#this is the moon moon of moon knight suits

[spicyboelives]

SUMMON THE SUIT!!!

Plus close ups.

[fitzarts]

Jake Lockley's suit

[neverkayzat]

Haha. This is what happened right.

[marcspectrr]

Marc's face when Layla asks how he knows that Khonshu isn't just another identity ajdkfkgkg

[wildavisart]

Night Shift

[rosellacwrites]

Sharp Dressed Man — Part 1

summary: every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man. Especially when he’s a superhero.

pairings: Steven Grant x AFAB!Reader (otherwise undescribed), implied Marc Spector x AFAB!Reader, implied Jake Lockley x AFAB!Reader

rating: M for this part (reader’s horny). Subsequent parts will be E like whoa.

warnings: suit kink, mention of violence (Moon Knight against the bad guys), did I mention suit kink because that’s really all this is, folks

word count: 794

author’s note: This was not written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events, and is not an official entry, but subsequent parts will be, so I’m reposting this now. (I’d have reblogged the original but I can’t fucking find it, thanks, Tumblr.) Happy reading!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You know everything about your boys, by now. Or at least you thought you did. 

Mostly, these days, Jake’s the one handling the work for Khonshu, which is why you see him the least of the three. He’ll come home once in a while, wrecked and needing shelter, and you do your best to patch him up, heal his hurts and fill him with love and care before you have to send him back out into the gods’ world.

But sometimes, Khonshu’s business requires your other partners too. They do their best to keep their life with you strictly separate; you’ve never met Khonshu, and you’re content to have it stay that way. Marc and Steven won’t talk about their secret superhero lives much, not wanting you to worry about them, but you’ve occasionally caught a glimpse of Moon Knight on the news, doing his vigilante thing. 

His superhero suit is interesting, you think. The long cape seems impractical, but you can’t deny it’s got style, and the gleaming crescent blades he wields are alluringly forbidding. The one thing you don’t like is the mask; you’d like to be able to know for sure which one of your boys is on duty on a given evening. It never occurs to you that there might be a much simpler way to tell. 

You’re home alone one night when you learn the truth. The door to your flat creaks, and you hear the noise of the key in the lock; Marc, Steven, and Jake are all sticklers for making sure your door is locked at all times. They know what can happen, if it’s not. 

But the suit that strides through the door is not a suit you know. Head-to-toe in dazzling white, this suit is a — suit. Three pieces, all so perfectly fitted you think whoever’s supplying the supes these days must have trained on Savile Row: knife-creased trousers flowing like water over his long legs, shawl-collared waistcoat showcasing his broad shoulders and trim waist, and jacket in a rich textured brocade that invites your fingertips. You want, suddenly, to take your shirt off and find out what it feels like against your nipples. You want to learn it with your tongue. 

Even masked, you know your man, his brow adorned with a crescent moon. “Fuck me running,” you breathe, flattening your palms against his chest. “This is — incredible. What an upgrade.” You can’t stop touching him; every part of the suit has its own subtle texture, rich and opulent. He just stands, patient, letting you stroke him all over, and it’s not long before you’re pressing harder, feeling for the muscle underneath. 

And you still don’t know who’s wearing the suit, but given the fact that he hasn’t moved or spoken since you first put your hands on him, you’d put your money on Steven. He’s by far the most patient of your three. But then he waves a hand and his mask vanishes, and you’re proven right; Steven smiles at you. “Hello to you too, sweetheart. Rather dashing, innit?” 

Your eyes go wide, and you grab him by the tie and haul him in for a filthy, desperate kiss. His blood must be up from the fight still; he’s just as fierce as you, giving no quarter, devouring you as though starved for love. A messy night, then. Heavy wet heat has been gathering between your legs since you first touched him, and your cunt clenches when the cool leather of his glove meets your skin. 

“Bloody hell,” he pants, leaning his forehead against yours to catch his breath. “That’s quite the welcome home.” 

“Fuck, Steven,” you sigh. “Who let you out in public looking like that? Did the powers that be decide to improve stats by making everyone too horny to do crimes?” 

“I’ve always had this suit. Didn’t realize you’d only ever seen Marc’s monstrosity.” He laughs, flushing a little. “If I’d known you’d like it this much, I’d have worn it home ages ago.” 

“I never even knew you had two different suits.”

“Different fighting styles, love.” He displays a couple of strikes and parries, showing off for you, and the smooth, lethal grace of his body weakens your knees. He knows exactly what he’s doing right now, and he knows you know it too. 

“The mask part. Does it…” 

He seems to know what you’re asking, a wave of his hand restoring the mask and vanishing it again just as quickly. “You’re wondering if the rest comes off like that too, yeah?” At your glassy-eyed nod, he chuckles again. “Don’t think so. You’ll just have to take it off me the old-fashioned way.” 

You shake your head, and it’s his turn to look at you wide-eyed. 

“Leave it on.” 

to be continued…

[gobbogoo]

Twin Moon Knight Rellana has the best rendition of "boob-armour" I've seen in fiction:

Edit: Why'd Tumblr mark this as mature??

Why The Trope Is Usually Dumb and Bad:

In general, an effective suit of armour needs padding underneath to absorb blows, meaning it shouldn't fit so tightly around the chest as to require a built-in bra, and the common boob-armour divot used to define cleavage only serves to direct attacks directly into the chest. It's impractical to both make and wear. That COULD be used by a smart writer to say something about the character wearing it, but almost always it's just fan-service at the cost of the story's cohesion, with no deeper meaning.

Now let's look at Rellana's armour:

Why Rellana's Armour is Cool and Good:

Rellana's armour was carefully designed to avoid all the common pitfalls. First and foremost, there's no cleavage! Instead, they've taken a cinched-waist breastplate that normally utilizes an hourglass shape (example below), and added subtle definitions that get the point across without sacrificing protective capabilities. Sure, it's still more form-fitting than real armour, but that's standard for From Software's stylized armour designs.

Next, the armour directly aligns with the character and setting it's found in/on. Rellana isn't some standard soldier; she's ex-royalty, which opens up a rarely-accessed avenue of historical precedent. The ceremonial armour of nobility was RIFE with impractical designs made only to show off. Enormous codpieces, crazy skirts, breastplates with sculpted pecs and abs, etc. (also see below)

Now, it's still impractical to FIGHT in ceremonial armour, but Carian Nobility (and ER as a whole) already has a well-established tendency of doing so. Plus, it aligns directly with what we know of Rellana's character: she's a wizard-princess turned warrior that really wants to catch the attention/affection of Messmer. Thus she wears armour that declares her as Knight, Noble, and Woman.

[erinptah]

Promo art for all the genre-hopping Back Door Pilots that Wanda and the Moon Knights got rebooted into!

[steven-with-a-british-accent]

wake up

moon knight season 2 will be announced at d23 (in 2 weeks).

if it isn't announced, i owe you all a kidney

[sunflowerseraph]

Hi guys. Jake lockley among us suit

[age-of-moonknight]

“What If Venom Bonded to Moon Knight?” What If…? Venom (Vol. 1/2024), #5.

Writer: Jeremy Holt; Pencilers and Inkers: Jesús Hervás and Geraldo Borges; Colorist: Ceci de la Cruz; Letterer: Ariana Maher

[bluemoonperegrine]

Jake's Moon Knight suit

Mohamed Diab and Feige showed us Jake's suit in the episode six closing credits! I've lost the YouTube vid that pointed this out, but I've linked to the part of the credits where it's revealed.

I neeeeeed MK s2. Come on, Marvel!

[men-men-everywhere]

Gaspard Ulliel

[poelya]

so I'm watching episode 2 of moon knight again, and maybe this is like super obvious and it simply flew over my head but I was like, "okay Marc but what was the point of doing this?"

and then it dawned on me that Harrow had control of the PA system which means he probably had the cameras too, so. This is Marc glaring at Harrow, and I just - the big dick energy of it all I need to. lay down.

[therealraewest]

I can't believe it's been 34 years and they never talked about how Marc never actually got to be an avenger since Khonshu was possessing him the entire time

[rosellacwrites]

Sharp Dressed Man — Part 2

summary: Steven wants to know just how much you like his suit.

pairings: Steven Grant x AFAB!Reader (otherwise undescribed), implied Marc Spector x AFAB!Reader, implied Jake Lockley x AFAB!Reader

rating: E. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

warnings: suit kink, D/s dynamics (softDom!Steven my beloved), voyeurism, thigh riding

word count: 1.8k

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #2 for our favorite square, Thigh Riding! Direct continuation of Sharp Dressed Man — Part 1. Happy reading!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Steven’s never been good at hiding his inner self from you. Transparent as glass, he broadcasts every emotion that passes through him, no matter how small. So whenever he comes home from a fight, it’s not hard for you to guess how it’s gone.

Poorly, and he sinks into your softness, wanting comfort, needing reassurance that he hasn’t failed in his duties and you still love him no matter what. Well, and he’s cocky, strutting, endearingly full of himself but never arrogant; those are the nights on which interesting things tend to happen.

Nights like those, he lets his well-hidden dominant streak out to play, but it’s not the kind most would recognize. He could be rough with you, if he wanted; he’s strong enough to throw you around a little, if you asked, but that’s not his way. It’s so subtle, so soft and gentle, that neither of you had even realized what he was doing at first.

When you’d thought of domination before, you’d thought of ropes and whips and cuffs, sluts and whores and daddies; all those have their place in someone’s bedroom, but you have no desire for them to enter yours. But tender words of praise, feather-light strokes and worshipful attentions, playful teasing drawing your pleasure out and out and out until you’re mindless and begging: those things, you crave.

And lucky for you, Steven’s bloody good at giving them to you.

Sometimes you think it’s the contrasts of him that you love best: the gentle heart and brilliant mind and sweetheart soul, all housed in the body that knows a hundred different ways to kill someone. The mellow comforting voice, sweet and rich as chocolate, that can murmur cherished pet names and filthy suggestions in the same breath. The deep brown puppy-dog eyes, that can gaze at you with love and wonder or scorch your skin. Marc and Jake are complex enough men, in truth, but their desires are more straightforward.

But whoever Steven has recently been fighting, you know they won’t be bothering any of your boys again for quite a while, because tonight is one of those nights.

“Do you feel like playing tonight, love?” He takes a seat on the end of your bed, strong thighs spread wide, and pats one in invitation when you nod eagerly. “Come give me a little kiss, then.” True to your request, he’s left his suit on; faithful to the end, your Steven.

You perch on his lap, winding your arms around him to keep your balance, and bow your head to his. He drinks in all the little sounds you make, and you don’t realize it but your hands are roaming from his curls to his shoulders to his back to his waist and back again, growing more restless by the minute. When he feels you begin to squirm in his lap, the muscles of your thighs tensing against each other, he pulls back from you.

“Poor little thing,” he croons. “Do you need more?” You nod, wide-eyed and desperate, and he smiles up at you. “I’ll take care of you, darling. Don’t I always?”

“Always,” you agree. And it’s true: he always does. They all do.

“Why don’t you start by taking your clothes off for us, then?”

This isn’t your first time playing this game; it’s phrased as a question, but you know better. Obediently, you stand up and begin to strip, and when you turn your back to Steven for a moment, you’re glad you chose the nice matching set today. The tall antique mirror, placed opposite the bed for just these occasions, reflects you in triplicate, but you know what Steven sees. “Are they watching?” you ask breathlessly.

Steven smiles at you as he takes off his jacket. “‘Course they are. They’d never miss a show like this.” He rolls up his sleeves, and you bite your lip to hold back a whine at the way the snowy linen and leather frame the muscles of his forearm. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he clears his throat with an amused huff.

“Sorry,” you stammer, suddenly noticing that you’d frozen in the middle of working your jeans down. Steven just shakes his head fondly.

“You’re enough to make a bloke get a swelled head, you know,“ he says. “Looking at me like that and all.”

Oh, Steven, so sweetly self-deprecating even when he’s in the process of seducing you. “Oh, sorry,” you retort. “You must not be able to see how handsome you are because I’m blocking the mirror.” Fully nude now, you saunter back toward him, feeling the heat of his dark eyes on your body.

“Cheeky thing.” God, he’s tempting, the way he’s leaning back on his hands, grinning at you. His long legs are still spread in a way that you despise on the Tube but love in your bedroom. “Now. What shall I do with you?”

“You could kiss me some more,” you suggest innocently. He laughs and draws you back down to his lap. In your hyper-aroused state, you fancy you can feel the weave of his suit imprinting its pattern on your skin, and the whisper of friction makes you squirm.

“I think I’d like to play a different game,” he murmurs. “I think… I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“What’s the catch?” There’s always a catch.

“There’s no catch, love. Just answers.” He strokes your cheek, looking into your eyes. “Why do you like my suit so much?”

“I…” You don’t know what answer he’s looking for, exactly. “It’s just — so fancy, but I know what it’s meant for… it’s like — James Bond or something. Dapper and deadly.” Your face feels warm against the cool leather of his glove; it’s not something you can really explain, the instant rush of heat you’d felt at the sight of him dressed like that. “You look so handsome in it…”

“You like the way it feels, yeah?” He smiles. “And don’t try to tell me otherwise. Couldn’t keep your hands off me when I walked in.”

You know better than to hide anything from him. He knows you far too well, and takes every opportunity to learn more. “Yes,” you whisper, unable to keep from touching him even when called out, and he chuckles.

“Thought so. What else do you like about it?”

“It’s — so perfect. Fits all of you just right…” It’s like you’re hypnotized; you couldn’t look away from him if you tried. “It shines, like the moon.”

“You’re making Marc a bit jealous, you know,” he murmurs with a laugh in his voice. “You’ve never made such a fuss about his.”

“His is cool, but…” Your words trail off when he ducks his head and takes your nipple gently between his teeth. A little whimper escapes you with your exhale, and he lets you go again.

“Jake says I’m letting my mouth run away with me again,” he says, almost to himself. “‘Fuck her already, pendejo,’ he says. Rude.” He tuts. “That man has no appreciation for the art of seduction.” This is, in fact, a blatant, towering lie, but you know better than to call it out. “But I suppose you do deserve a reward for answering my questions…”

“Oh, please,” you breathe, squirming again; your leg brushes up against his cock, straining against the pristine fabric of his trousers, and he makes a rumbling sort of sound. “Please, Steven…”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to tempt me into touching you, aren’t you?” He narrows his eyes at you, and you immediately protest.

“I wasn’t trying to, it’s just — kind of hard to miss, you’re so — “

“Oh! Flattery, now!” He’s laughing outright, not unkindly. “You really are pulling out all the stops, darling. Just for that…”

Your eyes go wide. “Just for what?”

He takes your chin in his hand, and tilts your face down to his. “You’re trying so hard to make me touch you — well, I’m not going to.”

“Steven!” you wail. “You can’t do this to me — I need you… been waiting all day for you to get home and make me come…”

“Oh, I never said you didn’t get to come,” he says airily. “That would be cruel of me, wouldn’t it?”

“Then what — “

“You’re going to do all the work, and I’m going to be the lucky bastard with the front row seat.” His hands land on your hips and he guides you to turn around and face him, straddling his leg. “Your hands like the way my suit feels, don’t they? Let’s see what else likes it.”

With a jolt you realize exactly what he means, and he watches the understanding heat cross your face. “I — I don’t want to spoil it…” Your hips don’t care about such things. They’re already rocking against him, even as you protest, and his smile has a wicked edge to it.

“It’s so perfect, yeah?” he coaxes, and his voice sends a shiver through you. “All nice and clean? Go on then. Make a mess of me.”

“Won’t Khonshu….” You can’t finish the thought, too overwhelmed by the gentle drag of the textured fabric against your cunt. You were already primed for it, ready for a single fingertip to send you soaring, and you’re so sensitive that each individual thread feels like an exquisite assault. In the back of your mind, you know this is what you’d wanted, the second he’d walked through that door; somehow, he always seems to know the deepest, strangest desires of your heart, and he won’t rest until he makes them all come true.

“I’m Mr Knight, aren’t I?” he laughs, leaving a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses down your throat. “I should be entitled to wear my fair lady’s favor into battle. Not quite what the knights of old had in mind though, innit?” You moan at the thought of him plunging back into the fray, your slick still drying on his suit.

He buries his face in you as you ride the hard muscle of his thigh, his messy curls and shadow of stubble tickling your breasts. “God, your tits are perfection,” comes his muffled voice from your cleavage. There’s too much give in the bed, and the way it dips under him as you grind is just enough to keep you chasing after your peak, getting agonizingly close but never quite reaching it. You grit your teeth and clutch silky handfuls of his waistcoat, no longer caring about spoiling its perfection.

Steven, always so attuned to you, senses your need and tears himself away from your breasts. “Do you need a little help, love?” You mewl in agreement, and he chuckles. “Use your words, then. Ask me for what you need, and I’ll give it to you, as much as you want.”

You tell him that you just need a little more pressure, right there, and when his hand slips between you and him, you’re off like a rocket, wailing and soaking his trousers.

“Gorgeous,” he purrs in your ear when you drop, panting and helpless, to his shoulder. “Bloody gorgeous, you are. You’re doing so well for me.”

But doing so well carries a distinct implication: this isn’t over yet.

to be continued…