands grabbing onto the wall and his shoulder for support before she followed his gaze to the room, and her jaw dropped too.

“First ones in, tomb fit for a pharaoh,” Steven hummed, stepping further into the antechamber, and he wasn’t wrong by any means. The walls were all but covered in bright paints that had yet to wash away, the tales of heroic battles and armies surrounding them like one huge mural. Solid gold plates, figurines, vases scattered neatly around the room, each one shiny and polished as if the death bed had never been touched since the day it had been sealed. Four bronze horse statues the size of her watched them enter, carefully avoiding the water that surrounded the sarcophagus in a deep pool, stepping between cracked slabs towards the coffin.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding as she saw the sheer amount of engravings on the sarcophagus, each one proving the power the dead king had held over his people when he’d died. It was more than she’d seen even on one, more than she would ever see.

This was a wealthy, wealthy pharaoh, she realised, her brows flicking into her hairline

“Thutmose II?” Steven guessed, leading the way to the coffin, the excitement blaringly clear in his voice. He couldn’t so much as catch his breath behind his smile, “Nefertiti. It’s gotta be one of the bigg’uns, Dove,” He said, flicking a grin over his shoulder as her eyes scaled every inch of the tomb. Her jaw hung open, ignoring the dusty task of musk in her mouth, the stagnant smell of water, her eyes pure wonder of what she was seeing.

This was the stuff of movies, of adventures she read to Joey and Mikey before bed, never did she think she would be part of it, let alone with Steven Grant, a man so quiet he apologised to pigeons, who jumped at his own shadow, who missed his bus every single morning.

“Must be, I’ve never seen so many offerings,” She replied, willing her feet to hold steady as they stepped between the stones and water carefully. “The engravings, there nothing like I’ve studied before,”

“Oh wow, look at that,” Steven gawped, taking the final step onto the centrepiece, heading towards the sarcophagus with ravenous eyes, “Look at all these relics,”

She was hot on his heels, quick to hop over, and expand her search with an eagle eye as she closed in on the sarcophagus.

“Hold on, Macedonian?” Dove stopped in her tracks, clicking her torch on and nearing the engravings with wide eyes, “It can’t be right-”

“That’s Macedonian,” Steven echoed, kneeling next to her with wary fingertips. He brushed over the markings, a gobsmacked laugh coming from his chest, “Well-b-but the only pharaoh-”

She grabbed his arm with a clawing strength, head drinking in the facts before her, gently hands following the engravings as if she needed to touch it herself to believe what she knew to be true, “H-He insisted on calling himself Egyptian,” She swallowed, standing on shaky knees to behold the rest of the coffin, her heart hammering. The two of them approached either side of the king’s burial place. “Steven, I think we found the long lost tomb of Alexander the Great,”

Taking a moment, if not to catch a nervous breath, their eyes met across the top of the sarcophagus, an identical expression of astonishment on their faces.

She couldn’t help it then; she started laughing. Nervous and yet amazed, she was lost entirely for words.

“We have to open it, Steven,” She said, her chuckles dying out, a hand flying to her forehead when she realised what a desecration they were about to cause, “The ushabti has to be inside, we have to open it up, oh goodness-”

“Everything inside me is screaming not to touch this thing,” Steven agreed, shaking his nerves out through his hands while watching her also fret over the slight grave robbing they were about to commit.

“You want Harrow to get to Ammit first?” Marc snapped from the glint in the cursive gold writing across the sarcophagus’ chest. He seemed to have roused from his silent protest and come back swinging, Steven thought with a bitter huff, his hands coming up to the side of the opening.

“Alright, alright, alright,” He replied, a nervous grip settling on the cold sandstone. His eyes flicked to her again for reassurance, though she herself looked to be coming to a sobering understanding they needed to disgrace the burial sight to get what they wanted. She nodded, her hand drifting to clutch over her mouth in shock, like she needed to stop herself from protesting his actions, and with that he pushed.

The smell of death invaded her nose, choking her for a moment as the stone slid to reveal the mummified corpse of the man historians had been babbling about for decades.

This had once been a conqueror, a king, a pharaoh everyone whispered about, a man who’s name was spoken a thousand times a day on the guided tours in the museum.

And they had found him.

A plated scarab sat across his chest, one she assumed was a sister to the one they had used to find him, the one Harrow took, below it; a huge, solid battle axe with engravings the entire length of its sharp edge. An offering to a man so revered for his wars.

A shiver trickling down her spine, she looked up at Steven through wide eyes, the two of them entirely stumped for words at what they were discovering, the thousands of years they had just peeled back with one fell swoop.

“Oh man,” Steven shook his head, barely ripping his eyes away from the mummy for a moment as she moved to stand at the head of the sarcophagus.

“Where’s the ushabti?” Marc spoke again, this time from the fresh golden sheen on the axe, seeing no other offerings or trinkets inside the coffin besides the weapon.

“Well, if you’re going to hide it for all eternity, you’d probably put it in a place where the average looter wouldn’t think to look,” Steven replied, his heart a hummingbird behind his chest, almost, almost as excited as he had been when he’d been kissing her against that post.

Almost, but not quite.

She stayed silent, attuning her ears into keeping watch for Harrow’s men approaching, or hopefully even figuring out where Layla was, while Steven’s brain whirred, conferring with Marc.

She hoped he wasn’t mad at her for Steven pushing him out of the headspace, for throwing that mirror into the sand the moment he’d gotten his lips on hers. She hoped he would understand. Marc always understood.

Steven’s face smoothed out in realisation, whether he had come to it on his own or Marc had helped she wasn’t sure, but she grabbed his wrist gently nonetheless.

“What is it?” She murmured, his eyes trained on the tightly wrapped linen, an almost horrified look on his face.

“Alexander was the voice of Ammit…” He trailed off, his hand coming to rest on the corpse’s jaw, “All right, I’m gonna try something, I’m gonna do something here.”

His fingers found the lip of the cloth where the head met the body, weaving their way under and tugging them away carefully.

Dove released a shaky breath, her hand returning in shock over her mouth, knowing that this was technically known as grave desecration, let alone ruining thousands of years of history.

“Steven, oh my god-” She gagged as the smell hit her, the man beside her writhing in sickness as his fingers touched the mummified skin beneath.

“Oh god- so sorry- sorry, Mr Great,” He choked on his words, the disgust running over his skin when he touched something cold and wrinkled.

He tore the bandages with more force, the linen coming away easily, but they both shuddered hearing something crack under the weight of his hand, something she could only imagine was a bone.

Steven pulled the cloth away to reveal a perfectly mummified face, and the sight wasn’t so uncommon as she’d thought since they had two preserved in the museum. But seeing it so up close, without the temperature controlled glass, it made her want to vomit and stare in awe all at the same time.

Steven took an unsure breath, before he went even further, his fingers resting on the lower mandible, pulling back whatever remained of the lips to slip between his teeth, his other hand holding his cranium still.

She forced herself not to wince as he started tugging the mouth open; the look on his face was torture for him enough.

“All right, open up. Oh, sorry, Mr Great,” He bit out, bile rising in his own throat at the sensations beneath his hand, the jaw cracking and ripping down with a nauseating crunch. His hand reached down the gullet, and she had to turn away then when he started rooting around the throat, resisting the retch that fought her own mouth, “Oh, sorry, oh god, I couldn’t be more sorry,”

It wasn’t until she heard a squelch they both heaved, Steven’s own noises of disgust filling the tomb as his entire upper arm wormed its way into the chest cavity, and she thought he might just be the bravest man she’d ever known.

His arm twisted for a moment, before he started pulling it out, not without some resistance from the collar bones, only for it to come away with one final tug, and in his hand producing a small ceramic figure of an alligator headed woman, and two audible gasps filled the silence.

“Steven-” She started, turning to him with something warm and gooey and close to pride in her eyes, “Steven, you did it!”

She threw herself at him in a hug, ignoring every morsel of her that cringed when she imagined where his hand had been, feeling him squeeze her to him just as tightly.

“We did it, we did- I could never have done any of this without you,” He replied, nosing her hair for a moment before he pulled her away to look at her face, beaming with glee. It didn’t matter then, that he had been chased by that creature, or that he’d been shot at, or that he’d been digging around a dead man’s throat. It didn’t matter then that his life had been turned upside down, or that he was actually one man split into another, or that he’d lost his job. He didn’t care. Because seeing how she looked at him, as if she’d just watched him solve string theory or win a nobel prize, healed every wound he’d ever had.

He only needed her; only ever wanted her.

“I really do love you,” She said, and he wondered it she’d heard his thoughts, fought the urge to kiss her then and there.

Her head snapped to where they had entered the tomb, something wary in her gaze until he saw Layla appear in the doorway, looking entirely scraped up, as if she’d just been dragged through the caverns backwards.

“Layla!” Dove called, bounding over the stepping stones, “Layla, are you alright- we got the ushabti-”

“Layla, look! We won!” Behind her Steven held up the figurine, the pair of them with billion dollar smiles on their faces, watching the woman approach on shaky legs, “And the ushabti goes to; us. I had to go digging down old Alexander the Great’s gullet, but we found it,”

Dove giggled at his teasing, shaking her head, and fighting the urge to yank Layla into a hug of her own. They had done it, they’d won. Now they could get out of here and away from Harrow, she could go home, go home with Steven-

She was quick to notice the stare Layla pinned on the man behind her, something visceral and in pain beneath her skin, something raw, a wound ripped open. She knew it well, knew it like an old friend. Layla was the pure image of betrayal.

She stalked forward silently, not paying the younger woman a scrap of attention as she approached, stepping over the cobbles with not a single hesitant foot. Her eyes gleaned with unshed tears, something rageful keeping them bay.

Dove stopped still, her eyes trained on the woman, her smile dissolving into confusion.

“Layla, are you alright-”

“Can he hear me?” Layla cut her off, not giving a shit for her soft lilted voice or her concern. She only cared about Marc, Harrow’s words rattling in her head like a foghorn calling every shred of anger she’d ever felt for her ex-husband to arms.

“Alexander? No, I don’t think so, god I hope not,” Steven snickered, and Dove winced. Layla’s eyes darkened, her honey tones near black in the lowlit antechamber, and the younger woman knew whatever had happened in the moments passed since they’d parted, Layla was now out for blood.

“What happened to my father?” The El-Faouley woman spat, her hands shaking with anger, and Dove could do nothing but wait for Steven to understand that she wasn’t kidding around.

She dared a glance at the man who stood there like a lost child, whatever celebration and relief they had felt swept away in a matter of moments. Seconds.

She knew from the silence that lingered Layla already suspected something.

“I’m talking to you,” Layla seethed, stepping towards the man without a bat of an eyelid at the woman who watched whatever progress they’d made swirl down the drain like yesterday’s newspaper.

“What?” Steven murmured, a frown on his face as Layla’s hands came up to shove him in the chest hard.

“I’m talking to you, Marc,”

He barely stumbled, barely blinked, but she saw it. Saw the way the innocence melted away, and his frown became cold and distant. She saw the moment Marc took the body, and her heart dropped at the flash of guilt that glinted in the crook of his eyes as he saw his ex-wife’s expression in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go-” He tried to pull her away, but Dove knew it was his own brand of avoiding the subject. She’d never hold it against him, who was she to judge someone for running from responsibility, but she knew. And so did Layla.

“No,” The woman dug her heels in as he tried pulling her to the exit, her empty fist weakly beating on his wrist while he yanked on her coat.

“We have to go right now,”

“No, Marc, no,” She fought, the venom in her tone only growing. He tugged her harder, the two of them all but grappling with one another for control.

“We have to go, right now,” He repeated, eyes flicking to where Dove stood still, her hands playing with one another nervously, “Come on, we gotta get out of here-”

Layla forced his head back to her, away from where the younger woman moved between each foot, watching it play out like a tragedy.

“What happened to my father?” She said again, louder this time, and it was clear no amount of deflection would stop her from getting an answer.

“Listen to me,” Marc said with a seriousness Dove had never heard, real life panic in his tone that had her shifting to check the doorway for signs of Harrow’s men following closely behind, “We need to leave right now, I will explain everything, I swear. But we have to go,”

“Did you kill Abdullah El Faouley?” Layla’s voice cracked, because the answer would break her if it were true, if it was what she feared.

“Of course not. Of course I didn’t,” And it was the first honest thing Marc had said to her in years. The pain in his eyes at the accusation said it all.

Layla sighed in short lived relief, running a hand over her face.

“But you were there,” She said quietly, and the four words cleaved Marc’s resolve right down the middle, his brow furrowing in agony, “You were there, right?”

“I was- I was there,” He confessed, Dove’s stomach turning over in anguish. She wanted to hug both of them to her in entirely different ways. Wanted to grab Layla, stroke her hair the way Grace used to when she was upset, hold her to her chest and tell her how sorry she was that her father was taken from her so cruelly. She wanted to pull Marc in, slot him right over her heart and tell him he wasn’t bad, not even now, not ever, that he was good, pure, golden goodness, just as good as Steven. That he wasn’t guilty, he was just unlucky.

“My partner got greedy, he executed everyone at the digsite. Shot me too, I was supposed to die that night,” Marc spilled out, his expression bleak, distraught.

She knew better than to interrupt, than to get in between the two of them when they fought like this. That is, until her ears pricked up with her inhumane senses, the sound of guns cocking and creeping footsteps dragging through the sand stones they had just come from, whispers between comrades that they were getting close to what they had been searching for.

“Someone’s here,” She said, before she could think better of speaking. Their heads turned to her, as if they’d forgotten she was there, Marc’s face a picture of a tortured soul. She angled her head to distinguish what the men were saying, try give her some pointers how long they had, “Harrow is getting close, I can hear his watch-”

“Who’s Grace?” Layla asked, her tone guarded, as if she’d begged the question the entire time she’d known the girl, “Marc’s not the only one who’s been keeping secrets,”

But Dove was frozen. Entirely frozen. Not so much of a breath in her chest, not even a blink.

Because hearing that name again, her name, hearing Layla take everything close to her and toss it around as a conversation piece shattered her into a million small pieces, floating down neatly into the water right then and there.

He saw it.

When her eyes glazed over, as if hearing the name pressed play on a movie she’d not seen in years, and she no longer stood there, with them, but she was transported somewhere else entirely. It was the same as when she’d been in the car, staring out that window, he wanted to yell out to her, grab her delicate face and scream Where do you go? Come back to me, take my hand and come back to me. Where are you where I can’t follow.

Because she wasn’t there, inside her own body. And she feared she would never be again.

She was back in that room, in that window sill, replaying every single night she’d spent in Grace’s room. Who’s Grace? She was opening that door, the one Frank told her not to go in, she was staring at the body, the unmoving one, the cold corpse, frozen in pain, what was once her entire world ripping away from her soul, pulling her apart right down the middle, the empty bottle staring right back at her from the bedside table as if to say ‘I won, I won.’ Who’s Grace? She wasn’t there, wasn’t in the tomb at all, she was rotting in her bed, lying still and waiting for death to take her too, because it seemed impossible that the person who had been made as her mirror image in every way but looks could be culled but not her.

How could she explain who Grace was? How do you even begin to explain to a person what every cell of your body is?

“Harrow said you let her die,” Layla said, and she knew she’d hit a home run with whatever that look on Dove’s face meant, knew that everything he’d said had been true, “He said you could have saved her and you didn’t-”

“Don’t,” It was a snarl, something unearthly and rotten, but the grief in the single word was clear as a bell, “Stop it, Layla,”

She hadn’t ever spoken to her like that, had snapped and rolled her eyes, but never had such a clear threat to her words.

The woman blinked in response, the hairs on her arms standing on end at the voice that was entirely not Dove’s coming from her throat. It was monstrous, and part of her wondered if it was Seth who had in fact taken her body, only to see the eyes she knew well staring back at her with the image of a deer at the barrel of a gun.

Vulnerable. Ready for slaughter. Ready to be laid bare on the butcher's block.

Layla thought twice before she opened her mouth again, second guessing pushing for more answers, but something in the way the girl looked told her there was a truth to it.

“And Frank?” Layla asked, watching Dove’s hands shake. With anger, Layla guessed, anger that her little secrets were being poured out on the cobbles for her precious Steven to see.

Layla was not a cruel woman, not by any means. But she despised liars. And Dove was one of them.

“You and Harrow seem to be best pals, Layla, why don’t you ask him who Frank was,” Dove hissed, and it was like Marc was looking at someone else entirely, like he was watching a mutt backed into a corner snapping at everyone who approached, like watching game gnaw at its own leg to be free of a trap, “He got what he deserved,”

And Marc didn't doubt it. Not even when he reeled back in shock at her tone of voice, not expecting it from his peaceful dove, but then again Layla had ripped all sorts of wounds open in the interest of her own search for answers.

Marc opened his mouth to reinforce their need haste, only to hear for himself the footsteps draw nearer, and the three of them swivelled to look at the direction they came from.

“They’re here,” He said with a pit opening in his stomach, right around where his heart had fallen, springing into action as Layla paced across the stones, searching for a hiding spot.

“There must be another way out,” Dove said, though she felt her brain wrestling with images of that day, that last day, the feel of the mirror beneath her fingers, the scars that to this day marred her palm from the glass as she’d driven it into his chest.

“You find it, I’ll hold them off,” Marc ordered her, backing on himself to grab the battleaxe from inside the sarcophagus. Layla followed orders without protest, heading for the small alleyway she had come from, knowing she couldn’t go back that way with those creatures lurking behind the walls.

Crouching behind a pillar, she watched them with doubtful eyes. She knew they could find her in a matter of seconds. She was beyond angry at both of them for their deceit, yet she watched Dove summon the claws of her suit around her hands, ten blades sprouting over her natural nails in a small motion.

“Get out of here-” Marc waved her off, trying to nudge her body towards where Layla crouched, only for her to gently brush his hands away, careful not to scratch him with her talons.

“Marc, I’m not letting you do this alone- you don’t have a suit-” She argued back, hating the way he was still ready to go down swinging for her, hating the way he’d brushed off what Layla had said because it was Layla and Layla had every reason to throw her under any bus coming.

Her heart plummeted even more, dragging her shame down with it, and she understood then what it was.

He didn’t believe she’d done anything. He didn’t believe something was wrong, something was wrong with her. Didn’t believe she had lied, and kept things from him, didn’t entertain the idea for a single second that she was not the Dove he thought she was.

She knew if he would ask, she wouldn’t have the heart to lie to him to his face, knew she couldn’t keep betraying the undying loyalty he had to her. Knew he would take Steven away.

But she also knew he wouldn’t ask in the first place. Because to Marc, she was innocent of everything everyone accused her of, no matter how true.

She felt even worse than before, if that had even been possible.

She could only steel her face over as Harrow entered the room behind her, the infuriating tap tap tap of his staff against the floor giving him away.

And in a split moment, twenty armed men followed him, crawling out from the corners of the room, their rifles loaded, torches trained on the two of them, the red aimpoints hovering over their chests. She tried to account for every single one of the guns and their wielders, but she couldn’t. There was just too many.

The only way they were getting out of here alive is if he ran, if he ducked out with Layla and left her here to fight alone. But she knew he would never. Not unless she were to throw her body over his, take every single round of ammunition in her suit, keep him protected until they had run dry, but even then she knew he would fight against having her in front of him.

She couldn’t just stand by, couldn’t just let him go, no matter how much she dreaded what was coming next, how much he would hate her once she told him. But maybe he could understand, maybe he would. He had killed people before, she knew he had, he never hid from that. Killed those who deserved it. He hadn’t cared, hadn’t treated her differently when Hellhound had slaughtered those men. She wished she was back in that bathtub, back in their hotel room, the room full of lavender and vanilla, wished his hands were back in her hair telling her she was going to be okay.

She wished. Because that was all she had left.

“Just you two?” Harrow asked, his voice a wisp of smoke in the dark tomb that seemed to be closing in on them as the men steadied their aim, fingers resting on the triggers, “The rest is silence. I remember the first morning, I woke up knowing Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating,”

Harrow pocketed the scarab that nestled in his palm, stepping carefully towards them, his damn stick tapping at the floor like death had come knocking.

“And you, little dove,” Harrow turned to her, her eyes a cold glare, twitching with every knock of the wooden cane against the floor, “The truth can be just as liberating as being rid of the voice that controls you. But maybe, you already know that.”

She couldn’t disagree more. There was nothing liberating about what she’d done to Frank. She was a woman haunted, forever tainted by that day. She was ruined, she couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she could be fixed.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” Harrow goaded, her insides shrivelling as she saw Marc’s chocolate hues flick to her for a moment, “Ask her, Marc.”

“Marc, I can explain-” She said, eyes locking onto where he clenched a tight fist around his weapon, Harrow's words cutting her off.

“You’re a free man. And ofcourse with that freedom comes choice.” Harrow continued, “You can choose to pretend not to see the guilt writhing under her skin like a serpent. Or, you can choose to keep dear Steven safe,”

“Safe from what?” Marc snapped, his hackles raised at Harrow’s words, as if there was ever a moment of doubt he would choose anything over Steven’s wellbeing, or perhaps it was the way he questioned her that did it.

“Safe from the woman who slaughtered her own boyfriend, maybe?”

Harrow’s tone was soft, gentle, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb upon the room, a tidal wave of cold overcoming the space between them.

“What?” Marc scoffed, almost a genuine laugh emerging at the levels Harrow was willing to stoop to in order to get the ushabti, including making up ludicrous tales, “What kind of shit is that, you can’t honestly think I’d believe that-”

He looked back to her, expecting confusion, aghast, anything except the deep pools of guilt encompassing her entire being as she stared at him.

He went cold.

No. No, please, no.

He said nothing, did nothing, not even when she tugged a lip between her teeth to keep it from wobbling.

“Please,” She whimpered, stepping towards him with empty hands, “Please, I can explain,”

Only he stepped back, and with it ripped whatever remained of her soul away from.

His eyes no longer were warm nests of mousy brown, his expression no longer soft as he took her in, his jaw tight and feathered with hesitation.

“I can explain, please listen to me,” She begged, she wasn’t above sinking to her knees and pleading against his knee in tears, “I was going to tell you, I tried-”

“You lied to me?” Marc bit, his face empty of whatever it was that he’d regarded her with before. The hands in her hair as she bathed were a million miles away, the kindness that had shone upon her like a warm summer now pelted her like hail in a storm.

“It wasn’t like the others, I had to-” She said, her hands shaking as she dared another step towards him, only for him to take another step back, “I thought you would understand,”

“I killed people because it was service to Khonshu, or-or because people's lives hung in the balance, not because I chose to,” He snapped, drawing his hand away from her like she’d burned him with her very being, “You killed your own boyfriend? You told me you stole- you lied to me,”

“No.” Steven’s voice was a whine, a bleat of agony inside the headspace, a man who was watching the only thing he’d ever had for himself slip away, “No, she wouldn’t Marc, she-”

“Please, just listen,” Her eyes had welled now, “Please, I- Marc, watch out!” She jumped at him, not missing the way his knuckles had quivered on the axe at her sudden movement, only for her to shove past him and descend onto a figure that had been moments away from grabbing the Ushabti.

It was like a switch had flickered then, and the rest of the room was invited into their conversation.

Marc slashed at one of the men who dived for her, snapping his forearm clean in two, the rifle falling from his grasp, and she clawed at the guards wrist, ripping through tendons and flesh like it were fabric.

He heard another of the men squeal as she slashed his face, he cut down another of Harrow’s men with a swift blow to the arm, ichor spurting over his hand at the contact.

He barely even blinked an eye as he threw the battle axe at the next one in his path, though he hadn’t even felt the handle leave his palm as it hit its mark and another one of the men went down.

He knew it made him somewhat of a hypocrite. But it wasn't just the blatant lie that had caused his walls to clamp down around him. That man, whoever he was, had been her boyfriend. And Steven... If he hadn't known something so telling about her, how could he be sure she wouldn't flip and do the same to Steven.

She wouldn't. He wanted to say he knew she wouldn't lay a hand on the man clawing at his brain in torment, but Marc felt he didn't know anything about her anymore.

She had killed someone. His dove, his innocent dove, that he had spent weeks feeling like filth for so much as touching, feeling as though he had ruined her, only to find out she was just as tainted as he was. She had lied to him. She had every chance, every moment he showed his soft underbelly, to tell him the truth, and she hadn’t. He was supposed to keep Steven safe, and he was dropping walls left right and centre for someone who could have had him lined up as her next target.

Dove’s head whirled around when she heard him grunt, fearing he had gotten a barrel to the face, or even a rogue fist. She took a sweeping glance at him from head to toe, the relief tangible in her bones, seeing he was rattled and angry, but not bleeding.

She needed to set this right. She was a liar, she knew that, she was a murderer, she knew that aswell. She didn’t deserve any of the kindness she’d been shown, she’d known she was on borrowed time the entirety of their friendship. She had known this was coming any day now.

It still hurt like a bitch to be confronted with the truth. And the truth was Marc glared at her like hated her. Marc wanted nothing to do with her, as liar, a con, an actress. A whore.

She had to fix this; if she even could. She had to try. For Steven.

Dove had gotten all of one step when Harrow pulled the pistol out of his jeans.

It was like a slow motion picture from there, like she was in the back seat trying to steer the wheel, sitting front row of the audience as the movie played out in front of her.

Harrow lifting the gun at Marc’s chest, pulling the trigger once, his aim true enough that a crimson hole bloomed through the man’s sweater in seconds, spraying out of the wound and onto his outfit.

She heard herself scream, heard his name coming from her in a deafening squeal, something weak and horrified in the tone. She heard the second bang of the bullet leaving its chamber, puncturing in the gut in a second deadly hit, Marc’s body stumbling back as the wound poured faster, harder, his eyes glazed into an entirely empty concoction.

She heard herself call him again, didn’t realise until it choked through a sob that she was crying, inconsolably actually. He swayed for a moment, before the weightlessness took over and he tipped backwards on his heel, and his cold gaze fell to hers for a split moment of reprieve of what she knew was coming.

She didn’t even realise until she had crouched over where he’d fallen into the water that she was sobbing, didn’t realise until the tears started falling on his face that she was crying over him, over every word she was supposed to say to him.

She didn’t realise until the heartbeat she adored so much, the one she’d planned to spend every morning pressed up against, had stopped beating, and Dove was swept up with a feeling she despised.

In all of two seconds, Dove was all alone again, and Marc and Steven were dead.

TAGLISTS.

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

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#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 #marc spector smut

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ofstarsandvibranium · 10 months

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To Have & To Hold: Part 5

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

It's been a few days since you've seen Marc. You imagine that since he's taking over your father's business once you two are married, he's making sure Marc knows all the ins and outs of the L/N Family organization.

You had to admit that you miss Marc's company. You didn't have many friends, you refused to let anyone get too close because you didn't know if they wanted to get to your dad or someone from your dad's past would use them against you. With Marc, it was different. He was already in the business, you didn't have to hide part of that life from him and you already knew he could take care of himself. It was nice to be around someone that you could be yourself with.

Your mind starts to wander. Do you see yourself falling in love with Marc? Sure, he can be a little emotionally constipated, but he listens. He understands you. He makes you laugh every once in a while. He makes you comfortable.

You groan, rolling over and smashing your face into your pillow. You groan and flail your arms and legs around. You proceed to yell into your pillow, "Fucking shit! Fuck me! Fucking fuck face! Ugh!"

Your phone then starts to ring and you see that it's your friend Yelena. You immediately answer the call, "Please tell me you're asking if I want to grab dinner or drinks because the answer is yes."

She chuckles, "Shall I pick you up then?"

"I'll get ready right now!" you hop out of bed, immediately rushing to your closet.

"I'll see you soon then."

"Bye!" you end the call and you toss your phone ono your bed.

Twenty minutes later, she rolls up to your place and you're rushing into her car.

Yelena was the daughter of Alexei, one of the Russian mob bosses as well as one of your father's oldest friends. You grew up with Yelena and her older sister, Nat. Alexei raised his daughters to be very strong willed and capable. That being said, they knew combat very well and, as a result, they taught you a few things as well. You're not as skilled as them in no way, but you know a little something.

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm sure you know why," you give her a knowing look. With Marc being your dad's successor, your dad probably introduced him to a lot of his associates and explained the deal.

"I do, but let me hear it from you," she gives you a nod.

You sigh and then go into it all. The bomb drop from your dad, spending time with Marc, and...the potential feelings that are starting to form.

"Oh no, you're falling for your fiance. What a terrible thing to happen," Yelena responds sarcastically, her Russian accent adding a bit more sass to it.

You roll your eyes at her, "I didn't want it to happen this way though."

"We get the cards we're dealt with. Unfortunately, we don't have a normal family or life. But we make the most of it. Sure, you're forced to marry Marc, but, from what it sounds like, he's a decent guy. You said it yourself you see yourself falling for him. This is a good thing, Y/N."

You shrug, "I suppose."

Yelena pulls up to one of her father's clubs. Knowing both you and her, the bouncer lets you both in. Due to it being a weekday, the club isn't as busy. But there is still music playing, some people on the dancefloor, and drinks being poured.

An arm wraps around your waist and you're pulled into someone's side, "Why didn't you tell me you were coming, my little sunshine!" A deep hefty laugh is heard and you look to see Alexei.

You kiss him on both cheeks, "I didn't know you'd be here," you look to Yelena and she responds, "Neither of us did. What are you doing here?" she asks her father curiously.

"A meeting," he gestures to the VIP section where you see a small group of men and a familiar red head, Nat. She gives you a nod and you give her a wave.

"We'll let you go back to your meeting," you tell your father's friend.

"Da, don't leave without seeing me first okay? I don't see you as much anymore," he kisses your head and goes back to his meeting.

You follow Yelena to the bar area where she immediately hops over the counter and begins to pour shots of vodka.

You cheers and down the clear liquid. You wince and she laughs, "After all these years, you still don't like it?"

"I can't help it! It's-It's just too much." you shake out your arms a bit to loosen up, "Can you put in an order of fries for me?"

Yelena nods and gives a thumbs up. She heads over to the iPad to put down the order. The bartender that occupied the space was on the other side giving you two space and privacy. Yelena knew her way around the bar, you didn't need them.

Your phone buzzes and you look down to see that you received a text from Marc.

Marc Spector: Why are you at Alexei's?

You: having drinks with Yelena

Marc Spector: can I join you?

A part of you wants to say no. You kind of want to enjoy the time with Yelena. However, another part of you, the part of you that's sorta kinda missing him wants to say yes. You're not sure what to say.

"Do you have a coin?" you ask Yelena. She opens the cash register and grabs a penny. She tosses it to you and you catch it. Heads means yes. Tails means no. You toss and catch it. When you look at the result, you immediately text your reply to Marc.

Yelena, approaching you again with your usual, asks, "What just happened?"

You pocket your phone and reply, "Marc's joining us."

"Aaahh the husband to be. Exciting," she wiggles her brows at you and you roll your eyes.

"It's just drinks," you give her a shrug, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

She gives you a knowing look and proceeds to take a swig from her beer bottle.

You give her another shrug, "I mean, ya know, gotta get used to being around each other all the time now."

__________________

When Marc arrives, you and Yelena are on the dance floor dancing and singing to Whitney Houston. There aren't a lot of people in the club, but still a good amount to fill a fourth of the dance floor.

Marc strolls up to you, tapping you on the shoulder, "Hey."

You yelp and twirl around, a little embarrassed that he saw you being a little goofy, "Oh hey." You glance at Yelena over your shoulder, "Um, you know Yelena?"

"We've seen each other around," Marc gives her a nod. Yelena lifts her bottle and gives him a nod. She doesn't say anything, simply observes.

"Everything okay?" you ask with slight concern.

"Yeah, yeah. Just a lot today. A little overwhelming," he sighs, running his hand through his hair. You kind of hated how attractive it is when he does that.

You snort, "Better you than me," you take a sip of your drink.

Marc hums and looks at you up and down, clearly checking you out, "I like this color on you."

Yelena makes a noise beside you and shoot her a look before responding, "Thanks, um, I don't really wear this color often."

"You should wear it more," he simply states and then clears his throat, "I'll let you two hang out. I'll be at the bar if you need anything."

"Uh huh," you nod and watch him walk towards the bar.

Yelena slaps your arm, "He wants you!"

"Stop it!"

"Y/N he was clearly checking you out!"

"I don't-he-I mean not really," you're trying not to think too much of it. But then you glance at Marc's direction, he's sipping a beer but his eyes are on you. His eyes glance up and down your body again and you suddenly feel really warm.

You turn away and Yelena is cackling. She's way too amused by all of this. You slap her arm this time, "Shut up! What do I do?"

She shrugs, "Fuck him? I don't know. You guys are getting married, it's okay to be attracted to each other."

You groan and down the rest of your drink. You sigh, "I think it's time for more shots."

Yelena grins at you and says, "Say less," as she grabs your hand and pulls you back to the bar.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marvel #au #marvel au #mob boss au #mob au #mafia au

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skvlly-idk · 11 months

Text

Steven Grant / Marc Spector X Reader (?)!

Please don’t translate, no permission to repost any of my writing anywhere, and do not copy and claim it as your own.

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, praising kink, teasing, dominant and submissive, impregnating

Pairings: Msub!Steven x Mdom!Marc x Fsub!Reader

18+! If you continue reading, you are acknowledging that you are 18+ and that you have read the warnings.

"Steven?" I asked, noticing him sitting in his bed on the computer. He looked up, smiling as he saw me.

"Hey," I smiled back, sitting on the edge of the bed now.

"Hey, how did you get in?" He asked, setting his laptop next to him.

"Marc gave me a key a few days ago. He didn't tell you?"

He shook his head no before I noticed him switch.

"Hey baby," Marc smiled at me before he kissed me.

"Hi," I smiled back at him.

"What's up? Why'd you stop by?"

"Eh, I was bored and wanted to see what you were up to."

He nodded, patting the spot next to him. I crawled up the bed, sitting next to him.

His arm snuck around me, wrapping around my body and pulling me closer to him. "I missed you, your dad told me you were out of town for a bit?"

"Yeah. I had to visit my sister." I replied, rubbing circles on his chest with my pointer finger. "I missed you too."

I felt his hands travel down to my thighs, rubbing them softly as those said hands went under my sundress. My legs pressed together slightly before I heard him laugh softly. I opened my legs a little bit, for his hands to glide down to my pussy.

He started rubbing circles on my clit through my panties when he reached it, something built up inside me as I began to whimper under his touch.

In one quick movement, he ended up on top of me.

"Fuck me, please." I mumbled as he adjusted himself over me. I felt his hands pull at the rim of my underwear, teasing to pull them down. I groaned in annoyance as he played.

He chucked a little. "Okay, okay. No need to get upset." A small smile appeared on my face as he pulled them down all the way, now pulling his gray sweatpants off.

I looked at his face as he adjusted himself. Admiring his beauty. As my eyes traveled to his lips I felt him desperately shove himself inside of me, a surprised moan escaped my lips as he made eye contact with me. He smiled a little before kissing me and waiting for me to adjust.

"Okay.. You can go." I mumbled into the kiss. He pulled himself out before roughly slamming back into me, my back arched a bit as I cried out.

"Oh fuck." A rough moan slipping from my lips as he grunted, looking down my body, admiring me.

His body movements suddenly became different. His thrusts becoming softer as he began to whimper little moans.

"Ha~" I heard him whimper in a British tone. Oh shit. This is Steven.

My hands grabbed at his shirt gently as I pulled him closer to me. "Steven." I moaned into his shoulder. A shaky moan came from him as I moaned his name.

"Oh my-" Steven stuttered out, twitching here and there. I watched his hair move as he twitched over me, slamming into me gently.

Our lips crashed together, whimpers escaped through them as we kissed. The sound of our skin smacking against each other and our small repetitive whimpers filled the room.

My hands wrapped around his torso as he buried his face into my neck. I ran my fingers through his hair gently. Our sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

His thrusts became harder and faster, I heard grunting as his hands moved from around me and traveled up to my tits, squeezing them harshly. "Fuck." Marc moaned into my ear.

My hands traveled down from his head to his back, pulling on his shirt as he carelessly fucked into me deeper, each thrust slamming me into the bed. "Jesus fuck," I moaned out harshly as he hit that one spot deep inside of me.

"You feel so good. My good girl," he fucked his words into my mind, kissing my neck as he left hickeys upon me.

I felt my walls tighten around him; chasing my high as he began rotating his hips to create a pattern.

"So good." I heard him whisper, the bed shaking as my eyes shut.

His thrusts switched again, the same pace but a little bit softer.

"A-am I doing good?" Steven stuttered his words as he also chased his high.

"Yes. So good,” I moaned into his ear, opening my eyes. “Right there." I cried out as he hit that one spot again. Steven kept on that path, fucking that spot over and over again. I felt my vision going blurry, tingles flowing throughout my body. He kept the same pace, still whimpering in my ear.

I let out a loud moan as my walls clenched around his dick, his full length slammed into me as he fucked me through my orgasm, tears built up in my eyes when he continued fucking after I came. Words tried to escape my mouth but failed because of how overstimulated I was now. I felt him start to twitch aggressively. He began stuttering his words to the point I couldn't understand, his whimpers filled the room as he shot his full load inside of me.

An aggressive shudder escaped his mouth as he twitched in me more. Once again switching to Marc, he slammed his dick inside of me harder, fucking his cum into me harshly. He kept fucking me, pushing in and out eagerly.

My legs shook aggressively, a thin line of pain and pleasure passed over me as I whimpered under him. He thrusted one last time before pulling out.

He collapsed on me gently, burying his face against my neck.

Heavy breaths and little whimpers escaped from my lips as our cum spilled out of me. He nuzzled closer to me, kissing my neck and wrapping one arm around my stomach.

He continued to press his soft lips against my neck as he rubbed my stomach gently with his fingers.

"Marc?" I asked.

"Hmm?" He replied softly.

"I love you." My hand moved to his hand laying against my stomach, rubbing his knuckles lightly.

A little smile pressed against my neck. "I love you more, dear." A British voice rung throughout my ears causing me to smile.

My face soon dropped when I realized he came in me and I wasn’t on birth control, that’s the reason he was rubbing my stomach.

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 1 year

Text

Bordeaux

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: She's not exactly sure why she's invited Marc to Bordeaux.

Warnings: mentions of the death of a loved one, written in two hours, poorly edited (author has BDE)

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my head ever since I watched Un Beau Matin. Any dialogue I used from the movie is bolded down below. English translations will be given at the end of the fic. French is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Élodie had invited her, once again, to the villa in Bordeaux. Had tempted her really, with the promise of sunshine and a warm, swimmable, ocean. Two things that were a rarity to come by in London, and a luxury spilled in abundance in the South of France.

There was also room that would be left empty, Élodie had said, a friend of a friend had cancelled last minute (so much the better for everyone else, if you asked her sister), and if she wanted to, she could bring a friend.

Friend, being a word heavily insinuated and laden with worries unsaid.

A word that she bravely took at face value and approached Marc with the offer.

Though it was easy to play oblivious to her sister’s intentions, it was less possible to ignore her own motivations.

Why Marc?

At face value, it was because there was a loneliness in him that she felt was reflected in herself. Because he was the only person she dared call a ‘friend’, ever since moving to England and isolating herself on the little island.

She liked to believe Marc was a friend. They went out for lunch almost every week and usually, Friday evenings, she’d come over and get a little tipsy on wine, tipsy enough that her words would slur and her well-practised English would slip and fall into her mother tongue. Once or twice a month they go and see a play or movie, or to the orchestra, with drinks before and dinner after.

Those nights, the formal nights, Marc is partial to an all-black getup, a black dress shirt that he leaves unbuttoned, a black suit. It’s an image that alights a squiggly feeling inside of her, one a clumsy child’s hands would make with a broken blue crayon on paper.

Other than that, sometimes Marc comes over for brunch on Sunday mornings, a concept he’d introduced her to and one that she’s come to grudgingly see the appeal in. He sips coffee with her and eats buttered toast and makes her laugh with crude little pequin peppers of jokes.

But never, from either side of the conversation, has there been any hint towards inviting more people into their bubble.

Her excuse is simple, she doesn’t know anyone else to invite. Everyone she knows is on the other side of the Channel.

Marc’s excuse is not so obvious to her. She squints through the parchment papers of them, and can’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

She wonders that maybe the reason why she hasn’t bothered herself to find more people she’d be able to call friends was because she was happy with Marc’s quiet companionship. His not-so-smiling-smiles, the way his eyes crinkle when he gives her a belly-laugh like a giant Ferroro Rocher ball, wrapped up in golden paper.

She’s moved to England for almost a year now, and she’d only been lonely the first two months, before she ran into Marc in a coffee shop, tears in her eyes and ready to call this new chapter over before it was written.

Sometimes, she tries to reason that it’s because he’s an American, a foreigner in a new continent. That his move was more intense than hers, and together, they found each other in the margins and happily decided to set up camp.

His Americanness is also a blessing in disguise. The dreaded oral exams of her youth were always in a quite generic, American accent. When moving to London, she’d had a false sense of security that there would be a very short adaptation time to the English accents, since she could understand the unobstructed audio of the woman saying I like bananas very much. What is your favourite fruit? in her BAC listening exams.

Coming home from work, her head is pounding from the struggle of trying to sort through the various inflections, tones, speeds of the seemingly infinite variations of a single accent. She feels betrayed by the French public education system. Nobody had prepared or warned her about this.

When she talks to Marc, however, it’s easy to understand him. It relaxes the joints of her brain, soothes it over. It’s the reassurance that she’s not in fact stupid and incompetent, things her coworkers must surely think of her after she’s asked them for the fourth time to repeat themselves.

She could also argue and say that she had already pushed away many of her own friends, heaping handfuls of time before her move. That the very reason why she changed countries was to start fresh, and that inviting her old university friends to the vacation would be awkward and heavily-charged with betrayal, a step back.

Despite all this, she hasn’t been able to ignore the true reasons underneath her choice of Marc.

Quite simply, she could have just said she had no one to invite over.

It would have resulted in a decently heated exchange or two, about wasting her life, about using her youth to find someone to settle down with before she was too old for it.

Not a pleasant experience for what should have been easy vacation, to kick back and destress.

But at least she would have had an easy mind about her own choice.

Yet, looking at Marc now, playing with her niece, she’s not sure she regrets it; even if her mind has been plagued with the why of it ever since they arrived.

He’s letting her niece play with his cheeks, letting her hands push around an imaginary bubble of air in his mouth.

The two of them had been able to surpass the language barrier quite easily it seems. Though little Anaïs, at only five, had been sure to show him that she was quite well-versed in English by rattling off the alphabet and counting to twenty-five for him, the difficulties only starting from seventeen.

Relaxed and sunkissed is a nice look on him.

Laughter comes easier to him now, even if their jokes and stories are poorly translated and lose a lot of their mirth in English. The smile lines are deeper than the frowns, the delicate folds around his eyes like embroidery almost always present.

In London, Marc combs back his hair meticulously. She’s seen him do it, grumbling and swearing under his breath when it doesn’t fall the way he likes it to.

In Bordeaux, he lets it loose, free from the obligations of work and life and the fresh air and the saltwater bringing out the best of it. His short curls move as if they have a mind of their own.

She longs to thread her fingers between them, to sink her teeth into the exposed, caramel-like freckled skin of his chest as if it were cotton candy and salt-water taffy.

She had meant to be reading.

The sight in front of her, the view of the ocean just a stone’s throw behind the two, was much more appealing at the moment.

The glassed door opens and there’s the gentle swish of Élodie’s sandals, the faint thud of a tray of lemonade and wine hitting the table beside her.

“T’as soif?”

She shakes her head, murmurs her thanks. She’s the type of sleepy that comes from too much rest and sunshine.

The hinges of the chair squeak as her sister sits down beside her.

The moment before it happens, she knows it’s coming. They’ve barely had any time alone together since her arrival, and Marc’s presence had already raised quite a lot of eyebrows, undeterred by the fact that they had separate rooms.

It’s the perfect moment for some older sister grilling. Everyone’s retreated to their own rooms, or to town to stock up on some groceries and alcohol.

Marc doesn’t understand French, Anaïs too little, and too preoccupied, to understand what they’re truly saying.

She tsks and sets down her book a tad too harshly on the table, “Putain, Élodie-”

“J’ai rien dit!” she holds her hands up in defence.

At the sudden sound of an argument in the making, Marc looks at the two of them, a crease forming in his eyebrows that fades as soon as she smiles back at him.

The momentary distraction gives Anaïs the executive power to decide that a change in pace would be nice, and she pounces on him from behind.

Marc’s taken aback but then he laughs out, turning behind him, “You’re a bit of a monkey aren’t you!” They tumble together onto the ground, the girl’s excited giggles swirling up into the ocean air.

The sight warms her heart in ways that his all-black look does, and she knows better than to dive into those emotions.

“Il est beau, ce Marc, non?” Though the question is teasing, though she’s heard it multiple times from the people in the villa, there’s an undercurrent of sisterly concern and worry. Despite all the troubles Élodie gives her, it’s a sound that pricks tears from her eyes, reminds her just how homesick she’s been this past year.

She takes an exasperated breath and picks up her book again, “J’en sais rien.”

There’s a heavy pause, almost as if it exists outside of Marc’s happy world. She’s never heard him giggle like that before, it twists at her stomach in unignorable ways.

“Tu l’aimes?”

She turns an unread page and hopes the thundering of her heart isn’t too loud.

Her sister’s eyes soften, out of the corner of her eye she sees her head tilt towards her direction, “C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche?”

“Non,” she concedes and picks at her thumb, then thumbs the corner of her books, letting the pages run under her finger.

“Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune,” she rolls her eyes at this, it’s the same excuse every time. “T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée.”

When it’s clear that she won’t respond, Élodie continues, slyly, “Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien?”

It stings like a bee, her words. The images that arise in her mind against her will are like poison, homebrewed alcohol.

She stings back, “Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille.”

That manages to shut off the conversation, though there’s a sour taste in her mouth that also hangs in the air between her and her sister.

With a squeal, Anaïs runs towards her mother, a grin pressed into her cheeks, “Maman!”

Élodie takes her daughter in her arms, kisses her cheeks, “Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien?” The girl nods, hugging her back. “T’as soif, alors?”

Marc gets up from the ground, and brushes off the dirt from his shorts. There’s a groan as he tries to stand up, and he rubs his back soothingly to combat against it.

She treasures the sound he made, the gentle frown in his face and the soft way it faded away with the pain in his back. “Are you thirsty, Marc?” she calls out to him. He comes to stand in front of her, and he nods, an open smile hanging around his face like morning dew. “Wine? Or lemonade?”

As she pours him some wine, her niece some lemonade, Steven looks at her from the wine bottle with a dumbfounded expression, his eyes dark and serious with grief.

A glance at him makes Marc wonder what kinda stick his alter’s got up his ass now.

But the wine is refreshing, and it brushes away any thoughts of Steven and of the heated words the sisters had exchanged as he was playing on the ground.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond to, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly. (Part 2 to this is looking enticing lemme tell you)

Masterlist here, requests here.

Translations:

T'as soif? - Are you thirsty?

Putain, Élodie - Fuck, Elodie

J'ai rien dit! - I didn't say anything!

Il est beau, ce Marc, non? - He's pretty, this Marc, isn't he?

J'en sais rien - I don't know what you're talking about.

Tu l'aimes? - Do you love him?

C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche? - Is it his memory that's stopping you?

Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune - So what's your problem? Sweetheart, it's been almost five years since his death, and you're still young,

T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée - You have the right to love, to be loved.

Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien? - So, you don't care that Marie likes him?

Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille. - Elodie, you're worse than Mom. Leave me alone.

Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien? - Hello, my angel, were you having fun?

141 notes · View notes

ominoose · 6 months

Text

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

A list of seasonal fanfics I've read or found over the month of October that I really enjoyed for future reference and others to check out <3

Part 1

Key: 🎃 - NSFW ┆ 🤎 - X Reader ┆ 🐈‍⬛ - Dark

Absolutely Purr-fect by @sarahghetti You and the Moon Boys adopt a cat. Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley WC: 2.4k ┆ 🤎

Broken Toys by @midgardian-witch Blue gives you some comfort. Characters: Blue Jones WC: 1.7k ┆ 🤎

Farm Day by @reallyrallyauthor You and Steven go on a farm day to see the animals. Yes, it's as cute as it sounds. Characters: Steven Grant WC: 800 ┆ 🤎

Voice Kink by @winniethewife Phone sex with Williams amazing voice. Characters: William Tell WC: 843 ┆ 🎃🤎

Little Secrets by @heladodecerezq You're the MK's systems kid and keep a little secret for them, which they really don't like. Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley WC: 921 ┆ 🐈‍⬛

Jake Jerkin' Off by @tiptapricock Jake jerks off, but written as more of a character introspective. Characters: Jake Lockley WC: 774 ┆ 🎃

Look At You by @notquitecanon Each of the MK boys saying "Look at you" in different contexts. Sweet and sexy. Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley WC: 1.7k ┆ 🎃 🤎

Cumming In Your Mouth Platonically by @my-secret-shame & @foxilayde Fen made another banger post and Foxilayde served another five meals with it. Aka a quick post on letting Cecil cum in your mouth but its totally platonic, not weird or anything. Characters: Cecil Dennis WC: 727 ┆ 🎃 🤎

Lust is a Drug by @minispidey You're Arthur Harrows virgin, isolated cult wife and Moon Knight pays a visit. Characters: Marc Spector WC: 2.3k ┆ 🎃 🤎

Mr and Mrs Knight by @angel-of-the-moons Chubby reader goes to work a work party with Steven, some mean girls make it go south. Characters: Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Marc Spector WC: 4.3k ┆ 🎃 🤎

My Lord by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction King John is exiled to another country and fixates on one of the head servants. Only Fen could make a King John fic that's smut and kinda fluff, it's magic. Characters: King John WC: 3.1k ┆ 🎃 🤎

Patience by @moons-dunes Steven gives you an agonizing lesson in patience. Characters: Steven Grant WC: 800 ┆ 🎃 🤎

La Petite Mort by @hon3yboy You inherit a manor from your dead aunt and it's got a cute but obsessive British ghost in it. Characters: Steven Grant WC: 3k ┆ 🎃 🤎 🐈‍⬛

He Found The Box of Condoms by @hoedamn-eron You fuck your best friends dad and then date him. Told in three parts. Characters: Leto Atreides ┆ 🎃 🤎

Sleeping Dogs by @hon3yboy Werewolf!Marc. Again. All I need to say. Characters: Marc Spector WC: 2.8k ┆ 🎃 🤎

Visions & Loyalty by @reallyrallyauthor Your sisters is meant to marry Leto but then he goes "Actually, no you" and it's three parts. God bless. Leto is so well written. Characters: Leto Atreides ┆ 🎃 🤎

Finish The Job by @romana-after-dark MK system kidnaps reader and Jake goes quite Yandere on them. Characters: Jake Lockley, Marc Spector, Steven Grant WC: 1.4k ┆ 🎃 🤎 🐈‍⬛

Control by @romana-after-dark Jake is really into killing and blood. Really into it. Characters: Jake Lockley WC: 591 ┆ 🎃 🤎 🐈‍⬛

Corny Night In by @jayke0 Marc with a chubby reader, has thigh fucking and feels. You will lose it. Characters: Marc Spector WC: 1.6K ┆ 🎃 🤎

Losing Hand by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction William tries to teach you poker and his dicks also inside you at the same time. Character: William Tell WC: 1k ┆ 🎃 🤎

Cry Baby by @jayke0 Bullying Cecil while he whimpers and gets off. Character: Cecil Dennis WC: 1.3k ┆ 🎃 🤎

#omimuse #this ones bigger than last time #not my fault you guys made tons of good stuff #again if anyone wants off lmk

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sl-ut · 1 year

Text

buzzed

pairing: marc spector x fem!reader

description: marc is lucky enough to accompany y/n to her cousin’s wedding, and even luckier to be the one to take her home. (this is sister fic to 'tipsy' but can be read as a standalone)

warnings: no smut but definitely nsfw, alcohol consumption, swearing, talk of weddings

words: 3.1K

date posted: 27/02/23

The wedding was beautiful, in the unreasonably expensive, terribly stuffy kind of way. Marc tried his best to not show it too much on his face, but this wedding was the exact opposite of anything he wanted to have if–when he and Y/n finally settled down. He’d decided that he didn’t want anything big, hell, he’d be happy with a quick visit to the courthouse before a weeklong honeymoon on a beach somewhere. But he knew that wouldn’t fly with Y/n, or more specifically, with her family, so he would settle with a small ceremony and reception before he got to steal her away.

He did have to compliment the newly wedded couple on their choices of His and His cocktails; Y/n’s cousin opting for the classic negroni, while his new husband made the much more intricate choice of a fruity white sangria, both of which Y/n had taken great pleasure in sampling before she kicked off her shoes and took to the dancefloor.

Marc enjoyed seeing her this free–it was something he got to see all too rarely. Her job had been a consistent thorn in the boys’ side since she’d gotten her most recent promotion. As the tour supervisor at a tour company based in London, Y/n figured that she would have been able to explore her chosen field of history on an everyday basis, though she was sorely disappointed when she discovered that she rarely would get to interact with the centuries of conflict and victories that the city faced when she was jammed into a smothering hot office and berated for making any complaints or requests. Steven had been the first to encourage her to hand in her notice of resignation, but he was very heartily supported by his alters, who both promised to support her until she was able to get back on her feet. Jake would then remind her that she’d earned her Master’s degree for good reason and would soon enough be drowning in job offers–a fantasy, which they were all aware of, but the boys were more than willing to say whatever she needed to hear when she needed to hear it.

Right now, Marc was willing to tell her that she was dancing wonderfully and that she wasn’t being stared at like she had two heads by most of the other wedding guests just to see her smile just as she was for just one moment longer. The cocktails that she’d drank caught up to her quickly; her cheeks burned hotter than usual, eyes hooded, and a smile appearing lazy on her face as she whirled around the dancefloor with various relatives.

Marc smiled to himself, ignoring the other who pushed past him to lean on the bartop as he quickly became entranced by her. She halted on a moment’s notice, the flowy shirt of her dress fanning and twisting itself tightly around her hips before falling limp once again. Her body turned quickly as her eyes scanned the crowd, first falling on his empty seat at their assigned table before they began to flicker across the room hurriedly. A calm expression crossed her features once she finally picked him out of the crowd, only lasting a moment before the grin returned and she began her beeline towards him.

He began forward through the crowd to shorten her journey, dropping his now empty glass on a random table as he passed. She stumbled into his arms with enough force to cause him to take a step back, giggling to herself as she wrapped herself around him snugly.

“I was just looking for you,” she slurred slightly, gazing up at him with a starry look in her eyes, “Thought you left me.”

“Leave you?” He scoffed, hands rising to rest on her waist to hold her steady, “Baby, you gotta give me a little more credit here, I’m not that stupid.”

She laughed, leaning closer and nudging her nose into his a bit more roughly than she would have had she been sober. He did his best to hide any surprise on his face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Come dance with me,” she tugged his wrist, “I love this song.”

“I know you do, but you know I’m not much of a dancer.”

She frowned, “Marc, please?”

“You don’t want me up there, I’ll end up crushing your pretty feet. Why don’t you go dance with your aunt again, huh?”

“I can’t,” Y/n whined, voice lowering into a whisper, “She’s such a bitch.”

He let out a loud huff of amusement because, though he’d not voiced his opinion because Y/n had always had a good relationship with her aunt, he wholeheartedly agreed.

“Please?” She begged his, grasping at the lapels of his jacket and shaking him lightly, “If you do, I’ll–” Y/n tucked herself against him as she whispered breathily into his ear, painting a foggy image in his mind of what she could offer in return.

The tips of his ears burned in arousal, breathes deepening as his grip on her waist tightened. She snorted at his physical response, ripping herself out of his grasp and slowly backing away from him towards the dance floor, seductively shaking her hips to the beat as she did. He scowled at her playfully, remaining rooted in his place.

Pursing her lips, she slowly turned, continuing to move her hips from side to side. Marc groaned to himself, but still didn’t take any steps towards her.

If you don’t, Jake grumbled to him through the reflection of the glossy window pane next to him, I most certainly will.

The song had changed to one of a slower beat with hard bass to support it. Marc already knew that, combined with the light push of the alcohol in his bloodstream and the way that her body moved along with the melody, he stood no chance, his feet already moving before he was even fully aware of it.

His hands landed on her hips while she had her back turned, pressing his chest against her back snugly and pausing her movements. She smiled at him over her shoulder, tilting her head back to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I knew you’d break,” she smirked knowingly up at him, glazed eyes twinkling with mischief, “Well, you or Jake. Steven’s not much of a dancer.”

Marc smiled, sliding his flattened palms around to the front of her dress and smoothing them along the plush of her belly, “You know us better than we do. It’s scary.”

“I bet,” she hummed, turning in his arms to wrap her arms around his neck, “But it’s not as hard as you might think, you all have a tell.”

“Oh yeah, what’s mine?”

“Well, then you would stop doing it, huh?”

“Or maybe you could learn to have some more faith in me, baby.”

“I’ll do that when you two start telling the truth every once in a while.”

“Two?”

“Steven snitches on you two every chance he gets.”

Kiss ass, Jake grumbled.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be honest with our girlfriend, Steven defended himself, though it did nothing to stop Jake’s verbal assault. ‘Sides, I’m the one who she wants around when you twits do something stupid.

Marc shook his head, ignoring their bickering as he brought himself back into the present, heart clenching as he took in the dreamy stare that watched him so closely.

“Are they fighting?” Y/n whispered, trying to not make her boyfriend seem crazy in front of her relatives.

“When aren’t they?” He joked, “Jake called Steven a kiss ass.”

“Well he’s not wrong,” she shrugged, turning her gaze to the impossibly clean window pane along the edge of the dancefloor, “Steven, baby, you know I love it when you kiss my ass.”

A cough forced its way out of Marc’s windpipe with force, a result of a laugh that he had not been physically prepared for. He cleared his throat, “Do you now? What about me?”

Y/n scoffed, “You don’t kiss my ass. You quite literally do anything but.”

“I would if you really wanted me to,” he leaned closer to rest his forehead against hers, his voice lowering to get his message across.

The muscles in Y/n’s face tightened as she realised the meaning of his words, shaking her head at him as she began to giggle nervously, “Maybe someday. You’d have to give me a little warning ahead of time though. If we’re doing that, we’re doing it right.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a right and a wrong way.”

She shrugged, “Well, I mean there’s a right and wrong way for the other stuff, at least there is for me.”

“I guess so,” he nodded, “Wait–what’s the right way?”

She chuckled, “Trust me, if you didn’t already know, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

One of his palms smoothed down the small of her back, pausing at the curve of her behind and massaging the flesh within his meaty paw.

“You’re starting to sound a little superficial there, baby. You saying that you’re only with us for the sex?”

She shook her head, “No, no, of course not. Steven is so smart and sweet, and he’s very funny. Jake's got this sexy little mysterious thing going on, plus he’s very romantic. And you…” she paused, a small smirk growing on her features, “Well, maybe I’m with you for the sex.”

He dug his fingertips into her flesh a bit harder, feeling her warm skin pool out between his thick digits. She squirmed in his grasp, pressing herself closer to him than she would have been comfortable with had she been completely sober, but did not ask him to remove himself.

“That so?”

“You’re very talented,” she hummed, raking her fingertips down the back of his neck, “Grumpy, sometimes a little mean, and you hog the blankets, but talented all the same.”

“Well maybe me and my talents will go elsewhere,” he loosened his grip, preparing to let her go and watch her scramble to be closer to him once more, though she didn’t even give him the chance.

Fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket, she held him in place, “Elsewhere… as in our hotel room? Because I wouldn’t exactly be complaining.”

Marc laughed, “Maybe, maybe not. I might need some convincing to stay, now that I know that I’m just some glorified booty call.”

Y/n leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his own while refusing to break eye contact. His breathing laboured as she invaded his personal space even more so than she already had, watching through hooded eyes as she nudged her nose against his playfully and tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I could convince you. You wanna go to the bathroom?”

Marc broke his facade, bursting out laughing at her question as she fell victim to her own giggles. The pair must have looked foolish–standing in the middle of the dancefloor, neither of them actually dancing and just laughing maniacally at one another and acting as if no one else in the extravagantly decorated ballroom even existed.

The upbeat music began to slow, and the other dancers on the floor paired off into a slow dance. Marc easily recognized the song; he’d heard Y/n singing it countless times in the shower, while she was cooking, and even sometimes in her sleep. She wouldn’t necessarily classify it as her favourite, but Marc was positive that it was a pretty damn close second.

“Hang on, baby,” He spun her into his arms and held her tightly to his chest, hands settling on her waist as he began to move the both of them into a slow, simple, side-to-side motion, “Just one more dance.”

She nodded softly in agreement, resting her forehead on his shoulder, “One more dance.”

They stayed like that for the majority of the song, swaying side-to-side lazy while they remained entirely wrapped up in one another’s arms. Occasionally Marc would nuzzle his nose into her hair or press a soft kiss to her temple, and she would respond each time with a squeeze and a kiss of her own pressing into his shoulder.

“You know I love you, right?”She whispered as she pulled back slightly, staring up at him as if he’d hung the stars in the sky, “I love all three of you the same, you guys know that, but right now I’m just–”

“I know,” He silenced her with the gentle press of his lips to her own, “I know baby. We all do.”

Tell her I love her too.

“Steven says that he thinks you smell weird and snore. Babe, I think you should dump his ass, personally.”

Steven blubbered out a protest, all strung together and slurred as he struggled to make a solid threat to the man who currently had control over their body.

She frowned, “Tell Steven that I love him too, and that he’s quickly becoming my favourite.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, “This is really nice and all, but I think I really just want a small little thing for our wedding.”

Marc chuckled, “Our wedding? I didn’t realise that I’d asked you yet.”

They hadn’t explicitly spoken about the prospect of marriage yet. Of course, she had spoken to all three of the boys about what kind of future they had envisioned for themselves, and all three had enthusiastically told her that she was certainly in it, but marriage was a complicated thing in itself, not to mention how it would fair when one woman had married three different men who all shared the same body.

Would she marry Marc? It technically was his body to begin with, but Steven had controlled the body probably just as long as Marc did, all things considered, and Jake would never allow such an argument to persist without throwing his own cap in the ring. Perhaps they could be common-law, so none could be considered to be any more of her husband than the others–one small ceremony to themselves where all three boys would have the chance to read their own vows and kiss you as their wife for the first time. Regardless, Marc was simply glad to hear that she had been thinking about their future together.

“You haven’t, yet,” she hummed in amusement, “Jake got pretty close a few times though.”

He shook his head, “I know, asshole never stops thinking about it. If he had it his way, he’d have Steven and I locked away in the back of our mind so that he could have you all to himself.”

She raised her brow, “Not such a bad idea… maybe if I didn’t love you all so much.”

Marc smirked at her, placing a careful peck to her lips. Neither spoke another word, simply swaying side to side along with the melody, eyes locked on one another and entirely ignorant to anything else that may have been going on around them.

As the song came to a close, Y/n fluttered her eyelashes up at him, eyes glittering under the ambient lights above as she whispered to him, “Marc?”

He hummed in response.

“Take me to bed?”

He resisted the small smirk that edged its way onto his face, squeezing his fingers tighter around her waist as she trailed her hands up the front of his chest, working soft patterns into the fabric of his suit. He leaned closer to her, his voice meeting her ears in a low grumble, “Go say goodbye and meet me at the door, I’ll grab your coat.”

Marc Spector was nothing if not efficient, making his way through the crowd with expertise that only an enhanced individual might have, finding his way to the coat check area while making sure that Y/n was always within his line of sight. He watched from the corner of his eye as she hugged each of the grooms, then one of her aunts, and endured an uncomfortably long and wet kiss from her uncle who had been cut off by the bartender. He slipped a five into the palm of the young man working the coat check and took off, stealing Y/n away from her family members before they had a chance to stop him.

Y/n giggled at him, slipping her coat on with ease and allowing him to guide her out through the front doors and cross the street to the hotel that they were staying at. Once they were in the privacy of the moving elevator, she made quick work of unbuttoning his jacket so that she could slide her palms across his firm midsection and pressed herself against him as she began to nip and kiss up the expanse of his thick neck. He groaned under her touch, leaning his back against the wall and gliding his own palms around the back of her neck to pull her in for a long, passionate kiss.

She sighed into him, pushing her hips forward to rock against his own and giggling girlishly as she bumped the tent that had begun to form in his pants. He hissed at the contact, hands pulling her face away from his own so that he could stare directly into her eyes.

“How are you feeling, baby?”

“I think you already know how I’m feeling.”

He rolled his eyes, “I mean, are you sober enough for this? You had a lot to drink today.”

She shrugged, “No more than you.”

“I’m also not a lightweight.”

“Oh please,” She scoffed, swatting his chest lightly, “I’m a little buzzed at most, I’m totally fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Y/n grinned, stepping away from him as the elevator doors slid open. She slowly backed away from him, turning on her heel and calling out to him over her shoulder, “I can always take care of myself, if you don’t feel up for it.”

#moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #marc spector #marc spector fic #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x reader #mcu

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romanarose · 10 months

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howdy congrats on 1000 (mona too!) Could i ask for either fluff 46: “nothing else matters except for you.” or 47: “we could run away.” with either Poe Dameron or young/pre-MK Marc Spector? Thanks!!

Born to Run

Poe Dameron x fem!reader

Summary: After the war ends, Poe is thrust into a position of power he never really wanted. Leia is gone, most of the leadership for the New Rebublic is either dead on not trusted, leaving Poe in charge of a lot of things. He's not a senator, not anything very high up, nothing flashy... but the people love him, so he's the face of many things. Problem is, Poe just wanted to save the world. He never wanted to be a politician.

A/N: I havn't written for Poe since before really joining the Oscar fandom. Only time I wrote for him was he was a side character for several chapters of this han solo story i never put out (i always loved oscar bc i loved poe, but han was my main focus) so anyway I hope ya'll like. I really like this concept and might turn it into a longer fic some day but for now heres a drabble.

***************** Poe was never cut out for this sort of thing. It wasn't that he wasn't a leader, he knew he was good at leading, people liked him, he had a natural charisma that made many people ask 'how do you do it?' but it wasn't something he did intentionally. Poe tried to just be genuine. He was a happy person in general, he saw the best in people and situtations, was empathetic, and people liked that.

People also liked to use that charm of his for their own gain. Thats how he was feeling now.

Poe had become the face of the resistance, he knew. He didn't want to brag, but he didn't think it was incorrect to say that by most planetary beauty standards he was somewhere between peasant looking and porn star material, and at the very least he had a look that put people at ease. This, coupled with his high rank and hot shot pilot skills, he quickly became known. He never felt like Leia used him, but he felt used now.

The resistance won, but Leia didn't live.

Han was dead, Luke was dead, Rey wanted nothing to do with any of this, so as the politicians from before and rising stars of recent started forming a government, those who had made a name for themselves in the war were thrust into positions of power. Kaydell, Finn, Jessika, Wex, Joph, and Poe among others were given stations and some were more fitted for it than others. Kaydell did well, and Joph seemed to enjoy his work. Finn thrived.

Poe felt like he was sinking.

"Hi baby." You greeted, managing to pull him out of his thoughts just briefly like you always did. He met you doing his stupid political work a few months ago, and had recently found a reason to stay with your family once again. The princess of a small planet, 7th daughter out of 14 kids, you too found yourself stifled. You watched your brothers and sisters get married off and had refused fancy arrangements yourself, not willing to be a pawn in a political game.

"Hi" He looked up at you on the couch he laid on, watching you saunter into the room in a pretty dress, hair all done up... you looked so good like this, but you also looked good dressed down running around in the woods with him, messy hair and pj's in the morning, or naked in his arms... he had missed you while he was away, and dreaded having to leave tomorrow.

How could he leave you for a life he never wanted?

You crawl into his awaiting arms. "You seem down lately, what;s wrong?" The concern in your eyes is genuine.

"Don't wanna leave." He went to kiss you, but you regretfully push him back.

"I'm supposed to be fetching you for dinner, Dameron. Can't let anyone get suspicious" You wink and smile, but he only returns it sadly, not his usual youthful grin.

"I guess not." Pulling you back close, he nestles his face into your neck, breathing your scent in. "Just... give me a minute like this, please." He was happier with you, freer with you...

You grant his wish, taking a moment to just exist with him, not daring to let go, even as you whispered. "We could leave."

It took a moment before Poe looked up at you, confused. "Huh?"

"We don't have to be here. We could run away." You clarify.

"But... I have my job, you have your duties-"

"And we just quit." You state like it's obvious. "We don't have to do what we're doing."

Poe stood up, pulling you to stand with him then taking your face in his hands, but his eyes are tightly closed. "Don't joke, please, if you're saying this... you gotta be serious because I can't..." He shakes his head. "I can't get my hopes up..." A life with you, away from all this bullshit...

You coax him to look at you. "I'm serious." You smile at him, his face lighting up into the dopey, childish grin you adored so much. "Let's run away."

*******************

YEAH THE TITLE IS A BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN SONG WHAT ABOUT IT?

Anyway this drabble may become a full fic idk no promises cuz i got so much to write lololololol

Romana's 1000 follower celebration

#poe dameron #romana's 1000 follower celebration #star wars #poe dameron reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #star wars sequels #romana writes #oscar isaac #poe dameron fanfiction

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mariasabanahabanabana · 1 year

Text

Raza... Se vienen más fic/incorrect quotes del Moon squad (¿?). Ya los he terminado y solo basta por traducirlos y subirlos...

Espero y les gusten al igual que yo al hacerlos/adaptarlos.

Por cierto, muchos de estos están inspirados en series/películas, pero mejor no me adelanto

Translate

Port

Raza… Mais fics/incorretas da Moon squad (?) estão chegando. Já os terminei e só preciso de traduzi-los e carregá-los…

Espero que você goste deles tanto quanto eu os fiz/adaptei.

A propósito, muitos destes são inspirados por séries/filmes, mais você verá o que quero dizer, é melhor não me adiantar…

Eng

Raza… Coming soon more fics/incorrect quotes from the Moon squad (?). I've already finished them and I just need to translate and upload them…

I hope you enjoy them as much as I did making/adapting

BTW, many of these are inspired by series/movies, but you'll see what I mean, I'd better not anticipate…

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oscarseyebrow · 1 year

Text

as 2022 has come to an end, the fandoms family 🫰🫰discord server took part in a little ‘hall of fame’ event, in which they were encouraged to recommend their own work that they were proud of from this year, as well as recommending others they had enjoyed, too.

it was lovely to see so much positivity and praise for our fandoms and i’ve been very excited to share these with you! if you would like to get involved and join our server, please drop me a message and i can send you the invite link.

now, without further ado, i hope you enjoy these recommendations as much as we have! please remember to check all warnings listed on individual fics/artwork.

fanfiction

Souls Heal Less Readily - @words-are-fireproof | Javier Pena x F Reader

The Favorite - @flightlessangelwings | Javier Peña x F Reader x Comandante Veracruz

Let Go - @flightlessangelwings | Joel Miller x F Reader

Notes on Tutoring - @honestly-shite | Dave York x F Reader

Adversity - @the-ginger-hedge-witch | Frankie x Ezra x F Reader

La Estrella de mi Vida - @flightlessangelwings | Javi Gutiérrez x F Reader Haalur - @words-are-fireproof | Din Djarin x F Reader

Enkindle - @oscarseyebrow | Din Djarin x F Reader

Fragments - @einno-arko | Din Djarin x F Reader

Seed Pearls - @zinzinina | Din Djarin x F Reader

Mutual - @the-scandalorian | Din Djarin x F Reader

Between The Wars - @mylifeisactuallyamess | General Hux x GN Reader

Upon the Throne - @saradika | Boba Fett x F Reader x Fennec Stand

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - @eupheme | Obi-Wan x F Reader

Aphelion - @oscarseyebrow | Poe Dameron x F Reader

The Pink and Blue Ribbon - @the-little-ewok | Poe Dameron x F Reader

The Holiday - @dailyreverie | Poe Dameron x Reader

Homecoming - @astroboots | Frankie Morales x F Reader x Santiago Garcia

Mythos - @acourtofsnakes | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x F Reader

Undercurrent - @oscarseyebrow | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x F Reader

A Suitable Arrangement - @moon-kn1ght | Billy Russo x F Reader (x Frank Castle)

Yuánfèn - @writerwrites | Steve Rogers x Reader

Darkness At The Edge - @moon-kn1ght | Matt Murdock x F Reader

A Lizard Dog, A Banana Boat, And a Cassette Tape - @pumpkin-stars | Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

Darkness At The End of My Love - @acourtofsnakes | Eddie Munson x Reader

Penny For Your Thoughts - @eupheme | Alfred Pennyworth x F Reader

It's Meant To Feel That Way - @writerwrites | Andy Barber x Reader

Reunion - @pumpkin-stars | Geralt of Rivia x GN Reader

artwork

Steven Grant - @pumpkin-stars

Weeknights Frankie - @mjpens

Space Sisters - @manofbeskar

Din Djarin in the waters of Mandalore - @mjpens

Don't be afraid - @stealyourblorbos

shops

TheHouseofApollo

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unabashednightmarepizza · 2 years

Text

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙎𝙪𝙣

Summary: After being alive for 20.000 years alonsgide your brothers, losing one, losing your parents,your home and Thanos snapping everyone, you were ready to take a break from everything. While having a different identity and a somehow normal life, you couldn't have guessed that a shy, Egyptian nerd would come to ask for your help which eventually led you to meet with someone you thought had betrayed you.

A/N: HOLY FUCK, GUYS I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!! I didn't think people would love this content. I was aware that there was a lavk of Goddess!Reader x Khonshu work but reader actually being Thor and Loki's elder sister? I seriously rhought people wouldn't read and now, it has over 500 notes!! Thanks so much for your support and THERE WILL BE A THIRD AND ALSO LAST PART! MAYBE, >'D SHARE SOME HEADCANONS ABOUT WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED AFTER THE ENDING! Share your thoughts with me and hood readings!

Pairings: Khonshu x Goddess!Reader( romantic); Steven Grant x Goddess!Reader( Platonic); Marc Spector x Goddess!Reader( Platonic); Jack Lockley x Goddess!Reader( Platonic); Layla El-Faouly x Goddess!Reader( Platonic)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Tagging: @justyourwritter69 @bibli0thecary @christineblood @bI6o6dy @fantasttick

"Khonshu..?"

"My Love..."

Looking right in front of you and lifting your head, the one your soul seeked to have was right there. Bandaged hand being raised as if to protect you, staff held thightly. Arthur seemed to realize that he was right in front of you since he couldn't exactly move towards you anymore and smirked knowingly, malice evident.

"Is he standing in front of you? Protecting you? Good thing that he eventually came but don't you think it's a little late?"

Growling at what he said, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden sight of your supposed-to-be-husband, you took Marc's and Layla's hands into yours and started to run out of the shop. Racing to their car, Arthur yelled after you, knowing very well that the seed of doubt is now planted deep in your heart.

" You know better than anyone to trust the Moon, the one that changes all night! You're the ever standing one and he will change!"

****

"HOW IN THE NINE REALMS DID YOU MANAGE TO RUIN MY PEACE IN LESS THAN 20 MINUTES?!"

"Uh... Ma'am-"

"DON'T! THAT'S WHY I DECIDED TO NOT TO DEAL WITH HUMANITY FOR SOME TIME!"

Sighing angrily and throwing your hands around, you panted hard and grabbed the table next to you harshly, knuckles turning white and panting as if you had just ran a marathon. You were a mess, both inside and out. Two humans came, almost got you killed, then tou had to deal with a psycho and now were hiding in an old building with protection sigils around the walls. Looking at each of them, you thanked your mother who taught you magic since you were her one and only daughter who probably got the magic trick. Even in your anxious state you couldn't help but remember what you had with your mother and brother Loki, since you two were her only two children that had knack at magic...

Running through the halls of the palace with your hand holding Loki's thighter, you stopped behind a pillar and yanked him to yourself to hide from the guards. Giggling at your brave attempt at stealing his favorite meal, Loki nudged at your arm to let you look at him. Turning and giving the meal to him happily, you two began to chat while sitting on a bench that saw the fountain in your home.

"I can't believe you just stole something! What if something happens?! It's not what a princess should-"

"Well, I'm not an ordinary one! One day, We all will fight should-to-shoulder and I need to be prepared!"

Munching on the meat while swinging your little legs happily, Loki looked at you strangely which made you raise brow in question. Loki always looked up at you, bot he and Thor did. You were their second mother, always being there for them when training would take a toll on Thor and people whispering about him became too much for Loki to handle. He was used to being looked down or not being acknowledged at all but with you? He felt like he was the most important person in all of the universe which... made some very petty fights to happen between the two brothers.

Which was the case again.

"Loki... Is there something you're not telling me with the fight with Thor? 'Cause I feel like there is..."

He grumbled under his breath and turned to his side to not to let you see him blush in embarresment. It was really childish maybe, at least to others, but was wanting your attention really that wrong that Thor almost punched him?

"I know that you want to spend your time with me but... Thor is also my brother and he deserves my time as much as you do."

"Doesn't he already have enough?"

Raising your brows in shock and gasping loudly, Loki face palmed and moved to stand up and run away. You were faster than him though, so before he could take a run for it, you grabbed his arm and looked at his eyes.

You always knew how people treated your little brother. He didn't look like you and Thor, he was more like a naughty boy than a prince to most but inside, he was just a boy who was scared of thunders. He was just a little kid that seeked his parents' and sister's attention and wanted to make them proud. He was just another boy who wanted his father to acknowledge him...

Twisting you brows in sympathy, you hugged him thightly to yourself and whispered the words that he wouldn't forget even if thousands of years would pass by.

"Loki, you don't have to be anyone else. You don't even have to compete with Thor. Even if I love him, you've been always the apple of my and our mother's eye... Father doesn't have to approve of you, you are already the best for us..."

While Loki was busy hugging you thightly, a certain God of Moon was watching your interaction fondly while creating new constalletions. Humming slowly to himself, he looked at his staff then at you and waved it just for you.

"My ever kind love... Your kindness definetly deserves a star that humanity would forever remember... Not that they can even shine better than you..."

****

"We're trully sorry, Y/N... We didn't know he would find us even then and-"

"Tell me Steven, Marc, whoever is there... Is Khonshu here right now?"

They couldn't see your face but the cold and empty tone of your voice sent shivers to their bodies. Your neck looking down at the ground while your long nails were tapping the wooden table patiently but to them, it sounded nothing like that. More like a click of a clock that was counting the time until their death.

When you turned your head to look at them out of the corner of your eye sharply, you saw that Steven was fidgeting anxiously while looking up at the corner of the room. You smirked to yourself silently, thinking that you made Marc kinda, lowkey, scared of yourself enough that Steven had to come out. Bad choice, you thought, the man was a sweet one and you kinda started to have a soft spot for both of them. You really didn't want to scare them but if that was what needed to be done, then so be it.

"So Do I not mean even the slightest to you that you wouldn't show yourself, Khonshu? You were pretty quick to do so before though..."

Khonshu hummed under his breath angrily, not liking how you put yourself down and how your voice sounded. All the time he was being imprisoned, he dreamt of having you between his arms again. To love and cherish you, finally getting married to you and possibly living a good life...

Your cold attitude and angry self weren't what he expected...

Marc, and Steven, watched in amazement since the God didn't make you repeat yourself and showed himself. Bandages swinging back and forth like a cape, staff in his hand, Khonshu was looking down at you with what seemed like a lovesick and almost dumb aura. He could feel that his very grace, his soul, his whole existence was screaming to just lounge at you and crush you in his embrace. He didn't even think about the image he had to uphold, being the cold and merciless God when it came to criminals, but fuck it all, he waited for many centuries for this-

Layla screamed in fear when you threw a strong punch and kick at his head suddenly which sent him miles away. When she finally had the courage to look at you closely, probably to calm you down and scold you, what she saw shocked her and she couldn't help but put a soft hand on your shoulder with sympathy in her eyes.

Your eyelids were almost red, probably from holding yourself back from crying and your nose was scrunched up as if you were in misery, as if someone just stabbed you and were now twisting the knife deeper inside you. Hand shaking because of anger, you jumped up high to land on where he exactly was.

You were not done, you wouldn't be done before you at least took out all your pent up anger, sadness and tiredness. You always blamed yourself for his sudden disappearance, thought that you did something wrong. Was my words too much for him? Did he not really care about me? Did he just... want to get me on his bed? Was I just time way to pass some time?

Growling at him, you summoned your dagger to point it right at his chest, burning the bandages slightly. Khonshu didn't do anything to stop you, he knew you were hurt... Hurt because of him. He was aware that maybe, leaving you wasn't the right way to protect you. Looking up at you, he raised a hand to touch your leg tenderly, pointer finger creating goosebumps in their path. You cursed at him for knowing the effect it had on you, it used to get you excited and calm but right now?

You just wanted to punch the skull so hard it would twist mid-air mindlessly.

"Where the fuck have you been, Khonshu? Watching from the sidelines again?"

"My Moon, I-"

"Don't. I no longer am yours... And Layla, Steven... You can come out..."

Sighing disappointedly, you fixed your clothes and walked away from where they were. You could sense that they were watching you, trying to understand what was going on inside your mind.

But even you didn't understand... You will never do, you were broken beyond repair .

"Okay, what the fuck just happened? She just threw you away like a rag doll and you did nothing! Besides, what's that with her being your wife!? Isn't she a Norse Goddess?"

"Steven, the real question is... She was supposed to be happy to see him but, she was ready to kill him... You didn't see the look on her face but I did and it was... of a broken woman who was let down by someone she cared about.."

Looking at the deity before them, Layla had a pretty judging look in her eyes. She didn't know what exactly happened but, she could understand your pain in a way. When she first saw the divorce papers, the feeling of dread filling her gut when she thought Marc wanted to get rid of her... She shook her head and went after you since she would be the only one you didn't get angry at.

Marc was having another crisis inside. He knew he wasn't supposed to trust you that easily, someone who could end lives but... It was odd that you really jumped on your supposedly husband, not out of joy rather than with the intention of hurting.

"What have you done to make her that angry, huh? Guess you're not the best-"

"I did what you had done, little worm... And that, wasn't the brightest idea..."

****

"Look, Sam, I know you are gonna get super mad but I did nothing!"

"Girl, what happened again?"

"What do you mean by 'again'?! It's not like I am creating havoc all the time!"

You kicked the stone before you while sighing out defeatedly. You were beating yourself up after what you had done but in your defense, he was the one who left you all alone without a single word. Right after your first time, even worse! Talking with Sam, who had became your annoying and dumb friend, was like a therapy session for you. No money, no shitty man with glasses trying to dive deep into your life... Just some free jokes and clouds all around!

"Look, Y/N... I understand you're angry-"

"More than angry! I'm fuming!"

"Okay, right. I really understand you but, don't you think there is something more? Like about his disappearance-"

"Sam... That's not only about him leaving me... That's about me, seeing him in the arms of another. And guess who it was?"

The Goddess of Love, none other than Hathor...

You knew she was kinda jealous of you. There were many Gods and Goddesses fighting for your hand in marriage and the love you used to share with Khonshu would of course make her sour. You were sad, at that time. Young, confused, and slightly hurt since you couldn't find the one who made you see starts, literally. And wandering from Hall to Hall, instead of beaming with joy... You saw him hug her, craddle her as if she was a fragile thing, making your heart shudder to the ground and Asgard's sky fill with clouds...

Not aware that the one who was breaking apart was you.

"Sam, I understand that you want me to have a happy life but you know, my family is dead, my home is destroyed, there is a crocodile lady who's trying to destroy the world and I'm dealing with a man who has 3 alters and my ex while missing my kids so excuse me If I sound petty but I've all the right to be like that."

"Okay, okay, you're right. But don't worry about the kids, me and Luna are having a great time by acting like Cindirella that you're a fat loser for missing this. Right, Luna!"

"Yes, mama! Go and kick some bad guy asses!"

Knitting your brows angrily, yet trying to conceal your giggling, you created a little light version of your kids together between your palms.

"Sam, tell Buck to not to swear in front of the kids."

"Well, I'll try but... are you gonna help them? Will you be fine?"

"I don't wanna go through the same ' don't kill me but make me stronger' anymore, I'd actually prefer the opposite but I guess I have no other choice..."

"But... Uh, try to look at it in a better way: You could have woken up with no powers one day and you're one hell of a strong woman! I'm sure you'll do something with it... If you need help, don't hesitate to call and try not to kill him!"

"No promises!"

Not listening to his protests, you put your phone away and with a hand move, you brought the woman who was listening to you close to yourself. Seeing her frightened state, you smiled sweetly at her and bounced her curls inside your hand. Feeling sorry for scaring her, you gave her a chocolate, the one she loved and twirled her hair between your fingers.

"Now, you kinda know why I did what I did..."

Nodding at you, not being sure how to approach this, she just sat there waiting for you to say anything.

"So... what's your story with Marc? It's been a long time since I had a talk with a woman with these kind of things."

Twirling the ring inside her palm, she started to tell you about her. She was sure Marc would scold the hell out of her for telling this much about themselves but, for some reasons, she trusted you more than anyone. She was right to think how she thought though, if you would've wanted to kill them, you would've done that a long time ago. You had limitless power which could end the world in a second.

Besides, you trully looked like a sweet woman and she enjoyed your presence already. It was like, being in a meadow, surrounded by different flowers and the soft wind while watching the sunset type of feeling.

" Oh darling, men and them, thinking that running away or pushing their loved ones away would solve everything magically..."

"Yeah, you tell me! The first time I saw him and he told me that he wasn't Marc, I was so ready to punch him!"

Laughing at your similar situations, you hugged from the side which surprised her. Not that she didn't like it but... She really loved it. It was as warm as a mother's hug and as sincere as a sister's, she widened her eyes at this and slided away from you, feeling like she betrayed her family in a way.

Understanding her and not wanting to make her more uncomfy, you stood up and helped her get up.

"So... Where are we going? You said that Harrow already has the beetle..."

"Uhh, Cairo actually? Apparently, her thomb is there and we need to find her before him-"

"That's why we should move ladies!"

Seeing Marc trudging to you two, you looked around to see if Khonshu was still around which Marc answered with.

"He isn't here. Said that he needed to do something..."

"When does he not... Anyways, you don't have to worry about going there and about the money kind of mundane things!"

"What do you- Holy Fuck, please do that more often."

Seeing themselves inside a very, very rich looking room, they both went to look at all the shiny things while you were smirking at yourself. Watching their reactions amused you and when a knock was heard from the door, you eased them and went to answer the door. Seeing the same old lady who helped you a lot, you also smiled in her way and told her that two people were staying in this room as your guests. Looking at the duo behind you, she smirked slyly and asked you something they couldn't really understand.

But by the grin you were sending at each of them whole pointing your finger to two of them and creating a heart shape, they felt their cheeks blush under your meaningfull look.

"Oh trust me, they're gonna stay here for the night~"

Sending the lady off, you opened a hidden wall behind the shelf and went inside. Taking several weapons you went out again and opened the balcony window to let the wind come inside. Looking at the Moon that started to shine slowly, you took big steps to the ledge when Marc stopped you.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To talk with... Khonshu. There are a few things I need to talk with him. Don't worry, I'll make him let go of you for tonight!"

Winking at him, you almost tripped yourself and fell to the ground.

"I don't think a God who makes me kill people would listen but yeah, go on."

"Excuse me, he makes you do what?!"

*******

Khonshu, on the other hand, was sitting near a cliff, thinking deeply. He didn't understand the reason of your behaviour, he knew you could get childish sometimes, a part of you that he loved since it was contrasting to his yet adorable, but that would always be in a gentle way. You would never loose the twinkle that appeared whenever you saw him standing near somewhere, a twinkle that was even brighter than any star. Something that always brightened his dark thoughts, after all, he made stars shine like that just because of you.

To remember you even if he was being punished for it.

There was another reason why his heart was hurting, clenching painfully inside. Kids, you said. When did you have them? Did you forget him and moved on? Was this Buck the one you conceived them with? If so, then he definetly will need to find an original way to-

"YOU HAVE BEEN FORCING HIM TO KILL PEOPLE FOR YOU?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???!"

Marching up at him angrily with red fire on the end of your clothes, a sign that you were pissed, he tilted his head at you and stood up. It was a funny sight really, a 8 feet God and a Goddess that was barely over 5'5, call out to what he did to a mortal who wouldn't live past 80.

"I'm not gonna deny it, yes, I made him to ot but for a good reason. All of these were criminals, disgusting parasites..."

"Oh, so now, you're the judge of that? Who gave you the right?"

"I'm the vengeance, darling. It's what I-"

"If you call me with one more word of affection, I'll not be responsible for anything!"

Panting hard at him while pointing a finger at his chest, hitting him repeatedly, his chest ached. Not because of you but for you. The eyes he loved so much, the ones which would search everywhere for him, ones who would show kindness and compassion to everyone. Your hair that swayed with the wind, giving you an ethereal look which made him soar with utter ans unconditional love...

Now they were dull, your hair loosing its sparkle after all this time and all the fights you were in. Your eyes, being a hallow and shell of your previous ones. When he accepted to be banished, there was only one condition, one thing he wanted the most.

For you to be safe and not take a part in the wars that weren't yours...

"My Moon, please... It's been so long since I felt your presence..."

You could've punched him, threw his arm away but even if he was with another, showed care for someone that wasn't you... You loved him with everything you had and you still do and for that, you hated yourself.

Sniffling silently, you didn't do anything to stop him from caressing you. You smiled slightly and instinctively, your hand took a hold of his bandaged one, tightening your hold on it. You couldn't lie to him anymore, or to yourself in that matter.

You were still in love with him, just as strong as before.

"Why... Why did you use me like that? Why did you go after another? Why did you steal the Heart of Asgard?"

"My Star... I... I don't know, even if I'm a God, about what you're telling me. I never had my eyes on anyone other than you. It would burn my very soul to even think about another when I have the most amazing woman..."

Scrunching your face in confusion, you lifted your head to look at his eyes deeply. You wanted to get mad at him for even telling you that you were lying. You saw with you eyes, him hugging Hathor and your necklace which was known as the Heart of Asgard was on your neck when you and him slept...

You weren't delusional.

Looking at him sharply, you took several steps behind to avoid him but he took even more bigger ones towards you. He was confused, to say the least, about what you were saying. How could you even think he would be with another? Cherish them when you were the reason the sky always shined bright with the stars, the reason that everyone loved to look at it? Did something happen when he was gone?

Worried about what might have happened to you, he took a hold of your shoulders suddenly and came close to you.

"My Moon, what was the last memory of us that you remember?"

"The hell? Are you really making fun of me right now? Look, if you don't want-"

" There has never been anything or anyone I had wanted more in my existence but please, tell me. What was it?"

Seeing his urgency and panic, you didn't fight back anymore.

"The first and also the last time we had been... together. In the morning, you weren't there and I-I saw you with... with Hathor... You were hugging her and caressing her and I was there, watching helplessly, feeling used that I just-"

And finally, all the tears of your years of torture broke loose at remembering your last encounter with him. Hugging him thightly, you sobbed on his chest. You were sure that your face was red from crying out that loudly that you couldn't breathe. Feeling your chest tighten and panic rise, you looked at him frantically with fear in your irises. Your powers had always gone out of control when you felt things deeply. One time, you almost destroyed a realm because of this. Not wanting the same to happen, you looked at him to find a solution, to calm you with shaky eyes.

Seeing your state, he hurriedly gathered you between his arms, understanding what you wanted, he shushed you and cooed soft words into your ears sweetly. He felt his chest burn in pain with his every cell, seeing the muse of his creation so broken made him beat himself up for his decision of leaving you. He thought it was the best, you deserved so much more, like a human partner for one. You didn't deserve to deal with his childish attitude or the jealousy but you still sacrifaced so much for him, never even thinking of leaving. You were devoted to him and him only, creating a bond so strong yet admirable. You even gave up on your right to the throne just because your father told you that he wouldn't see your marriage as a real one.

Why did you sacriface so much for him?

"Shh, my love... I'll not let you get hurt now... I'm sorry I let it happen..."

"We could've been happy, Khonshu... We could've been a happy family together, why did you leave without a word?!"

Screaming at his chest painfully, Khonshu just broke apart right there at the mention of "we". If it was true then that meant the kids you always mentioned were... his...

"My Moon, is... Is it true? Are the kids you talked about really... ours?"

"What did you think? I only ever loved you, it was always you..."

Finally calming down, leaving the gasps only after your attack. You slumped back against his slender figure, breathing him in at peace that he was finally with you. The pain, longing, the hardships you had to endure while and after having your kids... All of them were worth it after having your prides and joys between your arms. Smiling softly yet tiredly at him, you felt the guilt gnawing at your heart. You frowned when you remembered how you yelled at him, how you didn't listen to him at all.

Tugging his hand to let it rest over your hips, you mumbled a sincere apology.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you like that... I should've listened to you..."

"For what it's worth, I'm so sorry, My Moon... I don't know who that was you saw as me but as long as the Sun and the Moon are on the sky, my love for you will embrace the whole universe."

Cooing at him and his love-filled words, you sat on his leg at threw your arms around him, crying at his shoulder not out of sadness but utter joy. He returned to your hug just as willingly and swayed you back and forth. He was shocked but happy that he had tiny versions of you, hoping that they didn't have a bird skull like he does, but felt even more like an ass at the fact that he left you all alone, practically pregnant. He wished to be present in their lives, he wanted to learn everything about them. What their first words were, how they took their first steps, what their favorite colour was... Even though he just learnt their existence, he already vowed to protect them with everything he had. He didn't want them to involve themselves with the Ennead since he was their father and there was a high chance that they were stronger than any of them, sure that the council would use them for their benefits.

But for now, he just wanted to listen to the stories you three created and what happened to you. Hearing him say this and seeing he already took up on the role of a father quickly, your heart soared deeply and with a huge smile on your face you began to tell every single one of them. In your excitement, you slipped a secret you've been keeping to yourself, even Bucky didn't know!

"And then, there was this one time when Zeus tried to approach me to you know what, and then Cyrus just striked him with a sun-whip! I had to go and make peace with them since we didn't need-"

"Zeus tried to... touch you?"

Looking at him with wide eyes, you stammered and immediately tried to stop him from going on a rampage. He was quite the possesive God, I mean once you told him this he answered with a glare as 'So you're seeing other Gods?' and you just let it there, and you didn't want to know what he would to the Olympos! Dammit I just made peace!

"D-darling, there is nothing going on anymore! He's way too scared of our son that he never did anything!"

"I'm proud of my boy but He will learn he can't touch what's mine! By the way... They don't have skulls like mine, right?"

I missed his possesiveness, you thought while fangirling inside. His way of claiming had always made you giggly but even after 20.000 years, it was a surprise that it still had the same effect on you.

But when the last part left him, you couldn't help but let out a high pitched crack at him while holding your stomach. You shook your head no, and in a way, tou could see where the questions was coming from. When you first learnt about your pregnancy, you feared that you'd have to give birth to a baby bird and even freaked out in several occasions that your mother just slapped the back of your head, telling that stress wasn't good on the baby.

"As much as I'm fawning over you, darling... I'd like to have some personal time with you, preferably alone."

Standing frozen for a few seconds, he completely forgot about his anger before and put his staff on the ground anxiously. Seeing him stumble in his steps made you cover your mouth to not to let him see you grinning widely. It all reminded you when he first came to you, all shy and cute, to ask for your permission to court you...

"Y/N Odinsdottir, your kindness and compassion blinds even the most genorous God here and the beauty and power you hold makes everyone lower to kneel before you. But I, only came here to stand next to you as your lover... I've hung the stars and the Moon for you every night to remember you... Please allow me to court you and cherish you!"

"Well, then my Moon... How about dancing in front of our Moon and Sun?"

Extending his hand out for you to take, he started to turn you around yourself and twirled you towards him, your back meeting his. The Moon shone brighter than usual, being content over its master's happiness.

He looked into your eyes. He let you down once, resulting in tragedy for both of you. He still didn't tell you about everything, the banishment and other... things but for now, he was happy to have you with himself. He knew that forgiving him would take time but he would give however time you wanted.

He just hoped that you'd forgive him.

"My Love, I don't ask you to forgive me so easily after what I had let happen to you and out little ones but... Just know that I left because I didn't want you to hate me like other Gods did... I just wanted to protect you from myself and what would come for loving me..."

"Silly God, have you ever thought that maybe you were hurting me by 'protecting me'? We're stronger together, remember? The Moon can't shine without the Sun..."

"And the Sun wouldn't have such a high purpose without its Moon, I remember."

Chuckling at how you confessed your love to him so suddenly all those years ago, you two laughed to your contents. You were sure Marc and Layla would've died on the spot at seeing the grump cat of a God laugh so freely but they were busy doing... what you and Khonshu were going to do.

Even when you eventually went somewhere to be one with Khonshu again after all those years, there was a sultry and sly voice at the back of your mind that always whispered to you when you talked to Harrow.

"If you want to know how to restore your home and bring your people, your brother back, come and find me Y/N Odinsdottir... So that we can build our own paradise..."

#marvel x you #marvel x gender neutral reader #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #khonshu imagine #khonshu x reader #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector x reader

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