#mercenary marc fic

[0ruka]

Grietas en la superficie

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42433731

Summary:

Marc junto a otros compañeros son asignados a una misión concretada por Bushman con un rico hombre de negocios.

Deben asaltar un convoy de armas y secuestrar al mercader que viaja ahí.

Pero que pasa cuando las cosas se complican en el camino?

Que pasa con Marc durante esas 3 horas luchando por sobrevivir hasta cumplir la misión con su equipo?

Warning:  Violencia gráfica, abuso físico/verbal infantil 

Word Count:  5,634

[rainytrashh]

Hi! I hope you're okay 🫂💚 Do you have any spicy Marc headcanons/thoughts? (No pressure 💚)

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

Marc NSFW Headcannons

Fic type-> Headcannons

Warnings-> Brief mention of violence, breeding kink, pegging (what can I say 🤷‍♀️)

Word count-> 795, 2-3 pages of a book

Sorry it took me so long to reply I’m on holiday rn and I haven’t been checking my phone much recently, I’ve only just seen this today 😔

But omg yes ofc I do <3

This is fem-aligned btw, just ask if you want a masc-aligned version

~Masterlist~

Please check out my other works either on here or on my AO3, the link is at the end <3

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

LOVES it when you call him baby/sweetheart/etc, during sex. He’ll call you baby too dw, just generally loves the exchange of pet names between you two

Can’t decide between thighs or ass so he’ll just grope both 🤷‍♀️

Switch- tells anyone who asks he’s a dom but prefers to sub

Likes it fairly rough but if he’s topping he’ll go gentler on you because he loves you too much to hurt you

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it when he’s got you bent over the back of the couch though, watching his cum drip out of you and trail down your thighs

God your thighs

Has a bit of a breeding kink in that sense, not all the baby talk, (just the idea of having a baby terrifies him) but he’ll fill you up so good <3

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

“Fuck baby, look at it leak out of you…”

“Marc…”

You feel some of his cum drip down your thigh, he’s quick to swipe it up with a finger and push it back inside of you.

“You can go one more time can’t you?”

“Baby-“

“I can’t resist it, and you have to admit that you like it too. Just imagine how full you’ll feel with two of my loads inside of you…”

You can’t help but groan at the thought as he massages your ass and lines himself up once more.

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

Prefers praise over degradation (mommy issues 😭) but will let you call him a whore/call you one or something overtly sexual like that

Surprisingly open to pegging, you asked him after giving hints for a while (he knew what you were hinting about, he was just too embarrassed to say anything) and he refused to look you in eyes as he agreed

Tells you is favourite position is missionary, with either of you on top, but you found out he also really likes it when he’s face-down, ass-up for you

He likes it so much because of the vulnerability of the position, he just needs to let go and let someone else take care of him 😢

Also because you can trail kisses all down his back and he loves to feel your thighs against the back of his

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

“God Marc you’re taking me so well.”

Your hips are pressed right against his as you grip his waist with just the right amount of firmness that he likes, keeping him in place.

“Just move, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely for it baby.”

You start to grind your hips against him as you lean down to place sweet kisses against his shoulder blades.

“Ah shit…” Barely a whisper that you manage to make out from him through breathy moans.

He tries to reach back with a hand to grab your thigh but only manages to hook his fingertips into the flesh of it.

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

Although because of the latter, you suspect he has a thing for acting all tough and dom but then letting others pry his ‘hidden’ side out of him. Not quite like him being a brat but smth to that effect

‘Tall, dark and handsome ex-mercenary likes to take it up the ass from a woman’ yk? You think he gets off on that basically

And oh my God were you right on the money

You only found out cause you managed to disguise the question as meaningless banter cause if you brought it up directly you’d think he’d be too embarrassed to answer

You didn’t wanna scare him off with smth as abrupt as that 😔

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

“Does tall, dark and handsome wanna get railed today?” You tease as you shift closer to him on the couch, leaning against him.

He hesitates to answer and averts his eyes from your intently staring ones.

“Don’t, don’t say railed. That sounds weird.”

He looks back at you only to be met with a shit-eating grin. He lets out a huff of air.

“Baby, what?”

You lean in closer and deciding to just go for it, you let your lips graze his jaw and say-

“Isn’t it what you like though? You like letting me fuck your brains out?” You plant a soft kiss against his neck as you wait patiently for an answer.

“Yea…”

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

DO NOT HIT THIS POOR MAN 😭😭

Omg let me repeat this, he wants to be taken care of when you’re topping!!!

He just wants to let go and feel good he doesn’t need a needless throwback to last night when he was fighting some crime lord for Konshu 😢 (or last year, wtv the au calls for)

Yes, he likes it when he has to hold the headboard to keep his head from hitting it but don’t slap him round the face or anything 👎

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

So that’s abt it for now, this has to be the speediest I’ve written anything 💪

Thanks for the request <3

My AO3

- – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - – — - – — – - –

Note for requester- Stop I had just finished writing this and I was like ‘who is this person?’ etc etc and omg as soon as I found out. Love your fanfics 🫶

[bubuslutty]

title: I'm friends with the moon (serie)

pairing: platonic moon boys x fem!reader

summary: steven has a new neighbour next door. She's an university student and is looking to make some friends, so that leads her to talk to steven more and more, first it was because she didn't know much about the apartment building and needed some help once in a while, but then a friendship blooms, and along the way, she finds out they're moon knight.

warnings: they will be provided in individual parts if necessary.

a/n: this au is a mess of social media, texting and proper writing. I just want to be friends with the moon boys. that's all.

parts (any of them can be read as stand alone, they're only in published order, not following a strict timeline):

twitter | WhatsApp | fic

part 1: the characters' twitter profiles

part 2: why are you dressed like that?

part 3: marc is in his khonshu anti era

part 4: lizzie, I know your secret

part 5: good job, Marc!

part 6: khonshoe? khonshou?

part 7: Chicago Cubs

part 8: carpool karaoke

part 9: #SaveJakesMoustache2023

part 10: The adventures of an ex-mercenary, avatar, cab driver and ex-gift shopist & his university student friend and neighbour

part 11: my hobbies include annoying a depressed man in his 40s on WhatsApp.

part 12: splash

part 13: 40-something Moon Man ROCKS the Dancefloor (REAL ! NOT CLICKBAIT!)

part 14: 3 in 1 Shampoo

part 15: before you get excited and put on the cape

part 16: feeding the needy

part 17: if you litter, you're a bitch!

part 18: baby cows

part 19: Baby, bye bye bye!

part 20: coming soon

[asimplearchivist]

"𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓽?"

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you and the boys have a set of rules. jake doesn’t like it when you break them. pairing(s) ☽ jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 2.3k a/n ☽ ⤏ my first entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events ! I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters! this takes place post-chapter iii. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

You froze midstep, a loaded fork raised halfway to your gaping mouth as your rounded eyes darted over to Jake’s silhouette darkening the doorway, the fluorescent hallway lights accentuating the diaphanous material of his prized silk pajama top hanging from the topography of your form.

His question went unheard, and thus unanswered. The headphones covering your ears—set on the noise canceling feature, he knew all too well—had disguised the noisy, fumbling jangle of their keyring, the rasp of the tarnished key inserted into the jammy slot, and the rattle of the unyielding knob as he’d worked his way inside.

You had broken not one—not two—but three rules that they had long since established when you’d moved in with them for—primarily—the ease of travel and the ever-steepening cost of rent. Secondarily, of course, came the benefits of having an additional person to help maintain the neglected residence—chores and errands were remarkably less daunting now with one more pair of hands to fulfill the monotonous tasks involved. Tertiarily…well, waking up to the sight of you in their bed most mornings certainly had its perks, and it made them feel better knowing you were that much safer than living halfway across the city all alone.

Which was exactly why the rules had been established in the first place.

Marc had started them, of course—it should come as little surprise, that. He’d been transparent with you about the nature of his past, although he did omit the more gruesome details, and had made you aware of the fact that he was a wanted man. Thus the very first rule had been set in place—should anything dangerous ever happen involving his past mercenary work, you were to get to safety and wait until he came to you. Stay in public, stay in sight of cameras and civilians, stay away from the action. Of course you’d broken that the first time such a situation had cropped up and had gone directly south, but…that was neither here nor there, at this point. Fortunately, the incident had yet to have been repeated, and you were far better prepared now that he had taken the time to train you on protocol. He’d since made many more.

Steven added domestic ones over time—cutesy and saccharine in contrast to the first—and he invited you to, as well. They mostly revolved around your shared daily lives to set up a stable routine in the midst of your sometimes busy, stressful, and fast-paced lives, although there were a few errant ones sprinkled in that were odd by comparison. He’d eventually sat down and typed them up to print them out and pin them to the fridge, mostly as a joke, but that had devolved into a chart and to-do list thanks to yours and his tendencies to organize things.

Jake’s—while few and far between—were simple, blunt, and short, and rules never with which to be trifled due to his immovable stance on them: like working on the sabbath, allowing him to be a gentleman, or binging ahead on TV series that you both were watching together.

Some were harmless, some were important for the health of the relationship, some were rooted in inside jokes or straight up ridiculous…and some were intended to make sure that harm never befell you because of them, which was why Jake was not pleased in the slightest when—under any other normal circumstance—he would be ‘chuffed’ to see you, for lack of a better word.

Firstly, you hadn’t set up all the locks like you were supposed to do while they were out and you were at home by yourself.

Secondly, you had blocked out all sounds with those headphones—he couldn’t fault you for that, he knew you got overstimulated by noise sometimes (and he even resorted to using them himself at times when the world grew just this side of too loud), but they’d requested that you not use them while they were gone just on the off-chance that someone tried to break in.

Thirdly…perhaps not as egregious a mistake as the prior two, but…you’d cooked and cleaned the kitchen, when it had been agreed upon to split the job between each of you—one person would cook, then (on rotation, in their case), the other would clean, so that preparing the complex meals their individual diets required wouldn’t be so tedious an affair.

The chagrin creasing your expression told him that you knew exactly where you’d erred.

“Hola, chaparrita,” he crooned, pursing his lips to hide the twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as you hurried over to the kitchen island to set down the bowl and to tug the headphones from your ears to hang around your neck. He could hear the music from where he stood, shutting the door behind him and rectifying your initial oversight. You fumbled your phone out of your pocket and paused the track before tucking it away once more. “Qué haces?”

“Hola, amor,” you greeted without meeting his gaze, moving over to the stove to dish up a bowl of pasta. You didn’t look up even as he approached, easing in behind you and sliding his hands around your waist to coil his arms around you. He heard you swallow as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. “How was the traffic?”

“Horrible,” he rumbled, eyes falling to the bowl in your hand, as well as the steam curling up towards his face. As delectable as it smelled, he wouldn’t be so easily distracted by food. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You’re honestly home sooner than I expected,” you confessed, voice quiet as you attempted to twist around—but he didn’t budge. “Here, it’s still warm. Steven forgot his lunch so I know you’re probably starving. Want to sit on the couch?”

“Que linda,” he chuckled, tilting his head to skim his lips along the sweep of your neck. You squirmed and shrank away with a noise of protest—the rasp of his five o'clock shadow against your sensitive skin always tickled. “Are you going to fess up or am I going to have to drag it out of you, hermosa? Hmm? Qué dices?”

You hesitated, setting the bowl to the side. It wasn’t long. You weren’t trying to make excuses. It was clear that you were perfectly privy to the implication of his low, even tone, and that you were merely ruminating on how best to soften his evident malcontent. Jake didn’t set his foot down in many matters, but when it came to his protectiveness over you…there was no winning on your end. Some might call him overbearing, but you (fortunately) found it endearing.

“Honestly?” you finally ventured, the tension in your frame dissipating as you sank back into his grasp with a blustery sigh. “I forgot.”

“You forgot the habits you’ve had for months?” he pressed, kissing the tender place below and behind your ear to feel you shiver.

“It…it’s a long story.” You craned your head back to return the gesture, bestowing one upon the arch of his wind-blistered cheek.

“Dime,” he murmured, squeezing you and pulling you more tightly against his frame. It was a miserably cold and rainy evening, and walking all the way from the parking garage on the other side of the block had made him consider moving out of England as soon as possible.

“Well, to begin,” you said tersely, though he could tell that it wasn’t directed at him—your repressed exasperation bubbled to the surface as you flicked off the burner and covered the pot with more force than you would normally, disliking making harsh sounds if you could help it, “I started in the middle of the day.”

“Marc warned you it was coming up,” he reminded you.

“I know, but my cycle is also a capricious bitch who’s more indecisive than me, so forgive me if it slipped my mind,” you returned flatly. “So I had to deal with all that during rush hour. Then a whole table came in right before closing and took up an extra thirty minutes because one of them couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted an English Breakfast or an espresso.”

“At ten o’clock,” he surmised.

“Obviously she didn’t need the sleep because she opted for a cold brew instead,” you continued, “like an absolute mad lad.”

“And then?” he prompted.

“Finally got them out of the door, locked up, headed home—then it started raining and just guess who forgot her umbrella this morning?”

“That wasn’t my fault this time,” Jake pointed out indignantly, “since mi hermanito can’t keep his hands to himself when you prance around here looking like that.”

“With baggy sweatpants and crusty eyes? Yeah, the real pinnacle of beauty, right there,” you huffed, although your fondness leaked into your tone. “So I got soaked running from the bus stop to here, dripped all over the floor, pissed off Miss Hutcherson in the process—”

“I’m sure I can smooth her feathers down for you,” he assured, reaching up to skim his fingers along the side of your head, curving around to grasp your chin gently so he could direct your eyes to meet his. “Nothing a little sweet talking can’t fix.”

“She loves you for your churros,” you groused while pouting, “and you should really stop getting involved in all the gossip in the building, it’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

“I’ve got to keep my ear to the ground, cariño; besides, it’s more entertaining than television,” he laughed quietly, muffling the sound by pressing his lips to your forehead in apology. “Did she give you a lecture?”

“On posing a falling hazard without her offering a towel so I could dry off or anything? Yeah.” You reached up and clasped your hands around the nape of his neck, delving your fingertips into his curls and succeeding in not jostling his cap. That rule, it seemed, would be one you did manage to keep tonight. “I finally got up here and had a disagreement with the doorknob—you or Marc need to oil it again, by the way—and dropped my bag trying to get everything locked up, dumped everything everywhere, got pissed off and showered after.”

Jake was doing his damndest to restrain the brunt of his amusement, but you apparently perceived the glitter of mirth in his eyes because you turned your head while rolling your eyes. “I’m glad you find my shitty day so funny.”

“It’s not funny, chaparrita,” he soothed. (It was hilarious.) “Do I need to jot all this down so we can publish the next best-selling kid’s book?”

“Oh, I’m not done yet,” you warned. “I started getting hot flashes and couldn’t get the water adjusted so I just about froze my ass off cleaning up. I nearly burned the butter and almost ran out of parmesan and the pepper grinder got stuck and…stop laughing, this is serious!”

Jake clamped his mouth shut as his eyes dropped to observe the colorful silk draped over the line of your shoulders. “Is that why you’re wearing my shirt?”

“It’s the coolest thing in the house and I sure as hell am not walking around naked since all three of you refuse to buy any decent curtains,” you griped.

“It looks better on you than it does on me, anyway,” Jake said, caressing your arm, side, and settling to grasp your hip. “You know where it would look the best, though?”

“Ha ha,” you scoffed. “Good luck on that front, jefe. We’re not adding having to wash murder-scene sheets to everything else I’ve dealt with today.”

“That all explains why you forgot to lock the door,” he digressed, “but what about these?” He tapped the headphones resting against your clavicle. “Don’t like you not being able to listen for the door.”

“The neighbors made up,” you deadpanned. “I’m lucky there was any hot water left.”

“Ah.” He nodded, acquiescing on that front, at least. “Already? They only lasted two days this time. She really ought to have higher standards.”

“Jake,” you groaned, “I don’t want to hear about her sordid trysts again. Especially after she hit on you on a rebound to get back at her ex…or whatever the hell he’s classified as now.”

“Fine,” he grinned. “...I take it that you did the dishes to distract yourself?”

“The only thing louder than them was the screaming inside my head, so…yeah.”

“Lamento que hayas tenido un día tan malo, mi vida,” he said softly, tugging you into the crook of his arm so your head rested against his shoulder. He cupped your cheek and kissed you properly this time, humming in satisfaction as he felt you relax fully. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you returned. “I’m sorry I forgot the other stuff. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. Just try to remember next time.” He bopped the end of your nose with his finger, smirking as you went cross-eyed for just a moment before you frowned. “I’d rather not have anything other than a series of mildly inconvenient events happen to you.”

“If this happens again anytime soon, I’m holing myself up in bed and hibernating,” you grumbled. “Everything else be damned.”

“And I’ll wait on you hand and foot until the world is deemed fit enough for you to light upon its unworthy surface once more,” he purred. “But for now I’ll kiss it better, yes?”

That did the trick—as his flirtations usually did.

You glanced away, flustered, but allowed him to herd you over to the couch, bowls in hand, and settled you under a blanket to keep your bare feet warm, despite your claims not to need it.

“Just indulge me. At this rate you’ll get hypothermia or frostbite,” he quipped, “and I don’t really feel like digging frozen toes out from between the cushions after the idiocy I witnessed on the road tonight.”

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Get a Little Action In

Set in The Shape of Youniverse 

Summary: A standard date night with your boyfriend ends by revealing a side of him you’ve never seen before.

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader (Reader eventually marries the system)

Word Count: 2.7k 

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

CW/TW: Minor violence involving a gun, references to Marc’s trauma and emotional distance, relationship angst and insecurities, shower sex, fingering, p in v sex, and a nearly unbearable amount of ~softness~

A/N: Despite the title of this fic being a line from a rather jaunty Elton John song, this came out with mucho feels and romance! It’ll be reflected on the masterlist, but for all you friends following along at home, this takes place in the first year of reader and the boys’ relationship where she only knows about Marc. 

Also special shoutout to darling @romanarose​, this is kind of a leftover, unrequested 500 follower celebration prompt that she inspired me to go ahead and write it!!

It began as a normal date night. You met up with Marc after work, your overnight bag in tow, since the plan was for you two to convene at the restaurant you’d all but harassed him to take you to, and then spend the weekend at his place. 

You didn’t think anything of the neighborhood Casa Fofó was in. Hackney, and the whole of the East End of London in general, had long been gentrified. Which is why, as you two ambled back to the Tube, the man accosting you came as such a surprise. 

“Gimme your wallet. And her purse.” 

Your heart dropped. Yet where you froze, Marc fought. He pivoted right away, moving so swiftly and smoothly his body nearly blurred, instantly disarming the mugger and wrenching the gun –oh my god he had a gun?!-- from his hands. 

Your boyfriend didn’t stop there. Although the mugger clearly admitted he’d been had, backing away with his hands in the hair, Marc advanced on him. 

“Hey…hey! Alright bruv…m’sor–” he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence however. Marc pistol-whipped him, forcing the attacker onto his knees with the weapon. 

Until then, you’d felt as if you were in the midst of an out-of-body experience, simply too stunned to act, reduced to merely watching everything unfold. Something about the image of Marc towering over the mugger got your mental faculties whirring back to life again, and you hollered, “It’s enough! Please…just stop!!” 

Marc turned to look at you, horrified, as if he’d forgotten you were there. You thought he would heed your request, but instead he delivered one final blow to the mugger with the barrel of the gun, so hard that it knocked him out cold. You watched in cold-blooded shock as the assailant’s body collapsed. Meanwhile, Marc calmly ejected the magazine from the weapon, wiped his prints from the gun, and tossed both at the unconscious man’s feet. 

“Holy shit,” you exhaled. Even though you’d spent the entire confrontation just standing there, you were out of breath. 

Marc approached you cautiously. “Honey…”

“Fuck, you really weren’t joking about the combat training, were you?” 

“Yeah. Listen, I’m–”

“I’m gonna to call an Uber,” you announced.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Well, yeah. We’re going back to your place, right?” 

“If you still want to.” 

“I do…don’t really want to be alone right now,” you confessed. Before Marc could respond, your phone trilled. “The driver’s 2 minutes away from the high street, I picked there because—“

Marc didn’t need you to explain. “Got it.”

He followed you to where you’d set for the car to collect you. All the while, he kept a safe distance, regarding you like a startled animal. 

It fit, didn't it? Marc had been quite the predator just now, and it was both jarring and concerning to see such a casual display of the lethal power your boyfriend could channel. You knew he’d served in the American military, and had even done some work as a mercenary that he wasn’t proud of, but it was one thing being told this information, and quite another to witness it for yourself. 

Even more distressing however, was how attractive you found it. It was one of those frustratingly primal things that your psyche couldn’t override your biological programming on. Your big strong boyfriend had protected you from a threat and as stupefying as the violence was, you hated the part of you that relished he was capable of it, and that he’d chosen you. 

Despite the ride back to Marc’s flat being all but silent, an internal war of reason versus instinct waged in your head. You were grateful that Marc had protected you, angry that he used such excessive force, turned on by the display, then angry at yourself for being turned on….your mind ran in circles. Only when the driver pulled up outside of Marc’s building did you shake yourself out of your thoughts. 

The quiet persisted until you two were within the privacy of your boyfriend’s place. Marc shattered it with, “So what, are you mad at me?” 

“I…I don’t know, actually.”

“You don't know? Because you didn’t say a single word in the car. Usually the silent treatment means you’re angry.” 

“Marc, I didn’t say anything in the car because I didn’t want the driver overhearing us,” you countered, “besides I was trying to figure out how I felt.” 

“Really? Because it’s written all over your face.” 

“Okay, you tell me then,” you challenged him, taking the bait. 

“You’re shocked and disgusted–”

“I’m not disgusted–”

“My mistake. You’re just terrified then, you’re looking at me like you don’t know me.” 

“I’ve never seen that side of you before, okay?” you replied, “It was intense, because usually you’re so contained. You’re the one who said we needed to wait until your contract was up before we started dating, and I know you’ve mentioned the military and the merc stuff before but God, Marc, you turned on a dime! I’m allowed to be a little freaked out.”

“So you are scared of me.”

“I didn’t say that!!” Marc was really riling you up now. “I was also…I don’t know, weirdly comforted that you protected us? Or my inner cavewoman was very pleased by it. I’m not judging you, alright? So why are you now all cross with me?” 

Marc muttered something you couldn't hear. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“As usual,” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Marc had a pesky habit of speaking under his breath to himself, and it never failed to piss you off, since you suspected he was saying something about you. 

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Marc said, his voice so low and menacing it came out as a growl. “The door is right there!” 

“But I want to be here! I want to talk about this with you! I hate when you do this, you push me away and I haven't even done anything! And okay yes, I am scared. Not of you…I’ve never been attacked like that and it was fucking terrifying and I don’t want to go back to my place alone!” You tamped down on your quivering lip. Marc was not going to see you cry over this. You could handle yourself like an adult. “And you did take it too far actually! You didn’t need to knock the guy unconscious!” 

“I was trying to protect you! The safety was off on the gun!” Marc hollered. 

You didn’t know that. How could you? You’d never so much as touched a gun. 

When you didn’t reply, Marc continued, “You know I’d never lay a hand on you, right? Is that what you’re so worried about? Because I’d never, I’d rip out my own fingernails before I did tha–”

“No, no Marc,” you crossed to him, but he didn’t let you into his space just yet.

“The ride back here…it looked like you were doing the math if you thought I was capable of snapping on you.” 

“I wasn’t,” That was a lie. “It crossed my mind, I’ll be honest, but the thought left as soon as it came. My brain’s been a mile-a-minute, and I think I’m in shock, and I’m angry at myself because I completely froze. Baby, it’s clear you just saved my life just now, but I don’t want you hurting anyone for my sake either.”  

“I’d do anything for you,” Marc admitted quietly. 

You stepped toward him again, and this time, he allowed you to wrap your arms around his torso and lay your cheek against his chest. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to have to.”

“You think I push you away?” he asked in a murmur. 

You didn't think it so much as you knew it. But the fact Marc was even somewhat copping to it was major. You could work with that.

 “A bit, yeah. It’s something I’ve noticed,” you tipped your head up to look him in the eyes. “You’ve built some high walls around your heart it seems.” 

Marc bristled under the openness and trust in your gaze. This was hard for him. It occurred to you then that perhaps he was the frightened animal in this scenario. He needed to be approached with caution and compassion, otherwise he’d lash out like he did with the mugger. 

“Yeah. And then you showed up with a sledgehammer,” he added with a small grin. “It scares the shit out of me. I’d rather fight a hundred muggers.” 

You chuckled at his candor. “This doesn’t have to be a fight. At least, I don’t want it to be. Can we promise to give each other the benefit of the doubt going forward?” 

His back muscles under your hands at the suggestion. “I mean, I’ll try but sometimes I–” 

“All I ask is that you try,” you assured him. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

Both of you stood there quietly, simply reveling in the other’s closeness. The steady rise and fall of Marc’s chest lulled your still-racing mind, and you began to ponder what made Marc construct the walls he had. He’d never mentioned his family to you, though he did share that he’d been married before…whoever had hurt him had left quite the scar. As you continued to ruminate, it dawned on you that his defensiveness about your reaction likely came from his own shame and judgment over how he handled the mugger. Marc expected you to blow up at him for it, he’d nearly craved it. 

Problem was, despite not speaking it aloud yet, you were madly in love with him and weren’t going to give up on this relationship that easily. You could maintain your boundaries and meet Marc with compassion, something he seemed to lack in his life up until now. 

You gently extracted yourself from his grasp. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“‘Kay,” he whispered. 

Halfway to the bathroom, you turned and tossed a come-hither glance at Marc over your shoulder, “Well, aren’t you coming with?” 

The corners of his lips quirked upwards before he followed suit. Despite the invitation to get naked and wet with you, your boyfriend was nothing but tender. You individually stripped while the water warmed, refraining from touching each other until you were under the spray. Strangely, the fact you hadn’t pounced on one another right away made the act feel more intimate, more domestic, as you were comfortable enough with each other to just be.  

…it didn’t last very long however. Marc offered to wash you, and the sight of him with his wet hair slicked back, his criminally striking bone structure so close, took your breath away. His sure, strong hands, capable of so much violence, delicately soaped the most vulnerable parts of your body, while he dropped gentle kisses on the length of your shoulder. His worship of your skin made you tilt your head back in search of his lips. 

Marc couldn’t deny you much, therefore he met your silent plea, slotting his mouth against yours, his palms tracing up the curves of your hips, then your waist, to their destination of your now-heaving bosom. He cupped your breasts as you traded passionate, desperate kisses. 

His erection bumped against the small of your back and the swell of your ass, and while your boyfriend didn’t seek any friction beyond the involuntary twitch and shudder he’d wring from your slick body against his, you were ready for more. You slithered out of his gasp only to shut off the water and step out of the shower. It was time to take this to the bed. 

After a cursory toweling off, you reconvened atop Marc’s turned down sheets. He coaxed you open with his fingers, his mouth all but devouring the sensitive skin of your neck as he did so. 

You communicated your readiness to take him inside of you with a particularly pitiful keen, and Marc straightened up, guiding you to the edge of the bed to straddle his broad thighs. You captured his lips once more, probing the cavern of his mouth with your tongue, then reached between your still-damp bodies for Marc’s straining cock. 

In an effort to draw out your lovemaking, you merely circled his tip around your entrance, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the feel of it. Marc groaned, his grip tightening around your waist, and unable to deny either of you any longer, you sank down on him. 

You let out your own strangled mewl of ecstasy at the feel of becoming one, and draped your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulders for the leverage needed to begin moving on top of him. Barely a word had been exchanged between the two of you since you stepped into the bathroom, tonight you and Marc were communicating with your bodies. Words were not enough, not to mention unnecessary, for what you two were sharing right now. 

While sex with your boyfriend was always stellar, tonight felt different. Instead of using sex to express your attraction, your appreciation for each other, it felt as if the meeting of your bodies were helping you to truly connect and express the depth of your emotion. If you could stay caged inside his bulging biceps forever, your bare skin pressed against his, you would. 

Marc glanced down to where you both were joined, where you writhed on his thick girth, and looked back up at you, his gaze heavy-lidded, blissed out, and oh-so-seductive. His hips began to meet yours. Usually, Marc liked to make a show of his strength in the bedroom, something you unabashedly enjoyed, but his movements were softer than usual. He moved languidly, using his grip on your waist to guide you further, both of you finding the perfect pace and force in which to bring your bodies together. 

“Wanna make you come,” he husked in a rumble that drifted into your ear. 

“Touch me,” you gasped. 

Marc didn’t hesitate, his hand dropped from your left hip to the apex of your legs. He took a quick detour to feel where you were stretched around his manhood, ripping a whimper from your throat, before his finger skirted back up to your clit. He brought you to release with confident, practiced strokes on your bud. 

You buried your face into the juncture of his shoulder and neck while your climax flooded you. All you could say was his name, coming in a fit of ecstasy and litany of “Maaaaarc”. Once the blinding pleasure had somewhat abated, you found the strength to lift your head from his muscled chest and collide your lips together once more. Marc welcomed the liplock, dominating your kisses until he had to break away, his respective peak surging through him. 

You watched him, bewitched, as your lover’s pleasure played across his face, a mix of grunts and groans leaving his lips as you felt his cock pulse inside of you. At last, his eyes focused and met yours, though neither of you knew what to say. You couldn’t think of a single word in the English language that could begin to capture how you felt. 

Marc lifted you carefully, still inside of you, to deposit you amongst the sheets. He gingerly pulled out of your channel, whispering “I’ll get you a towel” before disappearing and emerging from the loo.

His attentions made you feel like glass, not in the way earlier in which you believed he saw you as a fragile object, but rather a treasure to be adored. Your heart swelled at the thought. But after he’d toweled off, tossed it away to be dealt with in the morning, and collected you into his arms, your words, the ones you were so sure of, died on your tongue. 

It was too soon. Well not too soon for most relationships, but too soon for Marc. He needed time and more healing. An errant, reckless part of you wanted to say it anyway, but you couldn’t risk the inevitable devastation if your boyfriend couldn’t return the sentiment, or worse, left you altogether.

Marc surprised you however, when he asked you, “Why didn’t you get angry with me?”

“Because I could tell you wanted me to.”

He let out an amused short at your immediate reply. You burrowed impossibly closer into his side, demanding another kiss from his lips before you both surrendered to sleep. 

A/N: Sometimes Marc and reader just need to have tender, romantic, sexy sex, alright?!?! IS THAT A CRIME?! Working through the asks/fic requests in my inbox as inspiration strikes and time allows, but I’m also *dangerously* close to 1k followers and have a special fic planned for that milestone too! 

Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Moon's Light

Summary: Moon Knight comics universe: After everything they've been through, the hardest war has always been of the past. First Night of Hanukkah shouldn't be this hard.

Pairings: Gen fic

Warnings: Briefest of mentions of anti-semitism.

Word Count: 1,242

------

It was never that big of a deal. 

He knew the stories and had tried to grasp the concepts and history behind the holiday. 

It just wasn’t a high holiday. His father had waved a hand away as he continued to study and prepare for other things. 

Young Marc Spector had watched his father do his public duties. It was all a show, wasn’t it? Competition with more prominent holidays that he had no part of, but was still expected to observe somehow. 

Blue and white decorations that mimicked the green and red garlands. Stars getting lost in the snowflake designs. Twinkling light on houses that shown brighter and longer till they made those little lights in the window mean so little. 

Stepping out of his little sheltered street to the bigger and wider world and his little ‘hat’ had been knocked off his head more time than he can remember. 

It all only added to his anger. Anger that fueled his violent blood. It was easy enough to forget things when he left. There was no day of rest when getting shot at. There was no fasting when the energy was needed to battle some villain or army. Kosher was a laugh when he was crawling through the desert eating anything he was given. 

It was a choice at first, being the man out as he refused things or muttered prayers to himself, then it was rejection as he turned face up to the sky as he ate, as he worked, as he started his first campfire to stay warm. 

Did that make it more prominent? Telling the world ‘I am doing this despite you’ was still acknowledging that ‘you’ existed. 

In time, he gave it all up. He was Marc Spector Mercenary. Marc Spector a man without a home. A man who moved from place to place because he was unwanted, unwelcome, and hated. 

And in the end, did this not make things even closer to who he didn’t want to be? 

Give it to Jake. 

It had taken him a long time to get Jake to talk to him. The rejection had been mutual. Or perhaps, Jake had simply been waiting for him. Jake settled into comfort and pleasure. He kept the fire kindled and did what he could without forcing them back into something that would hurt too much. He watched friends fade away and even old enemies disappear with a sense of something part of himself falling away with them. 

The years filled up with pain and it was getting harder and harder to cope with memories of who he was supposed to be. 

Give it to Steven

Steven took it. He judged the past and did his best to be the better man. Charity to make up for Marc’s mistakes. Or so he claimed. He struggled to make the life make sense. So little of it made sense. So much of it was filled with ghosts of what was supposed to happen. Notions of something he was supposed to do. A sense of something in his blood that filled him with a great sense of unrest. 

Now, after so much and so much chaos that dug around in his heart, they all slowly took a deep breath. 

Marc, for it was always Marc, stared down the offender with such concentration that perhaps it would fade away if he focused hard enough. 

Time had changed, but things had not. The things that had made the boy Marc so angry were still there. His brother was dead, angrier than even he had been. His mother long gone, never knowing the real Marc. His father was gone, taking with him any chance of reconciliation. 

There was still hate. There was still blame. There was still all the things that had hurt them. The only difference was time. 

Time for him to search his soul and know himself. Time for him to make peace with Jake and Steven. Time for him to understand his position as Moon Knight. 

Sun’s going down. Jake prodded.

It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big holiday. 

So why was it so hard? Why did it suddenly mean so much right now to him? 

Let me do it. Jake reached for the matches but Marc turned away, moving their hands to his hips as he took another slow breath. 

We don’t have to do it. How is it any different from all the other years we ignored it? Steven shrugged, acting indifferent though Marc could feel the sway of his heart. 

“We have to.” Marc gritted his teeth. 

Why? Jake and Steven asked. Why do they have to? Why does Marc have to be the one? Jake would happily carry on. Steven knew the ritual. It was so organized the way he liked it. 

“Because I exist.” Marc looked out the window. “Because I’m still here. Despite it all… I’m still here.” 

He took the match book and tore off a stick. It was far from the long and beautiful matchsticks his father had used, but this felt so much more representative of Marc Spector. 

He struck once and almost seemed surprised to see himself suddenly holding the small flame, feeling the heat and lighting the room. 

He lit the candle, small as it was. It was not the Hanukkiah of his childhood. It had come in a little box boasting “full menorah kit” in big block letters. Simple and silver, it still stood sturdy. 

A shaking hand picked up the small helper candle. 

“We are still here.” Jake stepped in and took a moment to look at the candle before he moved it to the fist candle on the right. He held the light to the small wick and made sure it was properly lit before he set the candle back in place. 

Steven pulled the memory up from so long ago. He had looked it up earlier the moment he had seen the kit in Marc’s hand. Ever prepared, he had made sure the words were still there. 

He needn’t have worried. Some memories never faded. Some words lingered as if they were tattooed across his heart. 

Maybe his tongue was a little slower and maybe his voice was a little softer, but still the tune carried. 

Three prayers for the first day. Three souls welcoming in the light. 

The song followed and Jake carried it as if it were a joyful tune he’d just heard yesterday in the bar. 

When all was done, they sat in the light, watching the candles drip and burn down. The smallest menorah in the window of the Midnight Mission. 

Outside, someone stopped and gazed at the window. Marc pulled his mask down back into place. 

This was Moon Knight’s neighborhood, Moon Knight’s mission, Moon Knight’s protected people, and this was Moon Knight’s light. 

The person was a teen, hands in pockets and head down. He gazed at the menorah for a moment then looked up to the man in the white suit. 

“Chag chanuka sameach.” The teen gave a small wave. 

He licked his cracked lips, wondering if the words would hurt. “Chag chanuka sameach.” They came easily and he smiled as a relief washed over him that threatened to overwhelm him. Not because he still knew them, but for reasons he couldn’t explain. 

Moon Knight turned to open the door. The Midnight Mission was open. Now, more than ever, he had something to protect. 

[annachum]

Some HCs about Marc Spector and Layla El Faouly during their one year in Egypt before they got married :

. Layla and her Egyptian friends came to meet Marc and his US mercenary friends

. Layla and her Egyptian friends show Marc and his US mercenary friends in tow about Egyptian cultures and such

. Marc and Layla visiting temples of several Egyptian Pharoahs and Layla kneels in front of Ramses II and Nefertari's temple, and Marc was encouraged to follow suit

. Marc eventually meets Layla's Egyptian family who are all generally somewhat wary of him at first ( cuz some of them initially thought Marc is ' one of those grave rpbbers ' ) yet they soon grew to accept and respect Marc.

. The first time Marc and US Mercenary friends tried Koshari, it was in a diner in Cairo where they went there with Layla and her Egyptian friends. IT WAS LOVE AT FIRST BITE FOR MARC AND HIS US FRIENDS IN TOW BTW

. Marc and Layla got married in a fine Egyptian/Bedouin/Persian wedding ( I HC that Layla's maternal grandma is an Iranian immigrant btw and her mom is of Bedouin descent from Alexandria ) in Cairo and they ALL HAVE A BLAST

. Marc writes a fanfic called An American in Cairo, loosely based on how he and Layla meet and fell for each other and all, with changed names. He also credited Layla and her Egyptian friends and family for giving Marc and his US mercenary friends insight on Egyptian culture and all

. Layla and her Egyptian friends regularly tell Marc and his US mercenary friends about Egyptian folklore, myths and history 🤩🤩🤩🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

. FYI Layla and her Egyptian friends are TOUCHED by the An American in Cairo fic, which became very popular online

. Marc is currently planning to write An American in Cairo II, loosely based on the events in Moon Knight series 🤩🤩🤩🥺🥺🥺

[starlight-writer]

FIRST OF ALL: SHIT THAT HURT. why do I do this to myself

Are you happy? Are you proud??? CONGRATULATIONS I GUESS, YOU DID IT AGAIN. this fic hit close to home in its own sadistic way, and I couldn't thank you enough for taking my request. it was perfect, angsty and heartbreaking, no sugarcoating. perfect

On another note, I just wanted to add to something you mentioned about a second part. if it's alright, and sorry in advance since I'm kind of shit at explaining myself clearly as seen in my last ask, I wanted to correct what I really meant by "reader protecting them", as in they are maybe in a similar situation as Marc, Steven and Jake. Perhaps they're also a vigilante caught up in some deep shit and feel the boys deserve better than dealing with them

It's good either way though, just wanted to clarify that. Reader protecting themselves from the moon knight business is a good prompt too, so whatever you chose to go with is great

Once again, thank you

👍

Divorce pt. 3

A/n: Thank you for clarifying! I'll be happy to write reader as a mercenary/physically dangerous person! Also IM SO FUCKING SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS PLEASE FORGIVE ME I LOVE YOUR ASKS BUT TIME JUST GOT AWAY FROM ME SO FAST ;-; (p.p.s I hope this isn't too short and I hope this is what you wanted, you deserve so much compensation :'))

Warnings: talk of violence, talk of depression, talk of guilt, angst, no chance of a happy ending

Gn! reader Masterlist

Steven

He's more likely to believe you as soon as you explain why you left

Only because this isn't something he could see someone lying about

Being a mercenary or someone that lives in violence? That's not something you should lie about

Especially when Marc is seething in the corner of his mind, just begging for a reason to front and yell at you

So he hears you out, makes you a cup of tea

(He'll never admit it, but he still catches himself making an extra cuppa for you late at night)

Steven will end up crying for you

He's mad, of course, but he suddenly feels guilty

Did he make you feel like you couldn't talk to him about this kind of stuff?

Did something he do make you think he would hate you for this?

Steven didn't know, but offered you the utmost comfort

He couldn't stop himself, he just fell back into his old ways and hadn't even realized until Marc yelled at him for it

He kinda pulls away really awkwardly before asking you every single question he could about why you left

And he understands

He doesn't want to, he wants to be mad, he wants to yell and scream and throw things

But he doesn't

And he knows he shouldn't

So he sits patiently and lets you speak

Afterwards, he asks you to leave with a promise of keeping in contact

He's thought of the possibility of your presence getting him in trouble or danger, but he doesn't really care

He's used to danger, at this point he doesn't even mind it

And it's worth it for you

Everything is worth it for you

Marc

Believes you 100%

Not

He thinks you're just trying to save yourself and get rid of any guilt you might have

He doesn't believe for a millisecond, but he lets you explain

You peaked his interest

Really he just wanted to see how far you would take this 'lie'

After that, he starts believing you more and more

Because he knows what life is like being in constant danger and only people who have experienced it can really explain it in such detail

He's the one to be more forgiving about the situation since he did the same thing to Layla

Actually the only one to let you stay at the apartment to fully explain

He's still hurt and feels somewhat responsible, but understands and is more willing to talk with you more about the entire situation

Which surprised Steven and Jake

But they didn't really have room to speak, Marc was the host and it was his decision to hear you out

No matter how angry they were, Steven and Jake still somewhat respected the schedule they were given to front

So by proxy, they heard your explanation and Marc's input on the situation

Marc understood the stress you were under and he wanted to help

He couldn't marry you again, not right now

He couldn't even think about dating you sgain

But he was willing to talk and help you out of the dangerous life you lived

He still loved you no matter what and he'd do anything for you

Even after all the pain he's been in that you, whether you meant to or not, caused

Jake

He doesn't believe you

Not just because he's upset at you, but because how could you hide something like that from him?

He's the protector of the system, the one that sees everything

He's been behind the scenes watching everything constantly and you managed to hide something this big from him?

He feels like a failure

He feels like he shouldn't be a protector anymore

He feels hurt and betrayed and inferior

He will forcibly remove you from the apartment or leave the street he bumped into you on

It takes him days, weeks, months to be able to look at himself again

For a while, he doesn't blame you for the pain you caused, he blames himself

He should've seen this coming

He should've known

He should've seen it

But he didn't and he got Steven, Marc, and himself hurt because of it

After a while, Jake realizes everything you were saying sounded a whole lot like his life before he started fronting more

And now he feels guilty

Gives you a call (because he never deleted your number, he just couldn't) and makes you explain everything in full detail

And then he's silently crying as he realizes you divorced him for him

He still didn't forgive you, but he was coming around

He never stopped loving you and he wanted desperately for some reason to get back together

Because whether or not he'd admit it, he was dying without you

Probably the first one to fully forgive you and ask to be in a relationship again

He needs you like he needs air and he's not above admitting that he's sort of possessive of you

(They all are)

[imasimpforstevengrant]

THRICE (Chapter 1)

Summary:

Marc Spector has no idea how troubled he truly is....and will be. Three times cursed: prisoner of his mind, prisoner of the will and deceits of a vengeful god and prisoner of a love he cannot fully bask on. Loving Layla El-Faouly had been the hardest and most wonderful thing Spector has ever faced in life.

After his deal for freedom, he once more relishes the joy of his marriage to Layla, as his coexistence with Steven Grant becomes harmonic. His former servitude as the avatar of Khonshu, the Egyptian God of the moon, does not come at a small price. Little does Marc Spector know his newfound happiness shall be soon shattered, as Khonshu has plans to reunite the three of them.

Notes:

This written work contains several references from the comics and takes a lot of inspiration of them. This fic looks to "adapt" a few Moon Knight stories from my own personal selection.

Word count: 2.657

Sorry for any typos, since my first language is not English (Chilean spanish for the win lol)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, pre, during and (mostly) post Moon Knight, flashbacks, blood and violent content ahead, supernatural themes, very sensitive issues, strong sexual themes, light BDSM, mild voyeurism, Dom/sub undertones, male insecurities, heterosexual sex, very, very explicit sex scenes, dirty talk, DID, existential/identity crisis.

Chapter summary:

Marc Spector is still haunted by his sins. Memories of an experience near death, becoming the High Priest of Khonshu and falling in love still siege his dreams, though his services have concluded.

-----

FIRST PART.

The man under the moon (Marc)

Dessert serves as the anteroom of hell. A silent martyr is about to be formed. Injured and hardly able to walk, Marc Spector leads his steps towards an ancient temple. Death is a breath away from claiming his existence.

Moonlight enters the sacred place, enlightenment gives it a special aura. Marc can feel a cold, deadly shiver crawling up his spine. Like a dying animal, Marc crawls slowly. 

All those people murdered. Because of greed and his own incompetence. The faces of the executed victims devastate his mind, contributing to his final emotional disintegration. Blood stained and disgusted at himself, Marc is willing to pay for his sin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to gather enough willpower to pull the trigger. Peace was one bullet away. Until a deep, otherworldly voice echoed through the temple.

"What a waste."

He froze, loosening his grip on the gun. 

"Huh?" Was all he could articulate, terrified, instinctively eyeing towards the direction.

The horrid, ominous voice pronounced itself again. 

"I feel the pain inside of you"  

Confused, Marc frowns. He wouldn't let fate mock his misery.  

"What the hell are you?" he demanded, surprised at his courage to demand an answer. 

Marc couldn't avert his eyes from the gargantuan, anthropomorphic statue holding a staff, with petrous solemnity. The moonlight rays added a bluish hue, contrasting with the darkened zones.

"I am the god Khonshu… in search of a warrior" he finally replied. 

A loud scoff emerged from his mouth. 

"A warrior" Marc at least found it funny, "Well, good luck with that."

The voice didn't stop there. Whoever it is, it now proposes an offering, despite Spector's shameless derision. 

A quest for a champion, a warrior to become its hands, eyes and vengeance. Marc kept his eyes shut, unable to ignore what that mysterious being was saying, as if it was the devil itself talking him out of his suicidal intentions. Protect the innocent, who he called 'night travellers' at all costs by punishing ruthlessly those who meant them harm. Only the undeserving ones. 

"Do you want death or do you want life?" 

The mercenary seemed to forget he was a breath away from being a corpse. What was so elegantly spoken was nothing but a devil's deal. 

"I don't know" he mumbled, cast down. 

"Your mind, I feel it. Fractured. Broken. Most fascinating. You are a worthy candidate to serve me during this time" the voice suddenly pronounced about his tormented psyche. 

The moonlight undoing the darkness suddenly nests the idea of redemption. Even if that meant abandoning his humanity. Reducing himself to a tool to pour the blood of all of those deemed unworthy. 

With an ominous voice, an oath echoed. Marc Spector would arise as the powerful last word against those who commit evil deeds. A benign monstrosity to diminish mankind's suffering through his own ordeal.

Or maybe it was just a way for him to keep being what he had always been. A killer. 

"Yes," Marc Spector swore, with an honourable last breath as an atonement for everyone he had wronged. 

A sudden shiver ran through his being, sensing the painful rebirth renewing his strength. A glowing whitish hue took over his dark irises, arms open to embrace this new identity as a vessel of justice. Soon, he was fully enrobed with an imposing, fearful armor that granted him immortality. 

From then, oblivion would be a rare joy, constantly wishing to fail and so, meeting the natural end that should have never been altered. There was no life in him, just a deeply disturbed individual, an artist of survival. 

The healing ended up being a curse.

-----

Blood.

Red, extended stains replaced mostly the light hue of sand. His eyes widened at the looted small village, looking for the answers in the several corpses surrounding him. Those were the first things to be shocking enough to bring him back into the moment. Wails and screams go unheard while regaining control of himself but it was always those crimson droplets, like wounds on the silvery armour that reminded him of the merciless slaughter.

“What the hell happened?” his voice could only articulate. Despite his (new) majestic and gallant appearance, he still felt vulnerable before that hated uncertainty. He gasped, seeing golden, sharp moons over dozens of men, piercing eyes, ripping throats. A crimson festival of guts, and horrified expressions in their faces. He saw himself in a broken mirror from another, unfortunate victim, laying dead with a couple of scarlet holes in the chest.

All of them saw two glowing, white eyes before meeting a gruesome end at his hands.

“Behold your deed, my Moon Knight. Those widows live because you have accomplished your task as a vessel for my will,” Marc heard that voice again. Scared, he looked up. His heart beats with the fury of a war drum. There was satisfaction in his voice. His eyes, glowing with a beautiful white, crescent moon are now dark as an abyss. Hood and mask also fade.

A whitish silhouette appeared as he looked back. He quickly turned around just to look up to the sky, a full moon embellished the celestial vault that so many horrors had he seen.

Marc suddenly realizes his hands are filled with blood and chunks of meat. One still holds the clothed neck of the unlucky man, from whose smashed skull still drips gory lumps of flesh. He gasps in disgust at himself.

The gurgling sounds and overflowing blood from the mouth of his victim soon end. If Marc hadn’t looked back at him, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Guilt nests in his heart.

Did he really rip off all those lives in such a horrific way?

This deity stares at his work from above, the height accentuating his grim appearance.

“Every single one of them deserved it, Marc. Remember it”, Khonshu descended from the tall columns, almost comforting the consciousness of his avatar. He brought a waning moon staff even taller than him.

It was that horrifying hybrid with a human body and a giant, vulture skull for a head.

A moon-shaped staff in his hand, bony and wrapped in worn out bandages finally confirm that this wasn’t a dream. Khonshu did not give life back to Marc Spector.

He just had turned him into an walking, murderous sarcophagus.

Violence, insanity and death had always been the bane of his existence. The cold flavour of whiskey helps to cope with the horrified expressions of those slaughtered in the village. Even cheerful sounds coming from outside the Egyptian bar reminded his nightmares, imagining the distorted faces howling in horror.  

Another sip distracts him. He preferred a cold drink, combating the suffocating heat in the Middle East. Whenever he's not fighting, his thoughts dwell with murky truths.

Being the living tool of a vengeful god had its tolls on the little sanity he had left. Sleepless nights saturated his brain with the weight that meant to be not only Khonshu's mortal last word against evildoers, but also posing as his High Priest on Earth. He ruffled his hair, trying to enjoy the fucking drink. 

He had the opportunity to catch a sight of himself in a mirror that night, as he could remember from his nightmares. Marc Spector, togged in a ceremonial armour, designed to inspire terror by contrasting with the darkness of the night. A spectre that didn't hide. A spectre that knew beforehand that, no matter how much of a good target he was, they would never stand a chance against him, for none of them would hit the moon. 

It spoke thousands of words about the baleful nature of that entity he now served. 

His private and quiet suffering seems irrupted by a local hubbub. Marc turns his head toward the noisy multitude. It was outside, in the market place. Maybe just another altercation between merchants, and back to sipping more of the whiskey. 

He left a few bucks on the table and left. The hot weather burned his skin, obliging him to look for shelter. Shadows offer freshness, to keep diving in his personal hell. 

Nightfall darkens the sky. Marc doesn't see the moon, he just sees the eye of Khonshu watching over his life. 

"I've seen your past tormenting you," the beaked, mummified creature croaked from the shadowed corner of the room. Marc almost threw his drink over the table. 

"Do you have to appear like this every time we talk?" He hissed.

"Evil doesn't rest, Marc. You made a deal with me to protect night travelers in exchange for your life"

"I know what I did. It's not easy to deal with all the those people killed"

"I will repeat it only once, Marc Spector. Those fallen under your hand deserved to die"

Marc closed his eyes, trying to wash away all those horrified faces. 

"Cease this pointless guilt. It will only make your task more difficult"

"What do you propose?" Marc asked.

"Look at the looted tombs. Innocent blood claims for justice. Do what you must, Moon Knight" and with these words, the deity disappeared into the night.

Soon, Marc Spector summoned the ceremonial armour, flying over the Egyptian sky to find himself near the place that changed everything in his life. There was a convoy of four jeeps, all of them driven by Arabic speakers. A cold shiver froze his spine when he recognized that familiar voice. 

"Look at this. Look at all this fucking shit" an angry complain was all he could get clear from the murmur. 

Marc peeped out of the dune, seeing Bushman carrying a rifle on his shoulders while smoking a cigar. He was walking around a small bonfire, apparently speaking with a few men near him. 

"If it wasn't for that fucking insurgent, I wouldn't be in these newspapers!" Bushman screamed fiercely, "now all of Egypt knows I'm riding tombs, and all because one man decided to play noble at the last moment!"

The vigilante gritted his teeth. 

'Killing the witnesses wasn't part of the plan, you piece of shit!" Marc wished to reply.

"Spector was never the guy with a conscience. Why did he suddenly care for one life when he murdered dozens?" He sat, placing the weapon at his left, "he was this close to becoming rich and he chose to turn against me at the last minute. Too bad nobility doesn't save you from a bullet" 

One of his companions started speaking in Arabic, but Marc understood perfectly. 

"One of the victims…"

"What?" Bushman growled, irritated.

"Abdallah El-Faouly." 

The soldiers turned to each other, seemingly agreeing with the familiarity of the aforementioned man. They kept speaking in Arabic, constantly repeating a name related to the deceased man. Marc's face starts to contort in horror, deducing what is going to happen. 

"What's with that woman?" One asked.

"It's his daughter," another replied, " I've heard she used to work with Abdallah during his expeditions in tombs. She's known to cause troubles in the black market recovering stolen relics."

Bushman remains thoughtful, rolling the cigar between his fingers. 

"Do you know more about her?" 

Marc didn't breathe to hear it.

"Her name is Layla El-Faouly. Look in the center of Cairo, merchants will offer valuable information for a good price," the first man added.

Bushman smoked a long drag of his cigar, to then toss it seconds later. He chuckled, and Marc knew too well what it meant.

"Find her and kill her," he dryly ordered, "I don't want any loose ends."

Before the men could retire to rest, Marc Spector soon flew back to the residence he inhabited. Regret starts consuming him, despite his efforts to put his thoughts in order. 

It was the daughter of the man he tried to save. Oh, fate had its ways to atone people's sins. During all night his mind spent thinking on everything he could do to avoid her death. Marc couldn't let Bushman claim another victim. Dawn arrives and with the first lights filtering through waving curtains. Determination gives him strength, and at a steady pace, he walks out of the room to fulfill his mission. 

The marketplace was overcrowded, which made it easier for him to sneak out, looking for any suspicious activity in the locals. Masking himself with typical clothes, Marc pays attention to every move, every whisper, every gesture. 

Suddenly, he recognised one of the men in Bushman's convoy. Marc got up when he saw him calling a merchant, with a picture in hand and a bag of money in the other one. Luckily for him, they went to another room to discuss El-Faouly's daughter's whereabouts. Ear stuck against the wall, he hears the conversation in Arabic:

"People have seen her in the tombs, looking for answers for what happened in that raid" the man pointed out to the pyramids, visible thanks to the window at their left. 

"Is she married? Children? Any other relatives?" The other one asked.

"No. She's Abdallah's only daughter. An archeologist. People around here won't be angry if she disappears. Maybe they will thank you for taking the matter in your hands" and then, immediately, Bushman's affiliate paid the man, who leaned his head as a sign of respect. Marc hid in the wall separating the bathrooms and halls. Just five armed men, moving through the city in a jeep. He had to be quick, not getting attention, at his most silent. 

Bushman's associate didn't reach the door once Marc shot him in the back. He didn't care about the sharp swearing, placing the knife in his throat. He warns him about a quick death if he shares vital information.

"Tell me more about El-Faouly's daughter" Marc hissed, twisting the knife over the left side of his neck. But he did not get any answer related to Layla, which only increased his anger. 

"I saw you– you're– you're dead!" He screamed, terrified, "you died in the desert! How is it possible?!"

"There are a lot of things you won't understand. Tell me about her!"

"It can't be–"

"Speak!" Spector spits, impatient. Things got more difficult when the man, convinced he was seeing a ghost, began to scream for help. Spector beats his ribs, breaking them with heavy, bloody fists. The man tried to call for help, but only muffled sounds came out of his mouth.

"Speak or I swear I'll leave you in the desert! Now tell me if that man said something about her location" Marc growled, carving a painful wound, causing the information to flow.

"People have seen her sneaking into tombs… Bushman– called to ambush her in an Egyptian tomb once we knew her whereabouts– Shoot to kill, at all costs… Her situation helps to go undercover."

"Son of a bitch" Marc hissed, his blood boiling. The man stared at him, puzzled. 

"Why do you suddenly care so much for a woman now? You didn't hesitate to kill dozens of people back in Sudan, Jordania–" 

"Shut up! Shut up!" Marc hissed, covering his mouth.

"You won't atone your sins by saving her, Spector… you're just an insane, murderous bastard, as Bushman said" 

Marc gritted his teeth, slitting his throat. A puddle of blood formed on the floor while taking off his weapons. While looking for more ammo, he found a flat object that turned out to be a picture. Marc takes the photo to have a closer look. 

There was this lovely woman, dark skin, curly hair cascading down her shoulders, a sweet smile curving her pink, glossy lips. Marc felt he had been hypnotized. He slides his fingers down the picture, in an instinct to touch her. There was a dedication, written in Arabic, at the reverse. 

"My little scarab, 

August 13th 2016"

 

Marc thought in the possibility it had been looted in the raid, alongside other belongings. He kept the photo to recognise her, wishing it wasn't too late. 

[0ruka]

Cracked Surfaces

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42438447 

Summary:

Marc and other companions are assigned to a mission arranged by Bushman with a wealthy businessman.

They are tasked to raid a convoy and kidnap the merchant traveling in it.

But what happens when things go south?

What happens to Marc during those 3 hours struggling to survive until the mission is accomplished with his team?

Warning:  Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Physical/verbal child abuse 

Word Count:   5784

[jungkookienoona]

Total Eclipse Final Part

Recommended Song: Through The Night by IU

|Chapters|Masterlist|

Summary:

After a fateful day in an Egyptian tomb, things have never been the same for Jungkook, or you, after a certain vengeful god decided to make him its fist.

Genre: Angst, Actiony, Romance, F2L UWU

Pairing: Moon Knight!Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Blood, Death of Major and Minor Characters. Body Horror. Talk of what its like to die. SMUT. Gore.

Word Count: 835

Note:Jungkook will not be having DID in this fic. Khonshu has had many avatars over the millenia and I’m pretty sure Marc is the only one that has DID. Although there will be some slight overlap between Marc and Jungkook such as mercenary work.

I apologise for my shitty photoshop, my partner who does freelance design tried to help. Needless to say photoshoping is hard. In fact other than Jungkook, my partner did this whole little banner.

Sorry this took so long! Between multiple pet deaths, work and stress, I couldn't bring myself to write. It's sort but I hope its good enough.

With a new deity in the mix, a new rhythm of the day came into play. Since Jungkook promised the gods that he’d do anything when pleading for your resurrection, Hathor took to renegotiating his deal with Khonshu. If he was going to serve her wishes, he needed days of freedom from Khonshu’s demand. The vengeful god wasn’t too pleased but relented to his elder cousin. And how does one serve the goddess of joy, love, sexuality, fate and transition into the afterlife? Apparently by being with you, either just spending the day together or he would help you shepherd lost souls to the Duat. 

Which meant yes, you could see ghosts, and because Khonshu considered ghosts to be travellers of the night, so could Jungkook. It was a shock to your system when you returned to your flat to see your dad’s spirit there, worried sick in the trashed space. 

“Oh, Y/N, thank the gods you’re alright!”

He wrapped his arms around you in an embrace that you could surprisingly feel. But you were quick to return it which seemed to shock him too.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” you whispered into his shoulder.

“As if I’d ever leave you behind. I’ve always tried to be by your side when I could. And when Jungkook spoke to me, I knew I could rely on him to take care of you in my place. And whenever I needed him, I would feel this pull that would take me right to him.”

Jungkook cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“So that’s how you were always there when I had my nightmares?”

“Yeah… you could say it's a perk of being ‘The guardian of those who travel at night’. Didn’t quite like leaving you alone knowing that… you were still haunted by what happened.”

Your father cupped your face, you could feel the calluses on his fingers. You never thought you would get to welcome their roughness again. 

“My little digger is all grown up now, but I won’t know peace until I know you are safe and happy.”

You chuckled drily, “As long as I’m an avatar to a god, I don’t think I’ll ever be truly either of those.”

Your dad pinched your nose like he would when you were small, “You will be. A year or two of serving and you should be able to negotiate your freedom.”

Jungkook looked sceptical, “And how do you know this?”

“Well, in my line of work you sometimes stumbled across little tales in the glyphs that didn’t seem… significant. Not quite grand enough to be a religious text and not mundane enough to be a day in the life. Little fragmented tales of people being selected to serve the gods, almost like a priesthood, yet the duties not quite aligning with what was already known. And from what I remember of the fragments, no god ever keeps its chosen priest for a lifetime. If the priest wished to return to his prior life, he could. Only the truly devoted served for decades.”

“That’s a really convenient bit of info. Thanks dad.”

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

Days were spent fixing up your trashed flat, salvaging what you could to take back to the house. Furniture was mostly ruined but your clothes were intact. Framed pictures needed reframing and your laptop had seen better days. But it still turned on which meant the contents could still be backed up onto a hard drive. 

Jungkook didn’t have too much at your flat since he had been crashing on your sofa, nowhere for him to really put his stuff. He helped you to repaint the walls and repair any noticeable damage from the cult members who broke in. It felt very domestic. You felt Hathor purring in the back of your mind from your content. Jungkook also helped psyche you up to cancel your rent contract. You visibly winced at the cancellation fee as you had to pay off the remaining months of your contract. It wasn’t easy to part with that kind of money, but moving into Jungkook’s safe house meant you didn’t have to pay rent anymore, which saved you money in the long run. 

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

It was odd to be honest, falling asleep in Jungkook’s arms on his nights off from avataring. It was too peaceful, his steady heartbeat would lull you into a slumber that you used to try and delay. Memories of Egypt no longer stalked your dreams, though sometimes you would wake with a start when phantom claws touched your neck. And unlike before, Jungkook was no longer there wide awake to comfort you. No, it would be a groggy sort of comfort, a half awake murmur, as he pulled you back into him to lazily card his fingers through your hair and his other hand thumbed your hip. A soft kiss to your forehead as if that would banish what had woken you.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Now and always.”

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

This work of fiction is copyright © JungkookieNoona and protected under UK and international law. All rights reserved. Any unauthorised broadcasting, copying or reposting will constitute an infringement of copyright.

[midgardian-witch]

Heyyy so about that Moon Knight A/B/O fic WIP 👀

Yeeeees? 👀

I am not going to share a snippet just yet but I will share my plot synopsis:

Marc took heat blockers for years as a mercenary and later as Fist Of Khonshu - with the alters now all aware of each other Marc forgets to take the blockers and also to tell the others that uhm actually we are not a beta we are actually omega whoops - queue surprise Heat hitting poor Steven

Because of course I am not going to make the MK System an Alpha, duh. That would be like way too obvious a choice. (not that it would be a bad choice but this is more fun for me personally)

[astroboots]

i watched the mummy for the first time yesterday because of your steven fic i can't believe how much steven's character in the show is based on evy but i absolutely love them both. it really opens up a fun fanfic door when you associate moon knight and the mummy because it can be librarian!steven x mercenary!reader or librarian!reader x mercenary!marc or even librarian!steven x mercenaries -enemies-to-lovers- reader x marc. good food! but also ardeth bay 👀 beautiful beautiful man

GAH! First time?!?! That is amazing! I'm so excited for you!!!!!

And yes, the Moon Knight parallels are amazing and I absolutely loved this so much. You are absolutely right in that every which way combination of mixing it up with the pairings would work for this AU.

Librarian Steven is just accurate okay?! Look at our beautiful boy with all those beautiful facts in his beautiful head and him being all gorgeous and beautiful when he recites all of them to you excitedly, while you clean your gun by the bonfire, because you got mummy dust splatter all over it.

And Marc mercenary... I mean... chriiiiist (just insert the drool emoji here) how efficient and adept he'd be in keeping you safe, how he'd headbutt a mummy without a moment's hesitation.

I love everything about a Moon Knight Mummy AU!

[coolunspokenforname]

I am genuinely unsure of the moon knight timeline, but I do have a headcannon timeline (definitely wrong) of what it is that I usually use in my fics.

1987:Marc is born

1997-1999: Steven and Jake show up

2003-2005: Marc leaves to join the military (the reason I put the 16-18 years range is because, technically, it is legal to get emancipated at 16)

2005-2007: When Marc is kicked out of the military (date depends on when he joined, I'm thinking 2 years between joining and getting kicked out)

2010: After getting kicked out I'd imagine that Marc spent a few years trying to maybe live a normal life. However, since he was kicked out of the military, it was pretty much impossible for him to find a job. So, by 2010, he has become a mercenary.

2014-2015:Harrow is no longer Khonshu's avatar (I feel like there would be a very short gap between Harrow quiting and Marc becoming avatar)

2015:Marc becomes Moon knight (+Layla's dad dies)

2016:Marc Meets Layla (instead of apologizing he falls in love)

2020-2024:Marc and Layla get married

2025:The events of the show happen

As mentioned before, this is just what my mind has come up with, and I wouldn't be surprised if it is disproved by the show. However, this timeline makes a lot of sense to me, so that's what I am using.

[toracainz]

I posted 6,388 times in 2022

That's 3,798 more posts than 2021!

20 posts created (0%)

6,368 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@stormkobra-5

@alarmingpenguin

@peterman-spideyparker

@sjurseido

@loki-hargreeves

I tagged 256 of my posts in 2022

#moon knight - 86 posts

#star wars - 49 posts

#oi - 49 posts

#marc spector - 46 posts

#steven grant - 44 posts

#summon the queue - 43 posts

#marvel - 42 posts

#oscar isaac - 28 posts

#jake lockley - 27 posts

#steven grant x reader - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 101 characters

#(i know i’ve posted these on their own before but i’ve grouped them together because i’m a big saddo)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I’m looking for a fic where the reader is an avatar for Sekhmet (if I remember correctly)

Lioness goddess with a violent streak that purrs in the reader’s mind

I don’t remember the name of it or who wrote it

Reader knew Marc from his mercenary days and Marc had “left the reader to die”, that’s when reader became an avatar

But reader has kinda fallen for Steven and hijinks ensue due to reader’s anger towards Marc and affection towards Steven

I don’t remember if I’ve read it all or if it’s finished or if there was more but I would love to continue reading it

EDIT:

34 notes - Posted July 8, 2022

#4

Need help finding a fic!!!

I’m so sure the name of the fic is Más Allá Del Sol

I want to say that maybe the reader either leaves the bois or dies. All I remember from it is that something happens and it hurt. I think I’ve read it once and have avoided it because anytime I’ve happened upon it again I just remember how much that fic hurt lol

PLEASE HELP!!!

UPDATE

Thanks to @brekkers-desigirl the fic has been found

Kind of irritated I had such a hard time finding it considering I follow the writer @harrysweasleys

My brain must have not been working or something 🤦‍♀️

So yeah enjoy the fic (tagged above)

44 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

#3

Tell Me Where to Put My Love pt2

You and Steven haven’t been together very long, but that won’t stop either of you from fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a future together.

Series Masterlist

Part 1 - Wish That You Were Here

Part 2 -  Everything I Thought I Knew Has Fallen Out of View

Part 3

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Married relationship. Use of term “priest” in a gender neutral sense. Discussion about cheating. Discussion about homewreckers. Canon typical violence in later chapters. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Actually had some friends proofread this chapter for me lol hopefully you all like it!

It’s funny how quickly you and Steven fell back into place with each other. Steven didn’t have to work at the museum anymore so he had more free time, and when he wasn’t with you he was spending time with Marc, learning how to share their lives. He would always let you know when he wasn’t able to front, letting you know Marc was going to be the one to have the body that day. You got used to their little routine, Steven made it easy, but you still hadn’t been properly introduced to Marc. If he was an alter and shared a body with the man you were desperately in love with, you wanted to get to know him at least. That is, if he even cared about getting to know you.

Marc knew you had been hiding something from Steven, heck it seems even Khonshu had known. Given that Marc was trying to stay hidden from Steven he hadn’t said anything and for some reason neither had Khonshu. Your brows knit together in thought as you fixed yourself lunch. Today was Marc’s day so you were just hanging out at your own flat.

“Tutu, why didn’t you tell me? You had to have known who he was and who he served, so why didn’t you say anything?” You grabbed the plate and drink, wandering over to the couch. Next to the TV stood a man taller than a human. But he wasn’t entirely man, his body was that of an anthropomorphic lion and instead of a lion head atop his shoulders there sat a ceremonial mask and headdress worn by pharaohs of old. If he did have a lion head under there, you had never seen it. The images on his robes depicted other animals, the crocodile, the hawk, a lion. Depictions you had seen online of Tutu were only ever of a literal sphinx, but never the “man” before you.

“It was, how did you say, unwarranted. Nor was it my place, just as it was not Khonshu’s place to tell his avatar.” His voice was smooth and gentle, almost droning, steady and deep, just what you would expect of the protector of dreamers.

“That’s not a good answer and you know it. You knew the whole time…you knew when he was missing! And you said nothing. You let me worry and think the worst things, the nightmares I had and the visions of his nightmares.”

“And I offer my apologies. Had I not comforted you? Told you that he was alive?”

“Yes, but you could have said something, anything about what he was going through and why and where he was going. Omitting the truth is still lying. I can’t believe even after you told me that Khonshu was involved and that Ammit was being released, you still never said that Steven was involved.” You shook your head taking an exasperated bite of your food, turning on the TV.

“In truth, Khonshu was surprised to see me. As I am not part of the Ennead I’m sure he thought I had faded away or resided in the Overvoid. When you and his avatar first met, we kept our distance, but as you both became closer...” the god trailed off as if considering his next words, averting his gaze for a moment. “Khonshu and I made an agreement. That I would not get in his way in his search for Ammit’s tomb, nor would you get in his avatar’s way. In exchange, he would not make mention of me or my having an avatar to the Ennead.”

To say you were shocked would be an understatement, but confusion was unexpected. “What are you saying? Are you not supposed to have an avatar? Hold on, you’re the god of tombs, did you know where Ammit’s tomb was? You could have helped! We could have helped!”

The god sighed as he shook his head. “Ever the inquisitive one. I was and still am a god of the people. I had a close connection with all, not just the elite, as everyone dreams and everyone dies. Though my reach was vast, the Ennead felt an avatar was not necessary for me, I am not restricted by any means, it was just rare that I found a worthy avatar.”

“Oh lucky me I suppose.”

Though you could not see his true face, you could imagine the look the god just gave you, one of complete “done-ness”. “They just like to keep tabs on who has avatars, especially those not in their ‘inner circle’, but I never felt it was any of their business.” Tutu had disappeared by now only coming through as a disembodied voice. “As for the location of Ammit’s tomb, not even I was aware of the location. I gave my blessings to those involved as I had with any other tomb. No one was to know the location and I told Khonshu this. I would have been no help to them.”

You finished off your lunch mulling over what he had said. His last sentence stuck with you. As much as you would have wanted to be there for Steven you wouldn’t really have been much help, likely you would have been a liability. Your powers were better suited to fighting nightmares, in the world of dreams where anything was possible. In the waking world, the most you could do was maybe act as a shield. Tutu’s avatar wasn’t meant to be a warrior, at least not in the waking world. As his avatar you were a “priest” first and foremost, and you still weren’t sure what that entailed.

Your thoughts shifted to Marc while you got ready to run errands. Steven had summed up what he and Marc went through in the Duat. Sparing you the more gruesome details, but giving you enough of an idea of the terrible things Marc had endured, the terrible things that prompted the appearance of Steven. You understood his hesitancy with you and why he did what he did. Marc was still a mystery to you other than what Steven had told you. You knew him more on a surface level; he wasn’t vegan, but did try to stay kosher, he was more of a street smart kind of person compared to Steven and his book smarts. Not to say Marc was unintelligent, he was very smart (according to Steven), he just had expertise in other subjects.

Marc and Layla. You wanted to get to know them now that you knew about them. It was like a secret that no one would tell you. In Marc’s case, you were curious how he would “look” with the body. Steven always had a bit of a hunch and uncertainty to him; even now after he seemed to have found a new sense of self and confidence, he was still very much “Steven”. You had no idea how Marc held himself, how he walked, what sort of energy he had. And Layla, from what Steven has told you is a badass in her own right, even before becoming Taweret’s avatar (whether or not she still was, Steven says, is up for debate).

When you arrived at the grocer, taking a shopping basket in hand, you started around the shop with your list. When you weren’t looking for an item on your list, you thought about Steven, Marc, and Layla, so much so that you almost didn’t notice the man at the end of the aisle reading the back of the sauce bottle he was holding, clearly contemplating getting it, before tossing it in his own basket. Straight backed, broad shoulders (not in a hunch), and a confidence to his walk. He was almost close enough to bump into you before he looked up from his own list and noticed you standing there.

You would have never imagined what it would be like to look into the same brown eyes you had looked at time and again and not recognize the person looking back at you. His curls weren’t parted to the side, flopping about as he walked, they were somewhat slicked back, no doubt an attempt to tame them. And his clothes, so different than what you’re used to seeing draped on that body.

Marc.

He looked at you with a nervous smile, giving you a little wave with the list in his hand. “Uh, hey there.” His American accent was a surprise despite Steven telling you he was actually from Chicago— you were just so used to Steven’s voice. “Well, this is definitely not how Steven would have wanted this to go, but can’t really do anything about that now. Marc, Marc Spector.” He pocketed the grocery list and held out his hand as you did the same, taking it, introducing yourself.

“Yeah, he’d probably complain that he wasn’t involved in planning it or something. I’m glad I’m finally getting to meet you though. He’s told me a lot about you, but I’m sure you knew that.” You fidgeted a bit in place, taking in the familiar yet different features. Trying hard not to stare you shifted your gaze around him, not to linger on him for too long. It was difficult because you could just look at Steven forever, burning his image in your mind so even when you looked away he’d be there, but this wasn’t Steven.

“Yeah, well, for some of it. I tried to give you two your space when I could. And uh, I wanted to say that…I am…sorry. For outing you, about your secret. It wasn’t anything personal, I was just trying to look out for Steven. You’ve been real nice to him, but I couldn’t take the chance that there might be something you were trying to get out of it…if you were trying to hurt him.”

See the full post

55 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

#2

Tell Me Where to Put My Love

You and Steven haven’t been together very long, but that won’t stop either of you from fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a future together.

~ONGOING~

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Married relationship. Use of term “priest” in a gender neutral sense. Discussion about cheating. Discussion about homewreckers. Canon typical violence in later chapters.

Series Masterlist

Part 1 - Wish That You Were Here

Part 2 - Everything I Thought I Knew Has Fallen Out of View

Part 3 - TBA

Part 4 - TBA

Part 5 - TBA

Part 6 - TBA

More parts to be added if warranted (maybe)

In case you didn’t guess, Florence + The Machine is the vibe of this story.

taglist: @stormkobra-5​ @roseqzpd​ @rosecentaur1916​ @ahookedheroespureheart @sleepyamaya @parkeepingparker @lockleysgrl @marc-spectorr @vermillionsails @harrys-tittie @n0ripeaches @missdictatorme @bitchyglitterfox @spacecowboyhotch @randomchick546 @teacupcollector

56 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Tell Me Where to Put My Love pt1

You and Steven haven’t been together very long, but that won’t stop either of you from fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a future together.

Series Masterlist

Part 1 - Wish That You Were Here

Part 2 - Everything I Thought I Knew Has Fallen Out of View

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Married relationship. Use of term “priest” in a gender neutral sense. Discussion about cheating. Discussion about homewreckers. Canon typical violence in later chapters. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: This was barely proofread at best. My first fic so I hope you all enjoy!

0 Missed Calls. 

0 Voicemails.

0 New Messages.

 Checking your phone again, despite having done so not but a few moments ago, had become the norm for the past week or so, ever since your boyfriend had called you in a bit of a panic. Steven was going on about a jackal, a man in his head, a man threatening him at work, and events that he was absolutely positive were not a dream, not anymore. You had of course offered to come by.

 “Steven, hey…hey listen just breathe okay? I’m on my way over.” You started to pack your things. You could give your boss some sort of “family emergency” excuse. He’s your boyfriend, which is like family, and he’s clearly having some sort of emergency.

 “No! No, you can’t. I mean, I would love nothing more than to see you and for all this be just a bad dream but…I’m terrified. A lot of shit has happened and I don’t want you getting mixed in it. I can’t risk you getting hurt. I just..I just wanted to make sure…” his voice was frantic and shook as it trailed off, leaving a weighted pause between you. “I just had to make sure you were real…still real…still here. I’ll call you once I get this all sorted out yeah? Then we can…we can go to dinner and just forget this ever happened yeah?”

 “Yeah,” you sat back down, heart still pounding and worry still heavy on your mind. “Yeah of course, Steven. We can go to that shop you like and make some vegan brownies for dessert. Maybe watch that documentary you were telling me about.” You hope he can hear the faint smile on your lips. You wanted nothing more than to run to his flat and make sure he was okay. Take him into your arms and let him know everything will be okay. You two hadn’t been together long, but you felt like each other’s missing puzzle pieces. Fitting together so effortlessly. You didn’t want to say you were meant to be, like fate or something, but how else could you describe it. So when he was upset, it broke your heart that such a sweet man was hurting.

 He sighed, his own weak smile creeping in, and nodded despite you not being able to see it and…was he crying? “Yeah, yeah that sounds aces, yeah. Can’t wait. I’ll call you I swear….I love you.”

 “I love you more, Steven.”

  That was the last time you spoke. It wasn’t abnormal for him to disappear for a day or so and you promised Steven you would always be there when he gets back. You understood Steven’s struggle with sleep. While you didn't sleep walk, you did have very vivid dreams that felt so real and left you exhausted the next day. It was something you and Steven bonded over, two sleep deprived peas in a pod. The first time he missed a date he was so upset that he had forgotten what day it was, but you still smiled and assured him you would always be there. Waiting. But with everything that he had mentioned and everything that happened after he left, the sudden solar eclipse, the night sky doing that, you could only hope that he was safe.

 With a sigh you gather your things, if you spend any more time in the tea shop they might think you’ve taken up residence there. Steven’s favorite tea shop had now become your favorite place since you had been showing up there half expecting to find him just sitting there drinking tea. It was calming to come here. The soft sounds of conversations and orders being made create a soothing ambiance that brings some sense of balance to your worrying thoughts.

 That’s when things went sideways. As you turned towards the front of the shop there he was, walking in, seemingly talking to himself, but otherwise perfectly fine as if he hadn’t been a missing person for the past week or so.

 “Steven,” your voice carries over the shop a bit louder than you intended, but you just couldn’t believe it. “Steven Grant?!” The man before you stood taller than he used to, his gate held a bit more confidence to it, and while he still had the bags under his eyes he had an energy to him.

 Any onlooker would have mistaken Steven for a deer in headlights. Frozen in place staring as you stepped towards him with hesitancy almost as if you were approaching a mirage, your personal oasis in this desert of a world. Both of you were just as shocked to see the other. His chest rising and falling with a tremble and uneven pace. Your hand reached out to him and in one swift motion his hand grasped your wrist pulling you into his arms, his familiar tight embrace. Your puzzle piece slipping into place as all the emotions from each day he was gone come rushing to the surface all over again in a tidal wave.

 “Oh, love. No, no, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, bollocks I’m so sorry for worrying you like that. I know I’ve worried you sick, yeah? Oh God I’ve missed you.” With a kiss to your forehead he pulled you in closer, if that were even possible, as you clung to his form. Steven’s heart just couldn’t keep up, racing and pounding. Hands shaking slightly as they held tight to your shoulders, one drifting over your hair to the back of your head pulling you in. A sense of relief washing over him.

 “Where-where were you? Damn it, Steven where were you, what happened? You weren’t answering any of my calls or messages.” The words tumble out without your consent. Before you can wipe your tears his calloused hands cup your cheeks, thumbs gently caressing the tears away. Steven was looking at you…no, not just looking at you, he was admiring you, taking in your features. In truth, he was looking at you as if doing so made everything make sense, made it all fall into place.

 Steven looked at you with reverence. He honestly didn’t think he’d have the privilege to do this again, to hold you close and just look at you. After everything he’s been through, all the chaos, the pain, the hopelessness. All that washed away and the noise dissipated when he saw you there in his usual tea shop.

 “Hey,” he smiled to you, a sweet, tender, and longing smile. A breathy chuckle slipping out, “just like I remember you. A lttlel more teary than I remember but…but still you. Still here. Oh, love, I swear I will tell you every-“ his smile wavered as he looked away, with a mildly annoyed look on his face before looking at you with a resolute expression. “I will tell you everything, yeah? Because that’s what we do for the people we care about, hmm? Be honest with them. Honesty.” He glances at the nearby display of baked goods, emphasizing his last statements, but it didn’t quite feel like it was meant for you. All you could do was nod and bury yourself in his embrace, breathing him in.

 After Steven ordered his tea and got you whatever baked good you wanted (really he insisted, as just a small band aid for the worry he put you through), he takes you back to his flat holding your hand the whole way, only letting go to unlock the door and let you both in. The first thing you notice is Gus (or rather “Not Gus”) now has a friend. Hurrying over to the tank to say hello with a dopey smile at the new addition, you don’t notice at first Steven’s whispers behind you as he stands still at the door looking into a small mirror on the wall.

 “Steven, I know what you’re doing, but it isn’t a good idea.” The voice in his head, or rather the man in his head said with the firmness of a parent warning a child. “Trust me, Steven. It’s best to just let this one go. Things are only gonna get complicated from here.”

 “Yeah? Complicated? I think we’ve passed complicated, Marc. They deserve to know the truth. I’m ‘honesty’, remember? So, stay out of this, mate, yeah?” Steven retorts with his own firmness before turning to see you staring at him. Swallowing nervously he tries to put you (and himself) at ease flashing his signature smile. “Right. Yeah, so I definitely owe you an explanation of what happened, where I’ve been, all that. And I will, definitely. I-“

 “Why didn’t you call me?” Your question sprang out in the middle of his ramblings like it had a mind of its own.

See the full post

172 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Yay, you're back! I missed you!

One of my things when I write Marc et al in fic is that I always make them, as a group, into polyglots. In the show, we know Steven speaks a couple of languages and Marc speaks Arabic, so it's not that far of a stretch to make them all speak a couple more, but I have a special soft spot for Marc being like, actually quite able to get around in various languages given his mercenarying days. Being able to speak with the locals is a useful skill in his pre-Moon Knight line of work, and I also love that it is absolutely a nod to his intelligence. In my current wip, I have him conversationally fluent in five and then able to make himself understood and/or be dreadfully impolite in several more.

You pick things up when you spend time in situ with folks, and I always read Marc as someone who can and does pick up languages as he needs them.

Hello!

I definitely get so happy when I see Moon Knight showing off his language skills.

Jake speaks Yiddish for sure. We know Marc speaks Arabic, Spanish, Hebrew, and we've seen him understand many different African dialects as well as middle eastern dialects. He also speaks French because it would be impossible for him to have spent that much time with Frenchie and NOT picked up something. We've also seen him understand and speak many of the Marvel made up languages.

And that's translated over to Moon Knight, who for sure has made it his mission to speak languages of other heroes to use in team up situations. We've seen him even use ASL in multiple situations.

Marc is 100% adaptable in any situation. It's a survival thing he's picked up from his days on the run and in the military and mercenary groups. Drop him somewhere new and he'll pick up that language in no time at all.

I'd love to see more writers include that tidbit in his file folder. It just adds to his abilities and makes him that much more of a problem for the people that go against him.

I'm sure he's also picked up ancient Egyptian just to fuck with Khonshu.

MCU MK? Same story. Though I'm sure Steven would be the one to get pissed off at Khonshu and just start yelling at him in Ancient Egyptian and Khonshu is just standing there like O>O