#merc!marc spector

[fierysakura]

I know other people have mentioned this but can we talk about how much money Marc must have to just. Buy an apartment, let alone one that big, in Central London.

I know comic Steven’s a millionaire? Billionaire? But MCU Marc must have a couple of million lying around at least.

…and then there’s the custom Limo at the end too.

[moonknightblog]

I feel like Marc would hate Deadpool, Steven would feel awkward around him, and Jake would be besties with him.

[thevelominati]

sorry, what

[agirlwithachakram]

OH man just realized something. Marc chases down the followers in Cairo and he gets charming and funny, "are we dancing, we fighting, what are we doing?" which is the first and basically last time we ever see him joke around like that. it almost looks like a performance in contrast to the rest of what we get from him.

that's gotta be a line from his prizefighting years. some bookie was like "you're pretty and you can throw a punch. you are small but you can win and that is very good for hustling. now I am going to teach you some lines to use so they like you anyway when they lose their money. repeat after me." or maybe he even came up with them himself. But he's so uneasy in nearly every other scene that I think he's used this line before. a bunch of times, even.

[kingcrow01]

DC/Marvel Pool Noodle Party 2024

Week 5 | Mercs & Murder Husbands

Marc Spector & Harley Quinn, 0 fics!

@dc-marvel-crossovers

Here’s the outline of the event for those interested. TLDR, This event celebrates relationship tags that have less than 30 works on ao3, both platonic and romantic. The rarest of rarepairs!

Inspired by Harley harassing interacting with Marc and Damian in chapter 20 of in labyrinths of reflections by @blackkatmagic, specifically these lines:

“Fuck the hell off,” he growls, and gets a hand on her face as she tries to kiss his mask. She’s wearing a lot of lipstick, and he'd rather not run around the rest of the night with a black lip-print on his face. 

and

Harley blinks at him, big eyes and blond pigtails and smeared makeup that makes her look like a raccoon with a hangover, and then laughs. 

Ho-ly-shit, I cannot begin to express how happy I am with this piece! Initially I was having a hard time with MK’s suit, to the point that I was contemplating just dropping the whole project. (I hate drawing superhero suits, why do I keep on doing this to myself) Like always, all it came down to was retaking my ref and utilizing that handy-dandy line of action, and I finished it pretty easily after that.

Damian was a last minute add-on, and I wanted to draw him on Marc’s right side and a head taller (kids are bigger than you think!) but I ran out of room on the page. I ran into the same problem with Harley’s mallet; I wanted it to be bigger, but with the angle it had to sit at to rest against her thigh, I kept it on the smaller side. 

This piece has made it very clear how limiting my sketchbooks’ size is. For example, I have an idea for another week in this event, but it literally wouldn't fit in this sketchbook so I’m not going to make it. Digital art 1: traditional, 0.

I tried out a new lining style as well, and I’m never going back. Before, I was making every line the same width, but it’s SO much more impactful with alternating line thickness! I attached the lined final sketch below. Do you see how much of a difference it makes?? (Written early May, so I've been using this style since.)

Details:

I think it’s silly that Harley’s boots are covered in blood, but not her actual weapon lol

Harley is as tall as she is because she’s standing on her toes in platform boots

The tattoo on Harley’s midsection is of ivy leaves (though, it’s not poison ivy) as a sort of homage to Ivy. Not that she’s dead or anything. They’re just. Lovers. So, tattoo.

I got to put NO WORK into shading the black parts of MK’s suit, and that was FABULOUS

I wanted to give her colored shoe laces, because I love small details like that. I would love to give characters any color of laces, but some of them seem to have negative meanings, especially on Doc Martens, so I went the safe route and gave her purple laces, which represents gay pride. Yes, I know she’s bisexual, but I felt like I didn’t have many options.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Stupid idea

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Summary: You thought he was a bad guy, so you *tried* stealing his money. Turns out it was a bad idea. Or was it?

Cw/triggers: Nsfw, p in v, pred/prey dynamic if you squint, only a little bit plot.

A/n: Trying to rob that merc with a mouth could end in a veeery sticky situation... I said could...

Normally you wouldn't run around and rob people, but this guy...

The first time you saw him was when he was chasing a guy, who was trying to shake him off by throwing stuff into his path, but the man chasing him was running after him like a bull chasing someone waving something red.

You didn't pay much attention then, but as you were minding your business, you saw them at a roof, with the guy in the grey jacket having no weapon, but then he stumbled upon guys who you thought were just helping the poor guy that got chased.

You saw the group taking out knifes, the man in the grey jacket had nothing, but he threw hands at them like no tomorrow. What was wrong with him?

Later, the man was the one holding a knife, with the group on the ground. Were they dead? You didn't know.

What you did was waiting for that man to come around a corner, before reaching into his pocket to snatch his wallet.

He was running after you like a mad man

Throwing stuff into his way only seemed to make him more determined to catch you.

He eventually catched you in an empty area...

--

And now he had you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist while he was thrusting steadily into you.

"Did you really thought you could rob me and get away with it?"

He hit that special spot within you, stars clouding your vision, you were already at the brink of orgasm and all you could do was moaning, whimpering and squeeze his waist.

"But I gotta say, you were a good chase."

Just as he said that, those words were the last straw, causing you to crash down on him.

While he groaned at the feeling, he had absolutely no intentions to stop, still thrusting steadily into you, only increasing the pace a bit.

"Give me another one, thief." he ordered.

You winced at the overstimulation, your legs were feeling like jelly and you'd probably just fall off if it wasn't for him holding your legs in place.

"Fuck," you breathed out, feeling the pleasure returning.

He rolled his hips right into you, causing you to almost lose it even more despite already being as cockdrunk as you can get.

Marc chuckled hotly beside your ear. "What? Thought I wouldn't deal with you?"

His breathing got quicker, so did his pace, pounding into you rapidly to chase his release.

The familiar feeling in your belly grew more intense with every roll and grind of his hips.

He sure must be close due to his heavy breathing and grunting.

You were already close to another orgasm, your inner walls squeezing tightly as your second orgasm hit the wind out of you, followed by his frantic thrusts and a drawn out groan as he painted your insides white.

Your sweaty forehead slumped down on his shoulder as you tried catching your breath.

With a gentle roll of his hips and a content sigh, he pulled his softened cock out of you.

"I'll let you go. But don't do that shit again, we clear?"

"Yes." you nod.

Slowly, gently, he released your legs, steadying you to not fall.

"Good. Now you go mind your business and I'll mind mine."

While you adjusted your clothes, he adjusted his own clothes, then casually walked out of the alley.

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

Tags:

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

@buckyssugarchick

@mooksmouse @sugarplumz100 @faretheeoscar @tokkiwrites @lunaana-02

Wanna get tagged?

[eyelessfaces]

Okay so one thot/trope I constantly have is being a colleague of Marc Spector’s like being a merc/assassin and getting into situations where you have to flirt with a target to get information/to get close enough to them to take them out or get access to somewhere. And Marc getting insanely jealous but pushing it down bc it’s work. Be professional and all that. But then then then you have one night where he just snaps. Like you have to go undercover in a strip club and dance for a target or like you’re all dressed up and have to flirt with the target at the bar. And after the mission Marc just grabs you and goes FERAL with lust. 👁️👄👁️

oh fuck

maybe he fucks you right there in a relatively secluded area of the club and at some point you get really close to getting caught and fucking the whole mission up but he truly couldn’t care less

there's a tension between you for the next days and the rest of the mission, but if you have to flirt with some people again you definitely are more insistant and teasing with it now that you know how marc will react at that👀

(send me thots!!!!!!!)

[tsunami-watch]

Name(s): Marc Spector/Steven Grant

Age: Mid 30's

Occupation/Association: Merc/Netrunner | Streets

Status: Alive

Short Bio/Backstory:

Known to be reliable with a near if not 100% job success rate, regulars at the Afterlife who are trusted by Rogue with tough gigs. Expensive to hire, picks and chooses which jobs they’re interested in. However, they are also very caring of their community and people, protecting and helping around their neighborhood for free. If you’ve got a good heart then in your desperate hour, approach them for help and they might just be convinced to be your knights in shining chrome, fee to be paid at a later date, or not, if Steven convinces Marc to let it go. Not like they’re particularly short on eddies with corpo clients vying for their attention. They’ve got a fair share of blood on their hands, they started like any other mercs with jobs they couldn’t ask questions about, innocents killed in the crossfire, in Night City you have to do what you can to survive. Now, they have the choice, and they always choose what they think is just. Who said NC legends can’t have a heart of gold?  

Iconic Weapon/Item description:

Marc: Vengeance (Power Assault Rifle) Iconic modifier: Damage increases with health below 60%, additional damage increase effect with every hit sustained (any kind of damage taken). Steven: Moonshine (Legendary Quickhack) Effect: Similar to the Cyberpsychosis quickhack, spreads to up to 3 enemies, targets effected by Moonshine will not target V or allies.

Masterlist :

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Sun in eyes

BONUS COMIC REVIEW: 

Issue 17 mini comic: Marc Spector - The Worship of False Idols

You guys. You guys have no idea. This is it. This is the reason I fell utterly in love with Moon Knight. I'm so excited.

When I found Moon Knight (I'll get to that discovery in a later review) I just had to know who he was. I stayed up all night downloading and reading everything. 

When I got to this piece it must have been 3am and this is what made me obsessed. 

What's hilarious is that this mini comic comes at the end of a really dramatic Marc Spector heavy issue in which he's dark and angsty and violent. 

And then...You get this. This delightful idiot man that's just doing his best. 

Let's get into it! 

I wonder if this image of Marc might be what inspired Doctor Grant from the show. 

We open with Marc holding a machete and making his way through a jungle in South America. 

Narration: Long before there was a Moon Knight, there was Marc Spector. Though he wore but a single name, he operated under many guises... Soldier of fortune, treasure seeker, courier, mercenary, were a few of those guises. 

He was a man whom Moon Knight can now look back on with only slender pride - A strong man, yes, and thoroughly determined, but often a ruthless man, one who braved danger only for money. This is one of his stories." 

Such lovely narration. Painting a picture of a gruff killer for hire out for a buck and not afraid to get dirty for it. 

We see him hacking his way through a jungle and complaining the whole time. 

"Must've hacked my way through thirty miles of this green hell..." 

He had previously met with a drunken archeologist (probably at a bar) who told him about a beautiful ugly idol made of solid gold. 

He finds a clearing and there sits the idol 

He doesn't find this suspicious at all. 

There's going to be a lot of screenshots in this review. 

(flat in the dirt again.) 

The dog apparently belongs to an archeologist nearby. His wife comes out of the tent, remarking that he's probably out drinking again. (Marc's info source). 

She looks around and notices the Idol is missing. She shrugs and goes back to the tent. 

She has a busy day tomorrow if she's to keep looking for a big discovery that she thinks is very near. 

Marc wakes in a dark underground cavern. 

Now we get to watch this poor man try to think this through. 

"But I can't carry any more than I've already got.

Maybe I should substitute-take something else-something better...

No-The archaeologist in the bar said this idol is the choice one--the one that'll command the highest price from collectors and museums--worth far more than its weight in gold.

But if I leave now, I'll never find this place again. Not before those archaeologists do--and by then they'll have armed guards swarming this place... 

Got to decide now-cuz I won't be able to change my mind later..." 

Marc decides to keep the one he already has. 

He follows a draft and finds himself in a bat cave with Guano up to his calves. 

Oh Marc…Oh no…

Oh no.

Oh no

Marc no…

Marc no…stop…

Buddy…pal….Beloved hero of my heart…

I mean…He saves them. Marc isn’t as heartless as he thinks he is. Just cause he’s having a bad day doesn’t mean they have to have one too. 

And now… I give you my hero. The light of my life. My obsession. My sweet cheese. My good time boy.

Damn Marc, that’s a nice leg. 

Marc makes it back to the town. 

He staggers towards where he's staying, looking forwards to a week in bed and then cashing in his idol for the sweet sweet dough (get that bread Marc). 

Suddenly, his thoughts of rest are interrupted by someone shouting "Three Dollars American!" 

He looks over to see the archeologist and his wife talking. 

She admonishes him for taking so long to get back to the newly discovered temple....then asks him why he keeps guying the cheap plaster idols. 

Marc looks over to a stand with a man selling "Genuine Inca idols straight from the temple of the sun!"

This is Marc Spector everyone. Mercenary dark and tormented and angry and violent killing machine Marc Spector. 

The man that can’t forgive himself and that no one loves easily. A man that is hated and feared. 

I don’t read Moon Knight for the dark action. I read Moon Knight for moments like this. 

This is what made me fall in love. Not the white cape, the mental health, the DID, the religiously tortured soul, the hero that needs saving…

This man that is having the worst time and still he stumbles into the sunset because DAMN IT he worked hard to get there and he’s going to get something out of it… But at the end of the day, he’s no further along than the rest of us. 

He probably had a drink and went to bed after this. Maybe laughing to himself. Maybe laughing about all the close calls. Maybe crying a little. 

But he didn’t go back to rob the excavation site. He said “Not today. Not this time.” and went on with his life. 

And he told no one of this, because he’s Marc fucking Spector and he has a reputation. 

So I leave you with this. The best image of Marc Spector I’ve ever seen. The true meaning and mood of Moon Knight I’ve ever seen. 

This pretty much just sums up his life: 

(And somewhere, Khonshu looked at this mess and said “That’s the one. That’s the one for me. My son!”)

[petertingle-yipyip]

DIRTY THOUGHTS - MARC SPECTOR

Pairing: merc!Marc Spector x merc!Reader

Word Count: 3,859

Summary: When the perfect mission falls in your lap, you and Marc take your assignment a bit too literally. //slight praise and i think minimal dirty talk, nothing explicit//

At that point, you couldn’t remember your contact’s real name. You had changed his name in your phone to simple dollar signs, a nod to the fact that you only called him or answered his calls when you needed extra cash. And that weekend, spare time meant taking a job.

“Just the girl I was thinking about.” Your contact said happily as he answered.

“Yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, though you wore a small smile as you dropped over the arm of your couch. “I got a free weekend and need some extra cash. What do you got?”

“Félix Ortega.”

The man you had a personal vendetta against. Slum lord for your parent’s neighborhood. Cartel boss that roped your brother in. Murderer who killed your childhood friends. He pretty much had a hand in ruining everything in your life.

“Shut up.” You said firmly and sat up in shock. “Are you serious?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes.” You deadpanned. “Multiple times.”

“Sure, okay, but not this time. I swear. I’ll send the file when we’re off the phone. Who do you wanna take?”

“Who’s available?”

“All of your favorites.”

You thought for a second.

“I want Spector.”

“I knew it.” He chuckled.

“What’s the payout?”

“200K.”

“Make it 250 each and I’m in.”

“Really?” He teased and you heard typing from the other side of the call. “You’ve been wanting to go after Félix for months and now you wanna barter?”

“Told you I need cash.” You shrugged. “We got a deal?”

“Whatever you want.” He sighed and you grinned triumphantly. “Where you flying out from? I’ll send a ticket and a hotel res with the file.”

“Vegas.. Where’s Marc?”

“London.”

The next day, you and Marc were in a taxi driving through the streets of Mexico City. You were sent the file the night before and you reviewed it on your flight. You and Marc met at the airport, his flight arriving a couple hours after yours.

You liked working with Marc. He was quick and efficient, but knew when enough was enough. He avoided civilian casualties and injuries as much as he could. He still had a heart and that was unheard of as far as mercenaries go. You wouldn’t even say you had a heart persay, just a stance against hurting kids or innocents.

But that soft spot Marc had, it earned him a special part in your head and heart. You tried to work with Marc as often as you could, just as an excuse to spend time with him. You thought that not only did he have a pretty face, but he had a good heart and that was something you wanted to keep.

Even if it technically wasn’t yours.

“Did you get the reservation?” You asked Marc as you two exited the cab and grabbed your bags from the curb. “All I got was the file and my plane.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Marc nodded, holding the hotel door open for you. He followed quickly behind you, sidestepping to get in front of you when you reached the desk.

“Hi.” He greeted the receptionist with a smile. Her eyes widened a bit before she looked him up and down. “We have a reservation, last name Grant.”

You quirked a brow at him but said nothing. You hadn’t realized your contact was going to use a fake name but you supposed it made sense.

“The honeymoon suite.” She nodded and slid over a paper and the keycards. “Congratulations.” There was a jealous bitterness to her voice. It almost made you laugh.

Marc signed the paper with a small chuckle, glancing up to shoot you a wink as he gathered the cards. He nodded in thanks to the receptionist and dragged you to the elevator.

“Honeymoon suite?” You teased as the door closed behind you two.

“Guess that makes you Mrs. Spector for the weekend.” He smirked, nudging you with his elbow.

“Mrs. Grant if anything, it seems.” You crossed your arms and he smiled. “You do realize the Honeymoon suite probably means one bed?”

You turned to look up at Marc and he held your wide-eyed gaze, if only for a second. You knew your cheeks were turning pink and your lips were fighting to turn upwards in a teasing smile. He cleared his throat when you tilted your head and turned to the elevator doors as they pinged and opened.

“Yeah.. The couch’s probably a pull-out so I can sleep there.” He shrugged and motioned for you to go first.

“We’ll see if I want you to.” You nodded, though Marc stole one more glance at your face as it fell slightly before you stepped out.

He followed quietly behind, only speaking up when you two got to the room. He unlocked it and sidestepped, again letting you go first. You hummed a thanks and stepped inside, not surprised to see the one massive bed in the room. Though the room was more spacious than you figured, having a bathroom to the left of the front door and a small kitchenette to the right. Beyond the bathroom was the bed and then a short step down to what you could best describe as a common area with two arm chairs, a plush sofa, an entertainment center with a fair sized TV, and a small dining table with two chairs to match. The farthest wall housed a sliding glass door that led to a wide balcony that had a beautiful view of the older, historical parts of town.

“Did you read over the file?” You asked Marc as you propped a knee on the edge of the bed.

“I glanced.” He nodded, dropping his bag down in one of the armchairs. “You?”

“Yeah, I read it on the plane.. Ortega has a pattern that we have to fit into, but should be easy enough”

“What kinda pattern?” Marc asked, though his back was to you as he rummaged through his bag.

“Every weekend, he goes to the same club.” You turned and opened your own bag, hunting for the dress you had packed for that night. Black, tight, short, and low cut with a slit. “He picks one or two girls and takes them home.”

“So you’re gonna seduce him?” He snorted. “How do you plan to seduce a guy you hate? You’ve-“ He chuckled. “You’ve probably told me seventeen different ways you’d want to kill him.”

“We are gonna seduce him, actually.” You corrected, turning to see him staring at you with hands on his hips. “He only goes after hot women-“ You gestured to yourself. “-with hot boyfriends.” You pointed to him.

“He likes his women to be trophies.” Marc nodded and turned away again.

“He has a type.” You shrugged and found the dress. You began changing out of your travel outfit. “That being said, when we get to the club, you need to pretend like you’re into me.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay, but not just ‘Yeah, she’s kinda hot’.” You rolled your eyes as you wiggled into your dress. “I need you to act like you want to fuck me or we’ll never get Ortega alone.”

There was no answer to that. You stepped into the bathroom and twisted around in the mirror to try and zip your dress. Though when you couldn’t quite get it, you huffed and went back out for your makeup bag.

You glanced up at Marc and saw him buttoning his shirt, a dark green shirt with sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. He tucked his shirt into his slacks and turned towards you as he zipped, buttoned, and did his belt. He cleared his throat and your attention snapped from the movement of his hands to his face, which gave you an amused smirk.

“Can you help with the zipper?” You asked sheepishly, turning your back to him quickly to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks.

The tension between you two wasn’t quite a secret, but it was still embarrassing to be caught staring. Especially as your mind was threatening to wander towards dirty thoughts.

He chuckled and came over, gently pushing your hair over your shoulder. He pulled the zipper up slowly, ghosting his fingers across your shoulders when he finished just to see if you would react. And you did, shivering slightly.

“Thanks.” You tossed your hair back and grabbed your small pouch so you could duck back into the bathroom.

“So.” He came and leaned against the doorway. “That’s the dress you’re wearing tonight…”

“No, I had you zip me up just to take it off.” You rolled your eyes slightly as you pulled out the makeup you needed. “Why?”

“You look good.. Really good., actually.”

“Then you’ll have no problem playing along, right?” You teased and started your quick makeup routine. “Less work I have to do the better.”

“Right… Might lead to another problem though.”

“Which is?” You turned to him.

He simply shook his head with a chuckle. He pushed himself off and left, leaving you to wonder what he could possibly mean by that. You turned back to the mirror and made a face to yourself before touching up your makeup. After a few minutes, you went back out and tossed the makeup in the bag before finding your heels.

You sat beside Marc on the bed, who had been laying on his back on his phone. Your weight making the bed dip drew his attention and he watched as you leaned over and worked the buckle on one shoe. He hauled himself up without a word and knelt in front of you, his hands covering yours and taking over. You glanced up and saw just how close he was and it made your breath catch in your throat.

Dirty thoughts, indeed.

His hands easily fastened the buckle and then switched to the other shoe. Once that was done, both hands went behind your knees and pulled you towards him. He offered you a shit eating grin after you gasped. You broke into a laugh and scooted yourself back, though it was hard to ignore that it was a beautiful angle to see him from.

“Fucker.” You laughed it off and he held a hand out for you as he stood.

You accepted his help and let him pull you up. He lifted your hand above your head and gave you a spin, letting out a long whistle as he did. You giggled and pulled the fabric of your dress down. His hand found your lower back as he guided you out of the room and towards the elevator.

“My purse.” You tried, though his hand continued to push you forward. “Wait-“

“Don’t worry about it.” He said with a shrug.

“But my gun is in my purse.”

“You won’t need it.”

“Marc.”

You turned to face him after you two got into the elevator.

“I got you covered, babe.” His fingers came under you chin as he gave your face a small shake. “You trust me?”

He looked down at you with a small smile and slightly raised brows. You knew you trusted him and he knew it too. You knew he just wanted to hear you say it. So if he said he had you covered, you were covered. You smiled widely and reached up to take his wrist. You slowly pulled his hand away, noting how his thumb dragged down your chin.

“Yeah, I trust you.”

The ride to the club was quick enough. The bouncers let you two in without much of a second thought and the music blasted you as soon as you walked in. The smell of liquor was all over as you two squeezed through the crowd, hand in hand. You weren’t sure if it was to sell the facade, make sure you two didn’t lose each other, or just because Marc wanted to.

“See him yet?” He leaned over to ask you.

“No… What do you wanna do?” You asked in return.

He jerked his head towards an open table near the dance floor. You followed him easily and sat close to him, close enough that your knees pressed together. He kept a hand on your thigh as he looked around. He had scooted forward to the edge of his seat, as if to block you from the rest of the club.

Your own eyes scanned the room and locked with someone familiar in the VIP area behind a thick velvet rope. You smiled at him and his eyes scanned Marc before he looked back to you. He nodded to Marc and then to you and you tilted your head back and forth as if you were thinking. He smiled and wagged a finger at you before he nodded and stepped away. You rolled your eyes once his eyes left you and nearly gagged at the interaction.

You sat up on your knees and leaned forward and draped your arm over his shoulder, resting your chin on the other side. You turned your head to speak lowly in Marc’s ear, his own head turning towards you slightly.

“Hi.” He smirked.

“I’ve got him.” You answered. He shifted in his seat to face you better. “VIP. We caught his eye already.”

“That was easy.”

You hummed in agreement and swung your leg over his lap. His eyes went wide for a second but his hands found a home at the back of your thighs and his fingers inched under the hen of your dress. He leaned his head back against the wall and smirked lazily up at you.

“Enjoying the view?” You teased and rested your hands on his shoulders.

“I am, actually.” He chuckled, pulling you up and closer to his chest.

“I can tell.” You nodded towards his lap and he just shook his head with a smile. “Is that the ‘other problem’ you mentioned?”

“Can you blame me?” He shrugged.

You leaned forward so your lips grazed his as you spoke. “Dance with me.”

“Fuck.” He groaned quietly, fingers gripping your thighs a bit tighter.

He tilted his head up as he shifted the position of his hands quickly. One hand landed on your hip and pushed you down against him while the other came to the back of your neck. Your own hands took a tight hold of his shirt as he pulled you closer so your lips finally met.

The pulsing music of the club seemed to disappear. The flashing lights behind your closed lids seemed brighter. Everything seemed to disappear other than Marc, his grip on your hip and the way your lips moved together. You had to be the one to pull away, though he chased your lips.

“Dance with me.” You repeated, mildly out of breath. “We still need Ortega.”

“Screw Ortega.” He shook his head and leaned into you again.

“No.” You giggled and pulled back, earning a frown in response. “We need to get this done first. We have a job to do, baby.”

You climbed out of his lap and pulled your skirt down again while he grumbled to himself before getting up. You held a hand out to him and he took it dramatically before you led him to the dance floor. You turned to face him while placing his hands on your lower back. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He pressed you close to him as you two began to match the fast beat of the music.

“I’m impressed, Mr. Spector.” You giggled.

“Why’s that?” He chuckled.

“I didn’t think you’d know how to dance to Hispanic music.”

“No? Guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He shrugged with a cocky smirk.

“Is that an invitation to find out more?” You raised your brows. “Cause I’m willing to stick around.”

He smiled and spun you around so your back was against his chest. He leaned down to speak lowly in your ear.

“Speak of the Devil.” You grumbled as Marc reclaimed his hold on your hips.

“You’ve got an admirer.” He said before placing a teasing kiss below your ear. Your shoulder instinctively came up and your head turned towards him, earning a chuckle from him. “You okay, baby? You’re blushing.”

“Fuck off.” You smiled and turned away with a heat rising to your cheeks.

You locked eyes again with Ortega and he lifted his drink towards you. You blew him a kiss and his brows raised as he laughed. He nodded and held a finger to you, as if to ask you to give him a minute but your next actions made him hold your gaze with his mouth slightly agape.

Your hips moved in a steady rhythm against Marc. You felt one of his hands sliding up your spine and pressing gently to bend you over while the other held your waist. Your hands braced yourself against your knees while Marc moved with you to the music, hips grinding against each other in a way that sent goosebumps across your skin. Marc’s hands slid to your chest and pulled you up quickly, allowing you to flip your hair and lean your head back against his shoulder.

You were so lost in your movements and Marc’s presence that you forgot you were supposed to be teasing Ortega. Your mission had easily become a cat and mouse game between you two, and you both loved every second of it.

You guided Marc’s hands in two different directions. He hummed in interest as you brought one hand up and over your chest to the base of your throat. The other was guided down over your stomach to the top of your leg.

Your clouded gaze found Ortega, the eye contact practically slapping you back to reality as he grinned excitedly and turned to talk to his friends. Marc’s fingers landed on either side of your jaw and he jerked your head to the side to look at him. Your eyes were wide, only for a second.

“Do you know what you’re doin’ to me, pretty girl?” He mumbled.

“You’re doing so well, handsome.” You smiled lazily, returning his praise.

He squeezed your face gently and you bit your lower lip before he kissed you roughly. You hummed in content and twisted in his arms so you were chest to chest, his hands gripping your waist as your fingers slid into his hair. He bit your bottom lip gently, drawing a small noise from your throat.

“Perdón.”A voice said from your side. You two pulled apart slowly, though Marc’s grip on you never faltered. You had to drop your face to the crook of Marc’s neck to hide your expression, which was a mix of annoyance and disgust. “May I?”

Looking over, you saw Ortega staring at you with lust clouded eyes. You forced a smile and glanced back at Marc, finding he was already looking at you. You gave his arm a slight squeeze before kissing his cheek. He frowned at you slightly but released his grip and let you leave with Ortega.

The man led you out of the club and into the side alley that opened into the parking lot. He backed you against the wall and placed a hand against it near your head. You hummed slightly as you looked up at him with wide, doe-eyes.

“All night, I see you with him.” He said lowly, his free hand tracing your cheekbone. “But I see how you look at me.”

“You’re an easy man to be distracted by.” You answered smoothly, watching him swallow hard at your words.

“What is your name?”

“Whatever you want it to be.”

“That mouth gets you into trouble, doesn’t it?” He smiled as his thumb traced your lower lip.

“That’s not how my husband would explain it.” You glanced around and noticed Marc had followed you two out and was waiting behind one of the cars in the lot. He raised his brows at you expectantly when you caught his gaze but you ignored it. Instead, you turned back to Ortega.

“Husband, hmm?”

“Yes… My husband… Very handsome, very generous lover.”

“Yet you’re here with me.”

“Mhmm.” You slid your hands up his chest and under his jacket, earning a groan from his throat. Your fingers brushed the gun in his holster but he didn’t seem to notice. “I hope you’re worth it, Félix.”

“I assure you I-“ He began but paused, tilting his head with a small chuckle. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“No.” You said softly, gripping his gun under his jacket. “You didn’t.”

You pulled the gun and pushed him away, pressing the barrel against his forehead. He backed away from you with hands raised in surrender until his back hit the opposite wall. Marc was quick to come to your side with his own gun in hand. One of his hands came around your waist and he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

“The mastermind, Félix Ortega.” You mocked. “And all it took was a pretty face to get you alone. You’ve tormented my family for years… How fitting that I’m the one to end it.”

“I don’t even know who you are.” He tried to defend.

“Good.”

You pulled the trigger.

Later that night, back at your hotel room, you were still in your clothes from the club. Marc was getting out of the shower.

You thought you should be glad, relieved even. You caught up to Ortega and got rid of him. You earned 250k and hardly did anything. But still… Your mind was elsewhere.

Your mind replayed Marc’s touches, the way he gripped your body and the way he kissed you. Every memory reignited those parts of you, memories leaving that patch of skin alight with desire, with the ghost of his touch that you wanted to feel again - even though you knew it was fake. You were so caught up that you hadn’t even realized he came back into the room.

“You okay?” He asked. snapping your attention up.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m… great.” You tried.

“I know you better than that, Y/N.” He sighed and sat beside you. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just surreal, I guess. That he’s gone… That I did it.” You shrugged and looked down to your hands in your lap. “You were really good tonight… Real convincing. It was fun..”

“Cause I wasn’t pretending.” His fingers came under your chin and gently turned your face to look at him. “I didn’t have to. With the way you looked in that dress, I…” He licked his lips as he scanned your figure. “I had to try not to fuck you all night. Just the thought of it, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” You smiled slightly. “You gonna do something about it, handsome? Or are you just gonna think about it?”

“Oh, baby.” He groaned and pulled you closer by your chin. “Just want you to say it.”

“Say what?” You teased and leaned in closer. “That I want you?”

“Say it.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Say it, baby. C’mon.” He squeezed your face gently and you hummed, biting your lower lip. “Lemme hear you, pretty girl.”

“Well, we are in the honeymoon suite after all. And what are honeymoons for?”

[data-is-my-favorite-android]

So it seems the elephant in the room is: Did Marc kill Layla’s father? Or if he didn’t do it himself, did he still somehow have a hand in his death? Did he intend to kill her father (probably not knowing it was her father at the time), back out, but then witness his murder (even standing by while someone else killed him)? What exactly is the nature of this secret Marc thinks is so horrible that Layla will hate him and never forgive him? 🤔

The writing thus far has been good and I want to trust the writers, but I’m getting squirrely about the possibility that they’ll fumble this whole relationship thing at the end. Like by maybe having Layla find out how Marc was involved, being upset initially, and then forgiving him only to decide to leave him in the end anyway. Or, in the worst case scenario, having Layla and Marc resolve their issues only to fridge her so they don’t have to actually deal with any of the messier aspects of whatever revelation is brought to light or bother with having a woman “weighing down” their superhero MC.

I don’t think any of those choices make sense narratively, to be fair. Layla’s arc may in part be about letting go of the past and her anger over her father’s death. Forgiving Marc would be a way to show that. Marc has been shouldering all his burdens alone, and Steven has been desperate to connect with other people but been shunned or isolated at every turn. They have both asked for help, but no one has answered them—except, to a certain extent, Layla. She accepts them both. She wants to talk about their system and understand them. And while improving Steven and Marc’s communication with each other could help them feel less alone internally, the writers showing that they are not alone and are in fact accepted by an external relationship would also be extremely powerful, narratively speaking. Layla continuing her relationship with them would be really healing from a story perspective, and it would also subvert some pretty harmful tropes that have governed relationships between men and women in action series up until this point. I’d love to see more action couples actually stay together in the end and ride off into the sunset to whoop ass together for as long as they both shall live 🤞🤞

You know… like in The Mummy 😊😊😊

Please Moon Knight writers… PLEASE GET THIS RIGHT 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

[enneadchosen]

open for mutuals

Pain ebbs through every fibre of his being, soft drip of leaking pipes a welcome distraction from the copper taste of blood that laces his tongue and deep ache that reminds him that he’s still alive, still stuck in an awful situation. He’s lost count of how many times his captives have asked him where the map is, lost count of how many punches that had been thrown at him in attempts to get him to talk. A lot, he assumed, interrogators growing frustrated at the lack of answers and moving onto other methods in hopes of making him talk. ❝ When... when I get out of here, I’m killing every single one of you. ❞ Marc spat back, laughter and searing voltaic pain the only response his promise.

Time slips through his fingers, unsure how long had passed or how long he had been out for. Long enough for the room to empty, he finds. Shuddering breath exhaled, eyes scan the room; it’s poorly lit, which does little to help him find a way out and try as he might, he can’t break free of metal restraints. The faint sound of someone approaching pulls his attention away from his observation, hands twisting in restraints to no avail. Fuck. He needs to find a way out of this before they decide to end it once and for all.

[age-of-moonknight]

“Danse Macabre,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #25.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Pencilers and Inkers: Alessandro Cappuccio, Alessandro Vitti, and Partha Pratim; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[luke-o-lophus]

In Your Image, In My Eye

Marc Spector x Reader (Minors DNI)

TW: Allusions to child abuse and neglect, and to past eating disorders (nothing descriptive), body image issues, very minor talk of food controls, mentions of sexual activities and some innuendos

Prompt by @apollo-enthusiast: Imagine settling down with the moon boys, just living a calm and stable life without khonshu to bother you. You bake and cook a lot, and are really good at it. As a result, Marc gains a bit of weight and now has a little tummy. You catch him judging himself in the mirror one day, maybe fighting over it with steven and jake, maybe they're feeling the same way, and find out he's feeling insecure about it and needs some love

Word count: 1541

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

"For the thousandth time, Steven, we have the same body."

Marc sounds exasperated. He looks exasperated. Just out of shower and towel wrapped low on his hips, he usually doesn't spend this long in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom. But today, Steven got his attention. "You still look handsome", he'd muttered. And refused to budge when Marc pointed out the obvious.

"You don't get it. I've got this...ugh", Steven hides his face in their shared headspace. "This thing. I have a..a pooch belly."

Marc mentally groans and pinches his forehead. "Steven I can assure you we're doing fine", he grunts.

"Are we though Marc, are we?" Steven throws up his hands. "Look at this." He incredulously points to his midsection. Marc tilts his head with a raised eyebrow. Steven's fashion in the mindspace is similar to when he's fronting. All Marc can see is the body swimming in a shirt three or four sizes too large, in a pattern that hurts his eyes.

"Steven I literally can't see anything", he sighs and turns to remove his towel and start getting dressed. That's when he sees it. A soft..chunky roll in his belly as he bends to pick up his t-shirt. He slowly turns back to the mirror, shirt in hand, and pokes his finger in his belly. Nearly two segments of the finger sink in easily, and the flesh springs back as he removes his hand. Marc's never seen anything like it on his own body.

Here's the thing. Marc Spector in the past has never really eaten. He's consumed food in order to sustain. In the army and as a merc, he had standard rations and a standard body type he had to maintain. And before that, he had always been a skinny kid. It's no secret he wasn't exactly nurtured at home. And he's even starved himself to points where Jake has had to step in to take care of the body. Until quite recently, actually. Until he met you. Or rather, three months into meeting you.

You'd brought a tupperware of chocolate cupcakes to your fifth date. You were meeting after nearly a month, a month of thinking Marc is going to ghost you. That day Marc came bearing a harrowed guilty face, and you came bearing cupcakes. Who does that? Marc wondered as he bit into one. And almost forgot to chew. It already tasted so, so good he stared at you with wide eyes. You giggled bashfully, a shy finger wiping away ganache from the side of his lip. Later that night those same lips had devoured you over and over until all the tension of the month prior was forgotten.

It had never even occurred to Marc it is possible for the body to gain some stomach fat. And it damn well had never crossed his mind, that would be what's bothering him when he looks at his reflection. But here he is. He can almost hear Jake groaning somewhere in the depths of the mindspace. A groan of "Here we go again".

They moved into your apartment a month later. Steven still kept his, and turned it into a library slash workspace for them. Your place was home. With your warmly lit study, kitchen that always smelled good, the eclectic wooden chandelier in the living room, and the twelve pillows on your queen bed: it was a better home than marc had ever seen himself living in. And then there was you. Who had given him so much love, so much grace, so much understanding. Because of him, you had moved away the large full body mirror to your study the day before he had moved in. The men liked having mirrors around, mirrors made it easier to communicate, but just...smaller ones. It took Marc a long time to be able to look at all the scars and marks on the body without feeling sick in his stomach. The day he asked if you could move the mirror to the bedroom to make dressing up easy, you'd hugged him and kissed him silly. And later baked a batch of apple tarts as a treat.

"Maaarc what's taking you long?" your call sounds impatient. He can hear faint muttering coming closer and your head appears in the doorway. Marc's instinct is to quickly cover his torso with the t-shirt in his hand, almost letting loose an embarrassing squeak.

"You haven't dressed? We gotta do a grocery run quick or we'll get very late for lunch!" you whine with your hands on your hips.

"I don't want lunch", Marc mumbles and you pause in the midst of your woeful rant of delayed lunches.

"What..why? Is your stomach upset? I told you that fish tasted funky, Marc, I swear.." you immediately start fussing over him, coming close and checking his forehead for a temperature.

"No..no...I'm fine. Just ... not hungry" he shakes his head away.

You were familiar with Marc's 'not hungry'. It could mean a lot of things, but very rarely the fact that he actually wasn't hungry.

"Everything alright, bubba?" you ask, hand moving down to caress his cheek. Marc sighs and smiles wryly,"Yeah..yeah don't worry. It's just...it's silly..."

You raise your brows in question, egging him to go on. "It's just...I have this thing.." he rubs his neck and moves the tshirt from his torso slowly, as if revealing the deepest darkest secrets. You blink owlishly at the display, then back up at him. "Honey...uh..I'm sorry but....what am I..looking at?" you ask.

"This!", Marc almost whines, poking indignantly at his belly. You look just as lost, helplessly staring. "Does it..hurt there or something?" you offer with concern.

Marc doesn't look convinced so you prod a little further, asking if that's something that feels uncomfortable or just...looks different to him. "I..I've always been skinny...before the army and the...Khonshu." he sighs, head hanging. "Didn't really have someone cooking me a three course meal every time."

"No...I'm...I have...this..." he bends over to a side and pinches his tummy roll between his fingers. You stare at that for a few moments before it clicks. "Oh honey", you call with adoration, gently prying away those fingers and kissing the tips. "But your tummy looks so nice. So healthy. You look so nice and healthy"

You take a cautious pause at that, almost hurt for a moment. Marc catches onto it quick, and stumbles directly into an apology. "No..no...that came out wrong. I love that you cook, I love everything you make, I'm so grateful. You're..., baby..please..."

It always breaks your heart when Marc apologizes, because of the way he does it. He says sorry for a simple slip of tongue as if you'd be packing your bags and running off before he had a chance to finish his sentence. So you smile at him, a cheeky little smile.

"You like my cakes?" you ask him innocently, a playful glint in your eye.

"Huh? Of course I do...yeah? The...the one you made on my birthday, and...and.."

"No no no...", you stop him, moving closer. "I mean, do you like my cakes" You give your butt a playful wiggle. Marc stops in his tracks, then groans at that awful joke. "Babe!" he groans. You giggle and wrap your arms around him. Your head nestled in the crook of his neck with practiced ease, you mumble softly,"You look great. If you feel healthy, and enjoy what you're eating....you're good. Okay?" You pause a bit then sigh. "I...I can't see you starve yourself again, bubba. It...hurts to see you like that." You still remember when Marc had showed up on your fifth date with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, looking like he's missed half his meals the past month. It's an image you can't get out of your head: him standing with a small souvenir clutched so tight in his palm the packaging was ruined, looking all shades of tired and starved.

Marc stays quiet, but he holds on to you tight, kisses the top of your head. "What's for lunch?" he mumbles meekly after a while. You pull back and smile wide, eyes shining, and continue your grocery run rant. From the increasing price of eggs to the doubtful durability of milk, this new meatball hack you want to try, and a vegan substitute idea you'd just gotten. You follow Marc around the room as he gets dressed, talking a mile a minute. He takes a last glance at the mirror and rakes back his curls, then swiftly pulls you closer. You squeak and hold him on instinct, and he laughs softly while nuzzling the side of your face. "So...remind me the plan. We...are getting groceries, making lunch, so...after eating.." He pauses but you can hear the laugh in his voice. The laugh and the shyness.

"What, Spector?" you tease. "What do you want after lunch?"

"Well maybe you....you can show me how good you think I look?" he says hopefully. You turn around to kiss him, nodding excitedly. "Deal", you whisper, before pulling back and giggling. "I thought you're about to ask me to have you for dessert"

Marc facepalms with another groan.

[luxshine]

Uhm. I love Marc as much as the next Moon Knight fan, but he had actually killed more than one person by the time he met Khonshu.

Marc was a mercenary, a soldier of fortune, when he was in Egypt. That meant? He killed people. And before that? He was in the army. So yeah, he killed people.

He didn't do out of malice, or because he wanted to, but he had killed.

And it's kind of erasing part of his character when we forget that.

Marc saying "maybe it's a way to keeping being what i've always been: a killer" in response to Steven telling him that he was manipulated by Khonshu is absolutely heartbreaking when you realize that Marc hadn't actually killed anyone yet