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The London Daily Ride

09:33

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

There is comfort in being alone.

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you see him.

Not much worth a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, bless him, you think.

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

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

No one, except you.

The London Daily Ride [2]

09:37

# Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader Jake Lockley x female reader # Synopsis: Before you know him as "Steven from the gift shop", you know him as "Steven from the bus stop". You summon all you might to speak to him. # Warning/Content: Fluff/Angst, Character Study, Accurate DID (triggering), Hot/Sweet!Steven, Slow Burn. # Word Count: 3.4k [read me on AO3] · [previous chapter] · [next chapter]

Four minutes. It’s all it takes. And he’s looking at you, only manifesting utter shock.

To be frank, you are as well. Seeking contact outside your comfort zone is no hobby of yours, and yet, here you are. As you’re waiting for the next bus stop, in the delimited square of the standing area surrounded by seats and passengers, your eyes have struggled to recover their independence. Irremediably drawn to the silhouette hunched over his book, glasses on his nose, unconditionally absorbed by his reading. From where you were, you couldn’t decipher the nature of the paragraphs, yet you couldn’t miss a collection of photographs in black and white with recognizable figures of Egyptian gods. As one of his hands had reverently skimmed over some parts of the illustrations, you had observed the brush of his fingers, divulging his lingering admiration. Your chest has squeezed itself into a delicious awakening.  The sleeve of his rumpled jacket revealing his wrist, his golden skin was at odds with the rain. Not fitting quite right in the decorum. Like a misplaced ray of sunshine in a greyscale.  Your organs are unsure if they are misplaced as well. Your stomach seems to be in your throat. Your brain, either nowhere to be found or racing like an untamed horse. Your skull, a shell for raw emotions. It requires a few seconds to realise that your body, part by part, is coming alive anew. The link that had been severed for several weeks is blooming again. You shift your feet. Detect the vibration of the large motor coming up to you. Feel the pain lodged in the arches of your feet, standing so still until now that it hurts. Your stomach grasps that it’s hungry. You forgot to eat breakfast this morning.

Outside, it’s pouring. Inside as well. Overwhelmingly. For a few seconds, you are both blinking at each other, and you feel as if it would be the perfect timing for recorded laughs from an invisible public. But no lines of dialogue come to you. You can only blankly stare at him. 

"Sorry, wha’?"  His voice. Boyish tone. Authentically wondering. A detail to add to your collection of appreciation. You can’t tell if the irresistible pull that drowned you in is fascination and yearning; or if it’s his bubble of comfort calling your own until both collide.  Either way, you observe his book like a lifeline as he continues. You’re not yet ready to cross his gaze. You have time. You always get up a few stops in advance. "Ah, loud noises here, yeah?" he says, pointing around aimlessly, leaning slightly towards you, so you can hear him better without raising his voice too much. "Sorry, I didn’t quite catch tha’."  So, you repeat the question you prepared; or rather, blurred out while you were positioning yourself to wait for your bus stop. "Good read?"  Two words. It’s barely an ask, and it’s missing a verb. Cue the laughter. You don’t know if it’s you or your question that’s missing substance. And who asks yes-or-no questions anyway? How could it even create a conversation? Somehow, it does. He does .  "Oh, that?" he closes the books to display the back cover, and he laughs softly, oh so softly, that with the racket of the bus, the rumbles of conversations, and the tumbles in and out of passengers, you could almost have missed it. It has an unmistakable endearment as his head falls to observe the companion of his ride. "It’s an astonishing read," he corrects with a kindness of his own. "Absolute marvel, if you ask me."

You feel his gaze returning to you as he explains in considerable detail how Howard Carter, anything but a true Egyptologist or archaeologist, and after five years of unsuccessful and costly searches in the Valley of the Kings, had ultimately made one of the greatest discoveries in History. Mister Carter, aged 48, was yet to fulfil his dreams about ancient tombs awaiting in the dark belly of the Valley. And on the 4th of November 1922, deeply buried into the protective Egyptian sand, below what was thought to be an ancient village, the door of the Tomb of Tutankhamun was in front of him, the seal of ropes and clay still on the entrance, unbroken. You’re not sure when your eyes unfocus plainly, your mind conveying fantasised images of oil lamps shining on treasures; the flickering flames revealing them for the first time in three thousand years. And then he looks at you, truly looks at you, with a burnt sienna that reminds you of the ochre steppes beyond the desert, where untamed Arabian horses are free to ride at full speed. And his traits become very still, until they are overcome with a gentle sadness of sorts. The one you’ve seen before, as the newspaper man had stepped out indifferently. He stops himself as if he was doing you a mercy.

"Look at me, rambling." And he adds with an apologetic smile: "You prob’ly don’t want to hear about tha’." 

It takes you a few seconds to travel back from the depths of Egypt in its early 20s to rainy London and a cramped bus. You breathe. You observe him. Hands on his closed book. You don’t reinforce his false interpretation. You redirect instead.

"I heard that Carter was on the verge of giving up when he found the tomb. Wasn’t he helped by a Lord of some sort?"

You tend to forget many things, yet you don’t forget little fun facts about an inspiring story or piece of history. Your memory is as good as the interest you have in the documentary you’re watching late at night on the history channels, while sorting through your files for the next day’s trials.

Eyebrows raised, mouth briefly closed, a quirky little smile is twisting his lips.

"Well, someone knows her British archaeologists." He lets out a tittering laugh; somewhat astounded: "That’s amazing."

His eyes meet yours with directness and fortitude. A swirl of spice and espresso that you are somehow sure that will never quench your thirst.

"Oh, I don’t think so. I’m afraid my brain only remembers bits and pieces when it wants to." You shrug with no embarrassment. "I’ve got no control over it whatsoever." 

For a few seconds, he smiles, as if he would precisely understand what you meant. And then, he frowns.

"Sorry, I don’t mean that in a creepy way, but …" You can feel how truly puzzled he is, yet can’t quite put your finger on what .

What he says next leaves you in the same state.

"I’m not imagining this conversation. Am I?"  Then, he’s slightly frowning a little bit more with an almost comical disarray: "… Am I?" You like how the second time he says, Am I? like he's actually wondering. And indeed, it doesn’t feel like any ordinary London rainy day now, does it? Something has shifted from the well-constructed routine that you typically experience in the morning. The frightening and marvellous premonition that what’s happening is important . Like the tide withdrawing after a muted earthquake… or was it just the vehicle trembling beneath your feet? Maybe, just maybe, this was a shared feeling. 

As silence drags itself, you realise that he somehow needs confirmation. Looking expectantly at you. 

"You’re not. Absolutely not."

You hope that the hint of doubt isn’t coating your voice. At least, you feel real. 

As if he’s now a bit lost, he’s vaguely looking at his book. With the commotion of the bus, you can’t make out what he’s muttering to himself. However, you can deduce that your confirmation is not enough. 

"If I could …" 

His eyes focus on you again.

"Wha’?" 

"Prove it to you?" 

The hissing of the double-decker has its stops makes you almost trip, and you’re only still standing vertically thanks to one of the yellow poles. Just like that, the shared bubble bursts. Without warning, still with red glasses on his nose, he gets on his feet instantly.

"Oh, bugger! My bus stop!!" 

He gasps so hard that a few heads turn around.

Now, he’s frantically shovelling his book into his saddlebag as the bus is departing again. Then, he stands next to you, breastless, his possessions against his chest with one arm, the other almost over your head, hanging from one of the ceiling handles. A source of warmth unexpectedly at your side. His glasses now crooked, he offers a contrite smile. You don’t know if it’s just the embarrassment of missing his stops or due to your sudden proximity.

"All righ’, that settles it then." 

You tilt your head in interrogation.

"If this was a dream, I wouldn’t look like a knob now, would I?" 

And just like that, he has the power to reunite your bubbles again. He’s so close to you, huddled in the standing area with other travellers, that his minty heated breath is tingling the skin of your face as he’s laughing softly. A smile hidden all along at the corner of your lips blooms into a laugh.  

It sure feels unreal to me, you want to say, but the whisper doesn’t even leave your lips. Time’s up.

"I better jog on before I miss my stop again… Nice meeting you," he says embarrassingly, not knowing what to do with his busy arms, wanting to probably squeeze your hand but thinking better of it before rapidly taking off his glasses, precariously balancing on the bridge of his nose. Your raincoat brushes his grey-clay gabardine as the bus is stopping again and finally opens its doors. He squeezes himself between the others, stuttering and apologising while making his way out. He adds before he gets off: "I will see you… on the flip-flop."

On the flip-flop? 

Stepping out, he’s sheepishly smiling at you before partly disappearing behind the automatic closing doors. His face takes on features expressing pure dread, as he seems to realise he has omitted a crucial element. Through the doors, you hear him shout at the departing bus:

"THE NAME IS STEVEN BY THE WAY" 

The belly laugh you get after that has been the best you’ve had in years. You don’t care about the passenger sending either a concerned look or a smile to share your hilarity. It's the kind of laugh that fills one’s core with ease and light. When you brush the corner of your eyes to dry saline drops, you are desperately, positively wrecked with joy.

Morning after morning, Steven becomes part of your daily routine.  His illuminating smile. His wave. Your cheerful “Good Morning!”. Your re-found sense of comfort. The usual empty seat on his left becomes yours. Habits have the reputation of dying hard. You enjoy loneliness until your craving for connection is so strong that you can finally rejoice at the prospect of long conversations with your friends and parents. A coping mechanism that served you well these recent years, creating distance when everything becomes too much. Allowing your mind to be consumed by objects of desire and passion. Plus, what law firm would complain about the ability to work intensely for eight hours straight? Your addiction to seclusion has its ups… and lows. At one point, you can feel how your mind is desperate for an authentic interaction. As starved as your stomach that morning in the bus. However, you perceive that for Steven, starvation ignites from elsewhere. There’s no self-infliction. No harmful habits are involved. He did not choose seclusion; not like you. Seclusion seems to have chosen him. That’s when your endearment turns into something more profound. Steven isn’t really the shy guy that you first thought; avoiding social interactions. On the contrary, as you observe him day to day, it turns out that’s the other way around: Steven is so driven and desperate to connect with others, with so much enthusiasm … that it becomes awkward for most people on the other end. And that’s what most people are afraid of: deep and uncompromised consideration, with an intent to genuinely bond. And who is brave enough to let the mask down before a stranger? You understand what Steven can’t. People fear the possibility of attachment —his intent to truly bond— because they fear vulnerability.  Steven was the opposite of everything you ever knew. The opposite of masculine stereotypes. Gentle. Caring. Willing to be vulnerable . Even the choice of his food was a far cry from the raw, bloody, virile steak. More than that, the more you come to know Steven, the more you come to redefine falling in love. Until now, you had experienced the rush of falling. The intense months of passion and then the degradation throughout the years. You had always thought the butterflies were the predictable sign of true, unyielding attachment. The sign that someone is a match for you. Then … Why was it never good enough to sustain a relationship? The fire of passion is all good and well. However, what good is it when comfort is never built? When the wood is lacking, and there’s no fire left; what is left? As one would expect, there’s always a bit of nerves to a new encounter, but it had become abundantly clear that even if there was alchemy, meeting Steven each morning wasn’t the nerve-wracking experience that you ordinarily had with men. Instead, it was soothing. Your favourite TV show after a strenuous day. The purring of your little black and white cat on your lap. Your decade-old copy of your favourite book that has lived in your high-school backpack, dog-eared pages, spine broken, yet losing none of its powerful story. Steven was all that and more; conveying a tranquillising warmth that felt like home . When we are loved through passion and passion alone, what interest does that person really have in you ? Besides the butterflies? Besides the attraction? All that’s left is a fusion of well-matched bodies. And when the chemical reactions finally fade, as the neural pathways are used to the rush of hormones, what is left to celebrate? In your hard-earned opinion, passion is more about losing oneself in another than truly knowing the other. Lonely were some nights in your tiny flat cramped in the heart of Camden. Lonelier it was to be loved by someone who believed that passion could build and solve all. And for a time, you were no exception.

So, when Steven naturally places his hands on your shoulder, as any friend would, showing you a paragraph of his readings about an artefact, saying: “Oh, no, no, that’s impossible. You’ve actually never seen it?". Your head says no. “Oh, all righ’ then. You’re in for a treat now, aren't you! I’m pretty sure you’ll love it. Come by the museum Thursday, yeah?”. You’re convinced that that guy doesn’t want the passion . He merly wants to share his favourite place to ever exist in the world. Romance has nothing to do with it.

When Steven holds his sides for laughing too long, one morning, when you compare Donna to a velociraptor, you feel as if you’ve known him for years, and is this what a best friend feels like ?

When you gently nudge him to point out at the window an advertising sign for Cammas Hall, revealing how you absolutely adore going to the countryside, just north-east of London, and Steven leans in so very close to you, as to make a confession: “Their maize maze is mental, innit? Ah! Say that three times fast. Maize maze, maize maze … ”. And you laugh; you know there isn’t an ulterior motive. No excuse to get close or physical. The glimmer of copper in his eyes tells another narrative. Again, he just wants to be a part of, to make you a part of .

When Steven sits in silence beside you, exhausted from his sleep condition, and finally drowses off; only for his head to fall on your shoulder, your heart doesn’t hammer. You run your hand through his oh-so-soft brown curls to clear his face; to ensconce his head in the crook of your neck, as a mother would do for a child. The tenderness living under your chest radiates and encompasses the both of you. You just want him to be okay. And you can only hope that it is the same for him.

In fact, you’re pretty sure. Because it’s another element with Steven: he doesn’t make you doubt his attention or his building affection. He lays it bare, for everyone to see. Just like his bubble. Every paper is about superheroes these days. It’s filling the news and every talk show. They aren’t talking about unsung heroes, those from ordinary life; those who lay bare their hearts.

There is no game here. No “can’t wait to get to the next base”. As if Steven would be forever happy to have those simple moments to share. Alchemy is just a bonus. Not the other way around.  I’m not imagining this conversation, am I?  You swear that sentence could have come straight out of your mouth.

You think again about your loneliness, your “almost-addiction”, and how it shields you from the bad … and the good. With Steven nearby, seclusion appears to be less attractive. And the outer world feels like a decent place again.

Changing harmful habits is a challenge. Yet, with the right person, it seems to fall like the scab of an old wound, rather than a vivisection.

It was both wonderful and terrifying … that one person, one encounter, could change so much. 

The picture of Steven Grant is constructing itself. Even its flaws.

Attentive, caring, devoted to what he loves.  A sensibility and sensitivity like an acute nerve, exposed to the elements. You know all that. That’s why when Donna crushes his hopes to be a tour guide yet again, you truly question how those devastating interactions are pretty much all the socialising he gets. He has colleagues, but friends ? Surely, this isn’t healthy. Adding to that, his sleeping condition is bringing questions to the surface, when one morning, he’s thrilled about his new puzzle, a new variation of the Rubik’s Cube. A tetrahedron that will undoubtedly keep him awake this time . 

"Oh, it’s ace. Yeah, it’s amazing. New shape, new algorithms, you know what I mean?"

"So, you’re able to sleep," you point out a cup of warm coffee in your hand, sitting next to him. "It’s just that you … won’t?" There’s nothing accusatory, you’re just pointing out the incoherence. 

You’re working in a law firm, for God’s sake. Finding incoherences and counter-arguments is what you do. Your ex had a lovely little nickname for that, calling you “The Scalpel”. Acute questions. Pushing and inquiring where it hurts. Incisive . “Can’t you stop analysing and arguing on every fucking point all the time? Just … let it go ”. At that time, you were pretty sure you were mostly cutting through bullshit. But now, Steven is at your side, vulnerable and sensible and right, this time, it’s different, don’t be such a fucking scalpel, dumbass, you admonish yourself.  

The white of his eyes is more visible, and his forehead wrinkles, as he stares wide at you. He babbles a confused explanation; how of course he can sleep, but, you know, his body wants to get up and wander about, he’s not an insomniac or narcoleptic or anything now is he. And he laughs awkwardly— and he crosses your eyes again and oh, oh— he realises that’s exactly what you assumed. But yeah, nothing to worry about, the sleepy part was fine, it’s the dreams you see. The vivid dreams that make Steven exhausted and how is this a medical condition you think racingly; when dreaming is more exhausting than living ?

There and then, the perfect picture that you’ve assembled of Steven begins to crack. Like an oil painting, as time does its work, the thick layers of paint begin to split and break. Reluctantly showing the rough sketches under; exposing the wood beneath. You were wondering how deep the fractures were. If the cracks you were witnessing were just the thin upper layer of varnish giving up, in need of light restoration. Or were the lacerations so deep that they would eventually break the painting apart? If it was ever the case, would Steven be the whole piece of work; or merely a section of it ?

But you don’t press . You do not invade and question. No arguments or counter-arguments. 

Somehow, you think you understand.

Aren’t we all parts and pieces, holding together by sheer will? 

Marc Spector- Paying Your Debt

Summary: Moon Knight saved your life, and now you're Marc Spector's glorified assistant. But when you pick him up one night after a fight, you get to feel the suit first hand, and what he keeps underneath it. (~2k words)

Contents: 🔥18+, nsfw, some plot and then smut in public w/ no one around, one reference to Jake and Steven

—————————-

You owe Marc Spector a debt. 

And he was making you pay it back piece by agonizing piece. It was never something big like, “go on a mission with me or kill this guy for me or take off your clothes and lay down on the bed.”

You keep a list of the things he’d asked you for taped to your refrigerator. It’s like an invoice, a running tally. But you have no idea when the number of things would end up equaling him having saved your life.

******** -Spector List- Picked up from airport (x2) Sutures (x4) + learning how to suture Laundry (annoying and bloody) Set up recurring payments for storage unit (dumb) Take winter tires to the storage unit (too heavy) Pick up book orders Prep and stash go-bags (4 of 7) Ammo (remind him no guns!) ********

Your phone chimes. Not your real phone. The one Marc has given you. It’s a tiny, old flip-phone. 

Spector: pick me up at the university library You: was getting ready for bed Spector: now You: say please Spector: just do it

With a sigh, you write ‘chauffeur’ on your list and head out, not even bothering to change out of your pajamas.

The campus is beautiful this time of year, even in the dark. Warm, fall colors under the moonlight.

You park in front of the library and wait. It’s just after dark on a Saturday night and pretty dead.

You flip open your phone.

You: where r u? Spector: drive around back

You drive around the building and Marc is leaning against the wall. He stands out in the unlit parking lot. He’s still wearing the suit and mask, the dusky white-gray billowing in the breeze and glowing white eyes tracking you as you drive in. He pushes off and walks toward you. He’s limping.

You’d seen him in a lot of states. Hero-mode when he’d saved you, battered and bloody when he came to you for help, annoyed almost always.

Today, though, his body language is tired.

He opens the passenger door and sits down hard, his cape disappearing as he does. He makes a noise like he’s uncomfortable.

“Are you going to be okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, have to leave the suit on. I’m not done healing.” He takes a few deep breaths, presses a hand to his ribs. “But almost. Drive.”

“You’re a superhero. Do you really want people seeing you riding shotgun in a shitty car like this? No one’s around.” You put the car in park and turn off the engine.

The mask and hood disappear from his head. His curly hair is a little shiny from whatever fight he was just in, but he is beautiful as always.

“So what was it this time? A murderer? A rapist? Both?”

He glances at you, shifting his weight to see how his healing’s progressing. 

“You talk so much,” he says.

“You could stop texting me. Rope some other sucker into being your gopher.”

The corner of his mouth tips up into a smile. “I like that you talk so much.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow, Marc, that’s only the second nice thing you’ve ever said to me. The first being the night you rescued me when you said that I, quote, ‘have good instincts for picking a safe route home.’ Oh, wait, that was sarcastic wasn’t it, because I almost died? Okay then, the talking thing is only nice thing you’ve ever said.”

He rolls his head back and forth, stretching out. Instinctively you reach over and rub the back of his neck with your fingers, massaging his tense muscles. He leans into your touch immediately.

His skin is warm and soft. The ends of his hair brush against your hand.

“That’s nice,” he says quietly.

“Okay, seriously, did the bad guys inject you with some kind of personality-changing drug?”

He shakes his head. “Just tired.” He looks over at you. “Come closer.”

You look at him. “We’re sitting next to each other in a car. I’m about as ‘closer’ as I can get.”

He gently runs his hand around your upper arm. Even though you'd felt the grab of his fingers in the suit on the night he'd rescued you, it had all happened so fast that you couldn't remember how it had felt.

You look at it, surprised. “I thought the wrapping was rough. It’s not. It’s soft.”

He tugs you closer, until he can pull you over to sit on his lap, your back resting against the door and one of his arms around you. It was the closest you’d been to him since the night he saved you. 

You’d thought stitching him up was intimate, the few times he couldn’t put on the suit and had to make do until he could use it to heal, but this was more than that.

“Does this hurt your ribs?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m fully healed now. Back to normal.”

“Sure, this is normal. A grown woman sitting in the lap of a grown man who is wearing the ceremonial armor of an ancient deity. Normal.”

His smile is unexpectedly warm. It makes you warm.

“Marc?”

“Hmm?” His hand idly moves up and down your thigh. His big, brown eyes look at you, a few curly strands of hair fall over his forehead.

“Do you have an erection under there or is that, like, a protective cup for your junk when you’re-“

“It’s an erection.”

You nod, feeling your cheeks turn pink. “It’s big. I mean, um, huge. No, just… I should shut the fuck up.”

He smiles, running his fingers tantalizingly between your thighs with more pressure now. “I realized something about me and you when I was out today.”

You tip your head at him. “You think about me while you’re bashing people’s faces in? Awww.”

“You make me smile,” he says. His hand moves further up between your legs, the space between his thumb and forefinger wedged against the hottest part of you. Your breath stutters. “I look forward to seeing you, hearing your voice. It’s the only nice part of my day sometimes.”

“Marc,” you say slowly.

“Let me do something for you.” He starts to rock his hand gently against you, creating delicious friction that you can tell is going to make you embarrassingly wet in three seconds flat.

“Can’t you just get me a gift card?” You say, already sounding slightly out of breath.

He gives you a look, one that says you’re ridiculous. But this time, it seems like a compliment.

He tips his head forward to kiss your neck while his hands pull off your pajama pants. He tosses them into the back of the car and grabs your hips, lifting and turning your body to straddle him. Sometimes you forgot how strong he really was.

You rock against him on instinct while you take off your shirt. You feel Marc’s cock flex when he sees that you didn’t wear a bra tonight.

Moonlight spills across your chest through the windows. He traces it with his mouth.

Gently, he pushes you until your upper back is reclining on the dashboard. He looks you over, then down at where you’re already clenching, needy, wet for him.

He runs his thumb over you, the soft fabric of his gloves just enough texture to make your cunt clamp down. He pops the digit in his mouth to taste. “Still want that gift card?” He says.

“Depends. How much is it?”

You crane your neck to see the crotch of his suit retract just enough to release his cock, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. You want to put it in your mouth, but he holds you firmly against him.

“Fuck, Spector, your face isn’t the only pretty thing you have,” you say.

He smiles. “I can think of a place where it’d look better,” he says.

You brace your hands against his forearms as he holds his cock steady, lining it up with your entrance. You push yourself down onto him, trying to relax so you can take him all in one go.

He braces his hands against your thighs. “Easy- fuck- baby”

You moan, moving up and then down, seating yourself further onto him. It takes what feels like forever to get there. He cants his hips, pushing the last of his thick base into your cunt and pausing for you to stretch around him. Your breath is shaking. You’ve never been so full. All you can think is that you will never be able to go back, not after him.

He runs his hands over you and you feel the suit retract from his hands so he can touch the rest of your body with his skin. He rolls your nipples between his fingers as he surges his hips up. You use his arms as leverage, pulling and pushing in time to the snap of his hips.

Marc brings one hand down to stroke his fingers at the edges of your cunt, where it’s grabbing onto his cock like a second skin. He plays with the ring of wetness, gliding it up and playing with your clit. 

He collects more and brings his fingers to your lips, pushing them inside your mouth. You suck on his fingers as you ride him, your hips rolling now as you feel yourself tightening, feeling him drive you toward release.

“Please, Marc,” you whine.

“You’re close, you’re close- oh fuck- come on baby- come on,” he grabs your hips and moves you up and down on his cock. He looks wrecked, watching himself fuck in and out of you.

Your hand slaps against his chest as you come, your fingers grabbing the wrappings of his suit as he keeps pushing himself in and out of you, through your orgasm while he shoots his own deep into you. You try to milk him, bring him deeper and feel him filling you. Your legs are shaking. You’re squeezing him so hard you can’t believe he can move inside you at all anymore. His hips slow and his grip eases as he shudders the last of his cum into you.

He relaxes back, then pushes himself all the way inside you again, the wet, filthy sound making you crave him, even though you know it's too soon. He pulls you to him, resting you against his chest.

Your breath is heavy and ragged. You close your eyes against the soft material of his shoulder, feeling his hands heavy on your back.

“Never thought of you as a public sex guy,” you say, turning your head toward his neck.

“It’s not. The way these windows are fogged, we’re alone.” You feel his heartbeat starting to slow already. You can’t say the same.

You lift your head. He’s right. Your car windows are completely opaque, the color and texture like the suit he wears. The air inside is hot and wet. 

“I will never get this smell out of here,” you say. You sit up, clenching around his half-hard cock.

“It’s a good smell,” Marc says. “Should make an air freshener out of it.”

He runs his tongue along your chest where a rivulet of sweat was dripping down. You moan, and he looks up at you, smiling.

“So, are we even now?” You say with a grin.

He shakes his head. “Never. You’re going to be paying me back for a long,” he licks over your breast with the flat of his tongue, “long,” he moves over to do the same to the other, “time.”

You kiss the top of his head as he sucks on your nipple. You feel yourself getting wet again, your hips moving ever so slightly back and forth.

“Maybe you could chip away at it a little more tonight?” He says as you feel his cock twitch and started to harden again inside of you.

“Here? Again?”

Marc grins at you wickedly. He grinds against you, hitting your clit and making you gasp.

“It’s a big debt, gotta start somewhere,” he says.

You lean down and kiss him. “Would you take a gift card?”

Messy Little Thing

dbf!Marc Spector X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by @unspokenmoon

Kinks - Kissing + Crying/Sobbing

Summary

You and your dad's best friend are getting messy in your childhood bedroom.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, blowjob, cum eating, fingering, cum swallowing, kissing, makeup running, messy/sloppy

Word Count: 954

----

“Look at you honey, such a messy little thing, aren’t you?” Marc asked as he thrust his cock into your throat once again.

You gagged in immediate response to the assault on your throat. You knew your mascara must’ve been streaming down your cheeks. He hand a strong grip on your jaw, holding onto it between his thumb and fingers while fucking into your mouth. He threw his head back, moaning deeply against the walls of your childhood bedroom. His head dropped back down and he looked at you.

“Does your daddy know how good you are at this kind of thing…oh f-fuck…”

You started to slide your hand down between your legs, letting the pad of your middle finger find the swollen bundle of nerves that was there, begging for attention. Marc let out a dark chuckle, biting his lip when you swirled your tongue around him. You gagged again, but that only made him push in further, enjoying the feeling of your throat contracting around his heady girth. You grabbed onto the meat of his hip for stability with your free hand.

“That’s it, that’s my good little girl, fuck yourself with those fingers honey, fuck yourself until you’re moaning pretty all over my cock.”

You did as you were told, plunging two of your fingers into your wet heat. You felt your cunt flutter around them in response to his nearly primal groaning over the way you sucked his cock. You started pumping in and out of yourself, moaning at the feeling of your growing arousal. Just listening to Marc come undone because of you could make you lose yourself right then and there.

“I can hear your wet pussy baby, so wet just from sucking on this cock hm? You like it that much? Oh you’re such a filthy-little-girl.” He said that last part in the dirtiest, most depraved, gravely tone you’d ever heard from him. “Want you to close those lips for me, wrap them around me tight as you can honey.”

You whined, feeling fresh tears trickling down your cheeks as you did what he asked. He started fucking harder, picking up to a bruising pace. You could feel the fat head of his cock hitting the back of your throat painfully, but you weren’t going to stop him. You could handle a bit of pain…especially for Marc.

“I’m gonna come baby, and I’m gonna fill up your mouth with it, but I don’t want you to swallow yet, alright?” He looked at you, waiting for your response. “You just hold it there for me, okay?”

He continued thrusting, and you moaned an affirmative over his cock. You felt his ass cheek tighten while his thrusting slowed. You felt his sticky hot cum coating your mouth as his length twitched and throbbed, stretching out your tightly wrapped lips. Marc sounded so good when he was at his climax; his voice so rough and wrecked with every exhale.

You were surprised when he pulled out of you and knelt so his face was in front of yours. You kept your lips closed to make sure his cum didn’t fall out. He pushed you by your shoulder so that your back was resting against the footboard of your bed.

“Move your hand honey, let me take care of you. You’ve been such a good little girl, sucking my cock so well.”

You pulled your fingers from your cunt. You tried hard not to open your mouth and spill his spend all over yourself when he replaced your digits with his much larger ones inside your needy hole. While he pumped himself three knuckles deep into you, he leaned in, lips almost touching yours.

“Kiss me honey.” You were shocked by his demand, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Do what I tell you.”

You opened your mouth just enough so you could kiss Marc. He was harsh, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in close. You gasped in surprise, feeling his tongue searching for yours in the sea of his cum. He found it, melting his mouth into yours over and over. You felt his spend dripping down both of your chins and onto your bare chest. 

It was the wettest kiss you’d ever experienced, and yet it still wasn’t as wet as your soaking cunt was with his fingers stuffed inside. You arched your back into him. Feeling the way his lips kept moving against yours made the heat pool in your core even faster. He pulled back from the kiss, smiling against your mouth and talking through the mess.

“You’re going to come for me now aren’t you honey?” He chuckled, “can feel your pussy squeezing so tight, come on, give it to me. Come all over my hand baby, wanna be covered in you.”

He went in for more kisses; sloppy, wet, cum coated kisses. You couldn’t hold out any longer, not that you were really trying, and you had to break your mouth from his to hang your head back and moan deep through your climax. Marc leaned in and slotted his lips back over yours, continuing to kiss you through your orgasm. He ate every one of your moans while your cunt gushed over his digits until finally, you felt your mind coming back to reality.

When you were done, Marc looked at you. He smiled, appreciating his work. You were a fucked out little mess, makeup running down your face in black streaks, lips puffy and swollen from his harsh kissing. Not to mention how perfectly glossy your mouth and chin were, coated in a layer of his spend.

“That’s my pretty little girl,” he kissed you again, “so pretty.”

----

Marc Spector Masterlist

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Take What You Need

Yandere Marc Spector X m!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by @theluciansystem

Kinks - Sexual Frustration + Character Offering Themself

Summary

Marc hasn't fronted in a while and is feeling some pent up sexual frustration. He comes to you to satisfy his needs.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, anal sex, anal creampie, unprotected sex, dubious consent, reader was kidnapped previously and has been living with them for a while, hand job, simultaneous orgasm, Marc is a top, reader is a bottom.

Word Count: 942

Marc came barrelling in through the door to your room, face filled with an expression you’d seen before on a few occasions. He started removing his belt immediately, and you gulped feeling fear pour over you in a wave. When he got like this he was rough, and while you could handle it, that didn’t stop you from feeling a small pang of terror pooling in your gut when he looked at you that way. He must’ve just come back from arguing with Khonshu or one of the boys.

“Come on, how many times do I have to tell you to get ready for me when I come in here? Huh?”

“S-sorry, sorry,” you said hurriedly, sliding off your sweats and scrambling to position yourself the way you knew he liked: face down in the mattress and rear poised in the air.

He always expected you to get ready the moment he walked in, and you were already failing, only serving to piss him off further. You knew the rules, yet you were acting like this was all new to you. Despite his aggravation, Marc smirked when he saw how good you looked from behind. His cock ached between his legs. He was so ready to fuck every ounce of frustration he had into you.

“That’s a good boy,” he said in a low, gravelly tone, striking your ass cheek with an open palm. “Haven’t been inside you in a while. Jake and Steven have been having all the fun, you sure you can handle me honey?”

You nodded, “yes, yes I’m ready.”

It wasn’t like you really had a choice. If you didn’t offer yourself to him willingly, he would just take you anyway. You felt a glob of spit trickle down over your tight ring of muscle. Marc pressed his fat tip against the furled skin, pushing against it to test how easily you would open for him. Marc spit over his cock, grabbing it firmly in his hand and making the length wet before pressing against your hole again.

“You better relax little boy, or this is gonna hurt,” Marc pushed into you, sliding forward full to the hilt, letting out a choked groan as his hips pressed flush against your rear. “You’re so damn tight, fuck…f-fuck.”

Marc slid back and then snapped his hips forward again, resulting in a muffled whine from your lips as you stuffed your face into the mattress. He reached his hand around, caging his fingers around your thick cock, chuckling as he stroked along the length.

“You’re so fucking needy, always playing coy and acting like you don’t want it, but you do want it don’t you? Huh? You need it.”

“Y-yes I need it Marc I–ah!”

“That’s a good boy.”

Marc leaned back, and looked down at the way your hole puckered around his girth. He had you stretched out so wide, you were squeezing him so fucking tight it took a bit of effort to pull back far enough to slam into you again and again…but he did it. He rocked into you, putting every bit of aggravation he harbored into each deep thrust. You whimpered into the mattress, clutching your fists around the sheets tightly.

“Yeah, that’s it, cry for me little boy, cry while I fuck you wide open. Feels good right? That’s why you’re whinin’ like that for me isn’t it?” 

“Yes, fuck-yes!”

He leaned forward again, grabbing onto your girth once more and stroking along your length. Your entire body shuddered under his touch, forcing your hole to clench around him. You heard him let out a choked moan, dropping his face into your shoulder blade. You gasped when you felt him bite down into your flesh. He let out a growling groan.

“F-fuck–honey–shit,” he rasped, mouth still pressed against your back. “You’re squeezing me so tight, so goddamn tight. Steven and Jake haven’t been doing their job have they?”

You were too fucked out to respond anymore. He continued jerking you off, keeping a steady and even pace in tandem with his thrusting hips. The sound of his pelvis slamming against your rear was almost deafening.

“They’re supposed to keep you nice and stretched out for me, but guess they haven’t been doing that very well huh?” Marc snickered against your shoulder, “or are you just this tight all the time?”

You felt yourself getting close, the way your balls tightened and your cock grew harder under the pressure of Marc’s closed fist. He moved faster, angling himself to get deeper inside of you, cock continuing to split you open around him. His other hand was squeezing onto your hip so hard, trying to keep you in place so you didn’t fall forward.

“Can feel your fat cock leaking all over me…my-needy-little-boy–fuck!”

Marc’s hips stopped suddenly with his length buried deep inside you. You felt your hole stretch wider as he throbbed, filling you to the brim with his hot cum. He didn’t stop his fast paced stroke around your own weeping shaft, forcing a choked sound to escape you while you came in his hand. Marc waited until you were finished and growing soft to bring his hand to your mouth.

“Clean it.”

You obeyed, darting out your tongue to lap up your own spend from his fingers. You heard his soft, pleasure laced breaths from behind you while you did. He pulled out of you, making you feel empty immediately with the absence of his cock inside your hole.

Marc stopped in the doorway on his way out, “I’ll be back in an hour…and you’d better be on your knees and ready for me.”

----

Marc Spector Masterlist

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Melody's 1k Celebration Masterlist

Prized Possession

Marc Spector + Steven Grant X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested By @lonelyisamyw-0love

Kinks - Possessiveness + Double Penetration

Summary

Your boyfriends Steven and Marc finally give you something you've wanted to try.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, the boys are in separate bodies, the boys are not related, poly relationship, double penetration, anal, p in v sex, p in v creampie, anal creampie, squirting, praise kink, soft marc, sex, smut

Word Count: 1,209

You, Steven and Marc had talked about this before, but you hadn’t done it until today. You’d been dating for a while, but you’d never taken them both at once, they usually took turns, and that was always fine with you, but not today. Today, you were on your back, laying against Marc’s chest with Steven in front of you. Steven’s hands were holding the backs of your knees, keeping you spread out for them.

“We got you all good and ready ahead of time baby, so this shouldn’t hurt too much, okay?” Marc said softly in your right ear.

You nodded, “okay.”

“I can feel you shaking love, you sure you’re ready for—”

“She can take it, she’s fine,” Marc cut him off with a forceful tone, “you can take anything right, honey? Just make sure to breathe through it.”

You took a deep breath and nodded again, closing your eyes as Marc pushed through your well prepped, lesser used hole. Your eyes shot open wide, meeting with Steven’s beautiful but concerned gaze. You gave him a gentle but wobbly smile to reassure him that you were fine.

He looked down, seeing Marc’s thick length disappearing into you, stretching your hole out around him. Steven impatiently lined himself up to your cunt, feeling the slick of your arousal coating his girth while he dragged it over your folds. Steven’s grip around the backside of your knees tightened as he slid forward, bottoming himself out inside your wet heat. His entire body trembled as he felt Marc through the thin barrier.

“Oh shit, love.”

The three of you let out a unified and pleasure filled groan into the apartment. They began alternating thrusts, pistoning back and forth into you at a moderate pace, letting you get used to having yourself stuffed with both of them at once. Steven tossed his head back, messy curls falling into his eyes while Marc kissed the side of your neck, just below your earlobe from behind you. You’d never felt so full in all your life, you felt like no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t breathe properly. 

“How’s that feel, honey? How’s it feel being fucked in both of your little holes, hm? I can feel you squeezing so tight around me…fuck.” The breath in his lungs punched out, hot on your cheek.

“I feel so…so full, Marc. So. Full.” You grabbed Steven’s strong biceps for stability while his hands stayed firmly around the back of your thighs, holding you open.

“Shit, you feel that Steven? Baby if you don’t relax I’m not going to l-last.” Marc reached one hand up to squeeze around your breast and the other moved between your legs, fingers rolling over your swollen clit.

You arched into them both, angling in a way that made Steven shudder and glide in deeper, bumping your cervix on the next thrust.

“Oh my—love, you feel so good, look how well you’re taking us. These tight little holes are always so good and ready for us love, they know who they belong to, right? That’s why you drip like a little fountain when we take you, yeah?”

“Y-yeah, yes Steven—ohhh!”

“You’re doing so good, such a good girl for us, honey. Taking us both so well.” His middle finger continued to glide over your hardened clit, moving faster now.

“Can feel you Marc, fuckin’ her so good, can feel it on my—oh I can feel it inside her. Go faster please.” Steven looked at you with lust etched into every pore, “you can take it right love? Been doing great so far, it just feels so…please Marc, fuck—please.”

You whimpered as Marc started fucking you faster at Steven’s command, both cocks punching into you at an unforgiving pace. Marc shushed you, nipping your neck softly and moving his finger over your clit in a more satisfying motion. You felt the unmistakable burning in your core…you were getting close.

Marc could feel Steven too while he thrusted harder and faster into your ass. He knew you’d tell him if it was too much. Your shaky moans and whimpers of pure intoxicated pleasure told him you were doing more than fine. 

“Oh love, your sounds are so pretty, that must feel good, yeah? Having two big cocks fuckin’ both your holes at once? You look so lovely.”

Steven looked down at where you were connected and tilted his head. Your pussy lips were swallowing his girth, while your tight rim did the same for Marc. He could see how your arousal dripped out of your hole, trickling over his cock and leaking down onto Marc’s length. You were wetter than he’d ever seen you. When he looked back into your eyes, you looked like a cock drunk mess…just how they liked you.

“You doing alright, honey? Oh fu—of course you are, can feel you about to—oh there you go, feel that, Steven? There you go baby, let it out.”

You were nearly screaming, body tensing while they continued fucking both of your holes through your orgasm. You threw your head back, feeling Marc latch his lips down over your throat. Your mind stopped working completely.

Steven’s and Marc’s did too. The way your holes squeezed around them, clamping down in waves while they continued alternating their rocking hips. They were close, but not quite there yet. You were completely spent though. Marc didn’t stop rubbing your clit, despite your cries for him to stop.

“Shh, you’re ok baby, I’m almost there, we’re almost there. Come on Steven, keep going. Shhh, honey, I know you can take it. You’re doing so good for us.”

It wasn’t their assault on your holes that made it difficult, it was the way Marc was still toying with your clit. You couldn’t take the over stimulation. It was building inside, and you felt like you were going to…oh no you were about to…

“Steven, Steven move I’m gonna—FUCK!”

Marc knew what it was you were doing. They’d never made you squirt before, but oh you sounded so beautiful when you did. Steven could tell right away that this was something new, not urine, not cum, but something else entirely, and it was amazing. Your entire body was trembling over them, cunt clenching around him even harder. Steven’s abdomen was covered in this new liquid. It soaked him and trickled down his thighs to the bedding. Marc was…the man was a genius.

“Did you just—? You’re so wet, love, I’m gonna— not gonna make it love. Oh god, oh god —ahhh!”

“Yeah that’s it, Steven, fill her little hole, you feel that, honey? You like getting stuffed full, don’t you? Don’t you? Oh shiiiit— gonna fill you up too baby—shit!”

They were both groaning through their simultaneous orgasms while they fucked their cum deeper into you. You felt numb at the end there, like your body was just a sack of potatoes stuck between them. When they were finished, both going soft inside of you, they each were kissing your cheeks and lips telling you how perfect you were for them, and how well you did. As you all came back to reality, the door to the bedroom opened and the three of you looked over in surprise…Jake.

Moon Knight Masterlist

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Please

Marc Spector X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by Anonymous

Kinks - Restraints + Begging

Summary

Marc is normally the one in charge, but he becomes a begging, whimpering, mess when you’re the one making the rules.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, smut, sub!Marc, restraints, crying men, p in v creampie, unprotected sex, begging, sex, pwp, reader is kinda dom

Word Count: 918

----

It started as a joke with the ankle restraint. Marc was fronting and you were walking up to the foot of the bed when Steven’s makeshift solution for his sleep-walking caught your eye, wrapped around the post to your left. You took it in your hand, raising an eyebrow at Marc with a smirk he’d come to recognize as a playful and devious one.

Now, a few sexual rendezvous later, you had both of his wrists tied together to the headboard, and both ankles spread apart and restrained on the posts at the foot of the bed and he was crying. His throbbing cock was reddened at the tip, leaking clear precum down the sides like a little fountain, and you were such a fucking tease. You leaned in, hands gripping either one of his powerful thighs as you pursed your lips and blew a gust of air on his weeping erection.

Marc tensed, rattling the restraints on the bed as his cock twitched in response.

“F-fuck baby, please just…” He planted his feet on the mattress and bucked his hips upward into nothing, growling as he did “when I get my hands on you,” he spoke harshly through gritted teeth, “gonna tie you down and make you piss yourself you need to come so bad honey.”

“Oh, Marc, honey, that’s not how you talk to me when you need your release is it? Seems like you should be asking a lot nicer.”

You swirled your finger around his precum slick head, inciting another choked whine from his spit glossed lips. He threw his head back, whimpering into the apartment. Such a pathetic little boy he was being. You chuckled, popping your finger in your mouth and lapping it free of his fluids. You smirked, biting your lip.

“Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll give you what you need.”

You brought your hand so it was hovering just outside the length of his shaft. He glared at you, and you knew you needed to up the stakes. So you dropped your hand, smirking at him and then you straddled him, resting a leg on either side of his waist, pressing your hands on his chest and leaning in. You brought your lips close to his, and he kept them tightly pressed.

“Really Marc? Are you so prideful that you won’t beg me to fuck you? You don’t want my soft…” you started to lower yourself on him, “wet…” you got lower, his face was red and he looked like he might bite his lip off, “tight little cunt.”

You sat down completely on his lap, and you felt him thrust upward, getting himself in as deep as he could before you pulled off of him quickly. You tsked, leaning over and kissing his cheek. You could feel the tip of his cock resting at your entrance, bobbing desperately, begging you to let it in there all on its own.

“Come on Marc. Tell me how badly you want it baby.”

You heard a frustrated sob escape him. You let your lips and tongue drag over the vein protruding in his neck. He moaned deeply, and you felt him thrust forward, trying so hard to be defiant and get his way without giving you the payment you asked for. You looked at him and grabbed his stubbled jaw.

“Look at you, crying because you want this pussy so bad. All you have to do is ask nicely honey and I’ll give it to you,” you had such a shit eating grin on your face, you wondered if he would just summon the suit and put you in your place for your bratty attitude.

“Please,” he murmured quietly. 

“Nope, speak the hell up baby, I know you can do it.”

“Fuck…I said…please fuck me!”

“Good boy,” you said with that same smirk you knew was making him angry in the first place.

You’d never heard such whiny whimpers come from Marc’s lips until you started sliding your impossibly slick cunt over him. You moved fast, slamming your hips down in a hard and steady pace. Marc threw his head back, nothing but a raspy air expelling from his lungs. You leaned forward, taking one of his nipples into your mouth and flicking your tongue over it.

He grunted and shot his head back up to look at you. His eyes were dark and hooded with desire. You knew there was merit to his words earlier, that he was going to make a mess out of you once you were done with this little game he was letting you play.

Your game came to an explosive end when Marc’s hips stuttered and you felt his fat cock twitching wildly inside of you with every hot spurt he fed into your cunt. You kept moving harder and faster, chasing your own release until you were gushing your own mess over him in waves, using his cum to slide easier against that spot deep inside of you that only he could reach. 

You were both a moaning and panting heap as you put your entire body weight on him once you were completely spent. He didn’t seem interested in resting. Marc moved quickly, calling the suit around himself underneath your limp frame. He broke the restraints free, and in the process snapped the headboard and posts at the foot of the bed. You squealed when he grabbed your throat and hip, lifting you up and pinning you down underneath him.

“My turn babygirl.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

My love, mine all mine.

Summary: Marc and you had been childhood sweethearts, then he suddenly got colder and colder until he randomly left one night. You thought you’d never see him again, until one lonesome night where you meet the love of your life again.

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader. Warnings and whatnots: Unhappy ending, angst.

You stare longingly at the photo in your hand. Photographed nicely in the worn out and crumpled polaroid were you and your former lover, Marc Spector. You smile sombrely.

“Come on just one photo Marc!” You shouted into the wind that blew on your clothes, you were all smiles.

Marc looked at you, his usual grumpy expression painted his face. Yet, you saw something soften in his features. He raises a finger.

“Fine!” He shouted back. “Only one!”

He had quickly grabbed onto your body, bringing you closer as he took the polaroid camera in your hand. You lean closer to him, grinning as you had managed to convince him. He rolls his eye before smiling at the photo.

It was the last day you had seen each other, a calm before the storm. You still talked to each other on the phone afterwards but it was less talking and more arguing. You were frustrated and he didn’t seem to care, until one day he just stopped responding.

A week later, you stopped calling.

~

You never really got over him, evidently as you sit in the park outside a bar, on New Years, looking at the photo of him. You sigh and shiver at the cold night. You look at the bar behind you. Your friend had invited you out and they were too busy getting drunk to notice you leave. You sigh as you look at your watch, realising it was way too late to be out and that you should probably bring your blasted friend home.

You step into the bar, scouting out your friend. You furrow your eyebrows as you search for her, finally spotting them taking shots with a random guy. They see you and smile widely, waving and shouting at you to wait a bit. You shake your head, laughing at their behaviour.

You take a seat at the bar and look around the bar, until your eyes landed on a man seated at the counter. Your eyes widen as you see him. Was it actually..?

He sensed you looking at him and quickly raised his head, you look away, not wanting to make eye contact.

Your heart raced when you saw him. You had to get out of there. Your heart was conflicted, not knowing if you wanted to leave or speak to him. To see him and spill your heart out. You quickly stood up from your chair, pushing your way to your friend who was laughing widely. You grab their arm, telling them you had to leave but they don’t listen, waving your arm off.

Marc watched you from the bar, watching as you try your best to convince your friend to leave with you. Did he cause that? Were you that hurt by him that you cannot even stand to be in the same vicinity as him? He felt a pang of guilt hit his heart as he thought about how he had left you. He had heard about you sobbing and crying day and night from people but he could never come back and see you.

He purses his lips, you had shown him what his heart was worth. He would have died for you. He would have killed for you. Yet, he had left you. What kind of man was he? Leaving you just like that.

He observes you as you finally give up on your friend and head outside. His heart and head argued, not knowing if he should follow you or not. He desperately wanted to talk to you.

“Talk to her.” The bartender says, giving him a shot of vodka. “For the nerves.” He explains.

Marc looks at the bartender then at the shot. He inhales before grabbing the shot and downing it. He psychs himself up for the worst as he exits the bar.

You hear the door open and you turn your head, not expecting to have seen him. He looks at you, giving a small awkward smile. He hadn’t aged a day physically, and you hadn’t aged a day mentally. Your heart fluttered as he moves to stand next to you.

“Cigarette?” He says, offering you a pack. Your eyes fill with sadness. Maybe this really wasn’t Marc…

“I… No thanks…” You say politely.

The only sound that was heard was the wind rustling the leaves and the crickets chirping in the bushes. For you, you could here your heart throbbing and breaking everything he breathed.

“I…” You started to say before he quickly cut you off.

“I never meant to leave you like that…” He says. “It was just… I had a lot of things that I had to do and I just… couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you.”

“Marc… You promised me. We’d go through everything together, why would this be any different?”

“I couldn’t get you hurt,”

“I couldn’t get you hurt, not you..” He says, sighing. “you are too important.”

“I… I spent so much time wondering what I did wrong and you suddenly waltz right back into my life, blabbing about how you didn’t want me to get hurt?” You say, a tinge of anger lacing your voice.

“No- I won’t accept that. If you didn’t want me to get hurt, you wouldn’t have left me. You wouldn’t be here in front of me, after leaving me all those years ago!”

“I… I really loved you Marc, and I still do… But, you can’t make those decisions for me. I’m grateful you want to protect me but, I need to learn to protect myself. With you.”

Marc stares at you wide eye as you put your hand up to his cheek. The corner of his eyes well up with tears and you felt your heart shatter. You pull away from his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I just- I couldn’t…” He starts but you just smile at him.

“My rides here.” You say, looking back at the bar where your friend still was. You hoped they would get home safe. You look at Marc. You hope he would get home safe.

“Goodbye Marc.” You say, and he watched you go.

He watched as you disappear into the distance like the moon at the end of the night, and the sun at the end of the day. You were his moon, and you always would be.

Ghost Of You (Marc Spector x GN!Avenger!Reader)

summary: y/n dies at Vormir instead of Nat

wc: ~1k

content: poor attempt at angst, mentions of y/n’s death, mentions of the blip, steven and jake are not part of the fic, marc is not the moon knight when y/n dies

Pov: second person

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the split of the Avengers, everyone that was on Steve’s team, you being one of them, was either in prison or on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D and the United States government. You were on the run. Those stupid accords had caused you to flee the country, and move to London. Granted, a more secluded country would’ve been more safe, however, moving to London had always been a dream of yours. While in London, you met Marc Spector, the most handsome man you had ever seen in your life. You were wearing your Led Zepplin shirt when you met. The same one you wore when you fled the United States. You and Marc eventually fell in love with each other and got married. A small courthouse wedding that was just the two of you. No guests. It was all you could’ve asked for. 

One night while you were laying in bed with Marc, you got a call from an unknown number. You looked at each other with confusion before you answered and put it on speaker phone. You and Marc looked at each other before you finally spoke up, “Hello?” You asked with slight fear in your phone. You jumped a little when the voice responded. It was your best friend, Nat.

“Y/N, I need you to come to Wakanda. It’s an emergency,” She said before hanging up.

“Who was that?” Marc asked.

“An old friend, and I guess she needs my help.”

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“No,” you sighed, “but until then, you’ll be just fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The surviving Avengers in Wakanda took you back home in the Quinjet. You just sat there in silence, thinking about Marc. Wondering if he was one of the unlucky people to turn into dust. When you walked up to your front door, it was locked. You ran the doorbell hoping that Marc was there to open it, and he was. You lunged into his arms, crying as you told him everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years later Nat decided to visit you. Her hair had grown longer and her natural red was conquering the dyed blonde. As the two of you were eating lunch at a small café, she brought up that the Avengers might have a way to bring everyone back and that they wanted you to help. You agreed and immediately headed home to tell Marc. Just like last time, Marc asked, “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“No,” you sighed, “but until then, you’ll be just fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little did Marc know, that would be the last time he would see you in person. Steve had delivered the news about your death to him. Everyone wanted Nat to, but she felt like it was her fault that you died. She told you about bringing everyone back. She went to Vormir with you and left with the Soul Stone, but not you. It was nobody’s fault that you died. Marc was understanding that Nat wasn’t the one to tell him. Out of all the Avengers, she was grieving the most. You two were the closest after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One morning Marc decided that he was going to clean up the house. He put on your favourite playlist, and started with your coffee mug that was on the coffee table in the living room. It had been sitting there, unfinished, for months. The same mug you were drinking out of when Nat had arrived to London. Marc sighed, as he picked up the mug. Your pink lipstick stain had slowly been fading away over time. He put it away before heading to the garage to clean out old  boxes. He found a box that had your name on it, and opened it to see what the box had contained. Digging through, he found old photos of you and the Avengers, and below it all was your Zepplin t-shirt. Marc wiped a tear from his eye as he remembered that you wearing this shirt when you met, and how you told him it was the same one you wore when fleeing the states. Marc dropped the shirt in his lap and sat on the garage floor for what felt like hours before he heard the faint sound of your favourite song coming from the living room speakers. It was A Man Without Love by Engelbert Humperdinck. He got up and headed to living room to slowly sway with the song. It reminded him of you. The lyrics, and the fact that it was the song that was playing when Marc proposed. That was why it was your favorite song.

 “Every day I wake up, then I start to break up

Lonely is a man without love

Every day I start out, then I cry my heart out

Lonely is a man without love”

You played the song so often that one day Marc asked you to turn it off. He had started to get sick of it, however now, he felt as if he would never get sick of it. He turned it up and danced around the house pretending that you were singing the song, and dancing with him. That night, Marc decided to sleep in your shared bed, instead of on the couch like he had been for the past few months. He took your Zepplin shirt, placed it on your side of the bed, and put on A Man Without Love. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within the next week, Marc visited your grave for the first time. He finally had some closure over your death. He placed down a bouquet of lavenders as he sat down,  telling you what he had been up to.

“So I drown it out like I always do,” he said through tears. “Dancing through our house, with the ghost of you.”

“And I chase it down with a shot of truth, that my feet don’t dance like they did with you.”

Special Thanks

OMG my Marc Spector fic, Ghost of You has reached 100 notes.

I have such a small following, and the post reaching that many notes means so much to me. Especially for it being my first fic. 

Literally crying right now. 

Thank you SO much

- H 

Plush Size

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Implied moon boys x fem! reader)

Summary: Missing the MK System, you decide to make a plush toy of Moon Knight for yourself, so that you have something to cuddle with when they are on missions for Khonshu. While this plush ends up being used for that particular reason, the moon boys are shocked to see that you are no longer as clingy to them as you once were. This leads them to become touch starved, resulting in them hiding the plush.

You miss them all very much. It has only been a day since they left but you miss Marc, Steven, and Jake very much.

Though they have been on missions longer than this most recent one they are currently on. Nevertheless, it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

As you look through Pinterest to look at sewing machine projects that you want to do. You see some pins on how to make dolls. This sparks the idea to create a doll in the form of your boyfriends’ Moon Knight persona that you could use to cuddle when they are gone. With this newfound inspiration, you get to work.

_________________________________________

3 Days Later…

Marc is currently fronting as he enters the key to your shared apartment. Though this mission was shorter, the desire to get home to you was what kept him going.

When he locks the front door, Marc notices the silence within the house. No tv nor music playing in the background.

Imagining the worst case scenario, Marc grabs his gun from his travel bag and begins walking around the house in preparation to fight to the death for you. He hears both Steven and Jake from the headspace, trying to reassure him that you are safe and more likely to fall asleep. Though he appreciates the reassurance from them both, Marc’s mind can’t help but wander to think the worst.

As he finally approaches the door to your shared bedroom, Marc finds you asleep on your bed. Although, instead of snuggling into his side of the bed like you normally would when he was gone, Marc is shocked to see you snuggling up with a plushie that looks nearly identical to what he looks like when he wears Khonshu’s ceremonial armor as Moon Knight. Marc smiles to himself as he returns to his regular clothes, beginning to strip to nothing but his boxers and crawls into the bed to get well earned rest.

________________________________________

In the coming weeks, Marc notices how often you cuddle with the plush version of himself and is a bit restless to say the least. Though Marc is happy you have something to remind you of himself when he is away, the feeling isn’t there when he begins to notice that you sometimes even hug the mini him when you both are lounging around together in your room or living room.

Despite Marc always being a bit closed off at the start of your relationship, you helped him open up. Once feeling as if he had to wear the world on his shoulders, that feeling slowly faded away when he was around you.

No longer receiving those cuddles as often as he was once used to, Marc begins to devise a plan. One that will ensure he gets your attention.

________________________________________

As you finish showering and changing into your pajamas, you exit the restroom and enter the bedroom.

When you walk to the bed, you notice that your Moon Knight plushie is no longer laying on the side where you normally sleep. In shock, you look under the bed to make sure it isn’t there. Noting it isn’t there, you move your pillows to see if they aren’t under the bed.

“Marc”! Have you seen mini you?”, you ask.

Marc comes in and says he hasn’t but agrees to help you find him (unbeknownst to you that he hid it).

________________________________________

Thirty minutes of you two looking and not having any luck. Defeated, you lay on your bed a bit upset.

Marc gets into bed next to you and wraps his arms around you. He is a little shocked by the fact that you are upset about this.

Curious to understand why that is, he asks: “Why are you upset about losing the mini me”?

You answer.“Because it’s something to remind me of you when we aren’t together. Also, I figured it would be a good substitute for when you don’t want to cuddle me as I know I can be a bit too much sometimes.”

Everything begins to make sense to him. Marc goes to your closet to get something. When he comes back out, you see that he’s holding your missing plushie.

“I’m sorry I hid this from you”, he says ashamed. “I missed your cuddles and thought that mini me was taking away your attention from me. Despite what you may think, I love our cuddle sessions. It’s because of you, I feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Can you forgive me, baby?”

The moment Marc finishes, he is shocked to see you get up from the bed and grab the plushy from him. You put the plush on your bed and pull him in for a hug.

“You know you can ask me for cuddles whenever”, you say.

Marc looks at you with puppy eyes, “Can we cuddle now?”.

You take his hand and lead him both to your bed. Both of you get settled in with Marc laying his head on your chest as you run your fingers through his curls. Staying this way until sleeps takes over.

Loving you is a losing game

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Steven and Jake are mentioned briefly)

Summary: Marc meeting you was one of the best things to have happen to him. However, the demons of his past make him feel otherwise. You help him see that the love you share is one that should be fought for.

A/N: This is what I thought while listening to the song Arcade by Duncan Laurence. Of course with a happier twist.

A/N 2: Purely for entertainment purposes, so please don’t come after me. As I said, I'm still getting used to writing pieces like this.

Marc Spector’s life has never been easy. From the trauma of his young brother’s death to everything he’s during his time as Khonshu’s avatar, he’s felt like a ticking time bomb. Though he’s tried to use his time as Moon Knight to right his wrongs, it never feels like it’s enough.

When he meets you, he begins to see that there is more to life than vengeance. Marc begins to let himself enjoy your presence when he and you hit it off at the gym.

You weren’t a gym rat by any means but you had started a membership in the hopes of getting in shape and learning self-defense by using their punching bag. Seeing you hit the bag by yourself catches his attention and he begins to give you some pointers on how to improve your stance. Over time, this leads to you becoming sparring partners and eventually exchanging phone numbers. Although,this leads to you all regularly hanging out outside your sparring hours.

The day he asked you out was a shock for him because not only did he actually let himself be brave enough to ask the question but you eagerly accepted his invitation. It’s even more surprising to find out that one date led to another. Then another until you both have officially unofficially started dating.

Despite everything going well, he knew that there were things he needed to tell you. About his DID. His past. Being the avatar to an Egyptian deity in exchange to right the wrongs from his ugly past.

This then leads him to begin feeling self conscious about himself. His inner dialogue begins to consist of questions such as: What if he didn’t deserve this chance at happiness? What if she thinks I’m crazy or thinks I’m making this up?

Marc then begins to hear his mother’s voice. Telling him that he is unworthy of receiving love and will only continue to destroy all the lives that he surrounds himself with. Steven and Jake try to snap him out of this but Marc is paralyzed. At this moment, Marc only thinks one thing.

“I have to break up with her before I hurt her”, Marc thought.

_____________________________________

“Marc, this isn’t funny. Stop joking, you say.

“I’m not joking. I think we should break up,” said Marc.

“But why, Marc? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course, you didn’t. You’ve been the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Then why are you doing this?” You take your hand in his, looking at him sadly. “Please, tell me why you’re acting as if I’m a disease.”

“Imthedisease.” He says as if he’s trying to rip off a bandage.

“What, baby?”

“I said, I'm the disease. I seep into innocent lives and destroy them.” He looks at you tearfully.

“Marc, that’s silly. What are you talking about?”

Marc then begins to explain everything. From the death of his younger brother to the lives he took during his time as a mercenary. He also makes sure to mention that he is the vigilante, Moon Knight, and has two other individuals living within his head. He concludes all of this by saying, “Loving me is a losing game.”

Once he’s done explaining all of this, Marc is waiting to see your reaction to all this. Will you call him crazy? Run away from him? Scream?

Instead, you take his hands in your own.

“Loving you isn’t a losing game, Marc,” you tell him. I love you and long as we have each other, we can face whatever life throws at us.”

At this, Marc pulls you into a big hug. He lets himself break down because he knows that you’re here to stay and love him. For his strengths and weaknesses, through good and bad times. He knows you will be there for him.

As you two are still embracing, he starts to believe that he is worth loving after all.

How Would the Moon Boys React: To you calling them by their first name based on the internet trend below: https://youtu.be/3FOLHWDY-4c?si=ZXIl1UkcNSCdvaZ4

Steven:

You and Steven have spent the day cleaning up around the flat and running errands around the city. Therefore, you both decided it would be best to unwind by reading in bed together.

Steven comes back into your bedroom with two mugs of tea for the both of you. You peck his lips in thanks.

“Hey Steven, before you sit down, can you please pass me that book on your nightstand?”

He turns around quickly. “Who is that?”

You giggle. “Steven, can you please pass the book over?”

Steven looks at you with those puppy eyes you love so much.“Why did you call me, Steven?”

“Because It’s your name, silly.”

“I’m not Steven. I’m your honey bunny.”

“Steven…”

“Honey bunny!”

“Steven…”

“ I’m not, Steven. I’m your honey bunny and that’s that.”

You smile and nuzzle into his chest. “Yes, you are.”

Marc:

You and Marc are watching a show on television, scrolling through your phones. Then something interesting comes up that reminds you of Marc that you just had to show him.

“Hey Marc, can I show you something?”

He looks up from his phone. “What did you just say?”

You start repeating your question again.“Can I show you some…?”

“I heard that part. I meant before that.”

“Hey Marc…?”, you say confusedly.

“Oh shit… what day is it?”, he starts checking his phone and looks up at the calendar.

No important dates. He thinks. Did he leave the toilet seat up? Did he forget to do the dishes? Did he leave on a mission without giving her a goodbye kiss before leaving?

“Hello. Earth to Marc…Baby, are you okay?”

“You called me baby? You aren’t mad at me?

You giggle.“No. But I was worried you were upset.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before Marc engulfs you in a hug. “I love you.”

You wrap your arms around him. “I love you too, baby.”

Jake:

Jake is currently working on his car outside of the flat. As a good girlfriend, you decide to go out and offer him some refreshments.

When you get outside, you see him working under the hood of his car.

“Hey Jake, I brought you some water and…”

You then hear Jake hit his head against the hood of the car as he mutters some curse words in Spanish.

You look at him concerned. “Jake, are you okay?”

“Cariño, stop calling me that!”, he says exasperated.

“What, by your name?”

“My name is Jake to you. It’s babe, baby, or daddy”, he says, giving you a smirk.

“Jake!”, you giggle.

“That’s it! He carries you over his shoulders and “You won’t be calling me Jake after this.”

“But your car…”, you start saying before he quickly interrupts you.

“Forget the car. I have more important matters to attend to”, he says as he enters your flat and locking the door.

How Would the Moon Boys React: To you wearing something sexy

Steven:

Looks at you in amazement as he admires your body all around. As if you were a deity of some sort, he brings one of your hands to his lips. He then goes onto telling you how beautiful you are as well as how fortunate he is to have you in his life.

Marc:

Straightens himself out before telling you to sit on his lap. This leads to a heated make out session that then leads to cuddling, with you still sitting in his lap. Though silent, both your actions are those filled with love and respect for one another.

Jake:

Gives you the look before walking over to you, carrying you over his shoulder and into the bedroom. The night being filled with endless love making with sweet touches and whispered sweet nothings to one another being exchanged between you both until morning.

How Would the Moon Boys React: To the Towel Prank: https://youtu.be/uECGeNk4cd0?si=e9RLZKJ2f7oymQt1

Setting the scene for all the situations with the boys:

You recently have seen the towel prank online and decided to try it out on your boyfriend(s). Therefore you set everything up in the bathroom by making it look like the camera is recording with the music playing in the background, dancing to it as you wear a strapless shirt and pair of shorts under your towel.

Steven:

When Steven walks into the bathroom to see you dancing in your towel, he decides to join in the fun. The moment you take off your towel, Steven’s eyes widen as he pushes you out of the camera to cover you up. This results in you both accidentally falling down, laughing with one another at the silliness. Nevertheless, he is relieved to see you aren’t actually naked and that nothing was being filmed.

Marc:

Marc looks at you a bit awkwardly when he finds you dancing in your towel in the bathroom. Once you take off your towel, he jumps in front of the camera. Once he sees you are wearing clothes under your towel, he gives you an evil look before pressing kisses to you all over your face.

Jake:

Jake gives you a seductive look as he sees you dancing to music in your towel. Before you can fully open your towel, Jake is already ahead of you and is already covering you from the camera’s view. Carrying you and having you wrap your legs around his waist as you look into each other’s eyes with love.

A/N: In case it wasn’t obvious, Marc and Jake were already aware of the plan you had. Hence they weren’t freaking out the way that Steven was.

What Would Couple Costume would the Moon Boys partake in with you for Halloween:

Sorry if this is too early for anyone but I already had some ideas ☺️

Steven:

Because Steven is your Prince Charming.

Marc:

Because he is your hero.

Jake:

Because he is your romantic.

HALLOWEENTOWN

Marc Spector x female reader

A/N: As I mentioned in the previous story I posted, I love the Halloweentown Series. Therefore, I wanted to implement it with a moon knight story the way I did with Crescent City’s Hunt Athalar.

Despite Marc not being big on Halloween, you begged him to have a Halloween movie marathon with him in honor of the American holiday aimed at scaring people as well as having them buy big bags of candy. With reluctance, he agrees. As he hopes that watching a few scary movies will cause you to want to get scared and cuddle with him since you hate scary movies.

____________________________________________

Boy was he wrong.

“Come on, Marc”, you say pleadingly. “You said you’d have a movie marathon with me.”

Marc grumbles. “That was before I knew we’d be watching kiddy movies.”

You pout. “Hey. The Halloweentown series is not kiddy.”

Marc chuckles at your pout. Not laughing at you but more giggling at you attempting to look serious, yet failing miserably at it. “Is too.”

Seeing that he’s still not convinced, you decide to come in with your greatest weapon. Your puppy eyes. You don’t use this often but when you do, Marc cannot resist you.

You give him puppy eyes. “Please, Marc? I promise, only one Halloweentown movie and you won’t have to watching anymore after that.”

It doesn’t take Marc long to eventually agree to your Halloweentown movie marathon.

Though it may not be scary movies that result in you getting scared and cuddling him, Marc knows that he will still be having a great time with you. As anytime with you is time well spent in his book.

____________________________________________

“What? Kalabar had a son? I didn’t see that coming”, Marc exclaims flabbergasted as he munches on popcorn.

You nod, smiling at the fact that Marc had gotten invested in this series. In fact, when you tried telling him that you could change the movie to a horror movie of his choosing, he declined saying that you might as well start the second movie.

By the end of the finishing the fourth movie in the series, you and Marc are cuddling and eating candy with each other as you talk about how the first and second Halloweentown movies don’t compare to the third or fourth ones.

Perhaps the thing you loved most about this was that for tonight, Marc enjoyed himself with things that some might consider childish. For it has been so long since he was one.

The Easter Hunt || Marc Spector x fem!Reader smut

Summary: Steven Grant is your boyfriend. You live a happy life together. On Easter, something unexpected happens. You are surprised to learn Marc Spector wants to get laid with you. Would you agree to that?

Warnings: smut & language & Marc being bossy

Words: 3280

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!Reader || Steven Grant x fem!Reader

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

A/N:  In order to dispel any doubts, we know Marc & Steven are canonically Jewish and we respect that. Nevertheless, for this particular fic purpose, we chose not to adhere to this specific canon aspect. It is our hope that you will understand & react with comprehension.To those who may have felt resentful - please accept our sincere apologies for any triggering you may have experienced.

Easter was a more laid-back holiday than Christmas. Undoubtedly, the holiday was filled with family, friends, and delicious food. On Easter Sunday, people would receive chocolate eggs and occasionally a bunny. It was enjoyable to be able to celebrate these things. Furthermore, spring had just arrived, which meant that new flowers bloomed and everything came back to life after a long absence. In order to welcome the seasonally warm air, many people opened the windows instead of getting cosy for the winter.

 Steven felt like he was on cloud nine; he had a cheerful mood. While the whole Easter dinner preparation was a bit overwhelming at times, he didn't mind as long as you were with him and Gus.

 Grant spent his free time painting eggs and hiding them around his flat since the museum was closed for Easter and Donna didn't come up with any creative, brilliant ideas to make his life worse.

 As you and Steven had been dating for a few months, you simply visited his place whenever you wanted. He even gave you the key. Your bag was full of stuff when you stepped into the flat. “Honey, I'm back!” You exclaimed.

 As soon as he spotted you, he exclaimed enthusiastically, "Hi!"

 You greeted him with joy, "I have everything!"

 He clapped his hands a few times. "Thanks. Could you place the bags on the counter in the kitchen?"

 As you nodded, you headed to the kitchen and put the bags on the counter. "I see you have cleaned a little. I'd help you if you waited for me."

 "In the past, you have said that staying in motion is always better. I wanted to do something."

 "I distinctly remember saying that we could clean and prepare the place together." You shook your head and started to unpack the bags.

 "But why would you have to work your beautiful ass off when I can take more of your responsibilities on my shoulders since I'm at home?" Steven asked with a smug smirk on his lips.

 "Because I want to help with everything, silly, but fine. Have it your way. What's next, boss?"

 "I think you should try to find a few things hidden around the flat."

 "The eggs are hidden around your apartment, right?"

 "Not only eggs." He replied mischievously.

 "I promise... if I find a gun here, I will make Marc apologise for this." You warned before you began looking through the flat.

 Mark responded to Steven within his head, "If she finds the gun and tries to blame me, she'll rather get smacked in the booty."

 Steven said, clearing his throat, "Shut the hell up."

 Looking through all the possible hiding spots in the flat, you walked around.

Eventually, you found a few nicely painted eggs. He clearly put some effort into them.

You smiled as you approached him. "That's it. Do I get anything for those?"

 "We have cheesecake, strawberries, beer and wine, and...," Steven rubbed your forearm, "Something in the bedroom."

 When he mentioned the bedroom, you raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's in there?"

 "Not much there yet, but we've been thinking for a while..." Steven rubbed his hands together.

 As you nodded and listened to him, you wondered what he really meant.

 Steven stated hesitantly, "Marc and I... We've been thinking, or should I say considering... He'd like to give it a shot as well."

 You chuckled a bit while humming. "Give what a shot?"

 Steven blushed as he said, "Oh, don't make me say that."

 "How else will I know what you mean?" You teased him with a smile.

 You were kissed on the cheek by him. “Some playing, you know. Playing for grown-ups.”

 "That doesn't ring a bell, sweetie." You kept on teasing him.

 Marc's low, soft grunt was virtually inaudible after he gained control. He rolled his eyes before towering over you. "I want that pussy!" 

 "Couldn't Steven just say so?" You asked. "Is that fine with him?"

 "He would try not to be. The body is mine, I must remind you."

 "Calm down your horses, Marc. If he isn't okay with it, I am sorry, but I am not either." You frowned.

 Marc glared at you, grinning a little too angrily and resting his hands on his hips. "Give me a moment." Immediately, he rushed to the nearest mirror. "Steven. Steven. Stevie! Fuck, you alive?"

 "I'm Steven, Spector. S-T-E-V-E-N with a "v" in the middle. How many times do I have to repeat myself?" Steven asked through the mirror.

 You sat down on the couch and crossed your legs while you waited.

Of course, you've slept with Steven before but only him, or at least you hoped it was just him, but honestly, you've never thought about Marc in this situation. It's strange how you got excited about the idea.

 They talked for a while; eventually, they came to similar conclusions.

 As Marc came back to you, he rested his hip against the desk near Gus' aquarium. "He doesn't mind at all."

 You got up from the couch and walked over to him. Your palms moved up his chest until they reached his shoulders. "Well, in that case, I don't mind either. To be honest, I am excited."

 "You have to stop giving me those eyes."

 "What if I don't stop? Will you punish me?" You cocked your eyebrow.

 He leaned in closer, fanning your cheek with his breath as he teasingly nosed your neck. Marc whispered hoarsely, "The kind of look you give Steven when you want to be fucked. If you aren't a good, cooperative girl, you're punished." He pulled back, taking in your look.

 "Perhaps I wish to be punished?" You winked at him, smiling.

 As he lifted your chin with his fingers, Marc asked in a teasing tone, "Is that what you want?"

 Biting your lip, you nodded.

 Marc's knee slid into the gap between your legs as he teased your mound. "Would you like me to fuck this cunt until you beg me to stop?" Marc asked again while moving his knee back and forth as he rubbed your pussy through your jeans.

 As you played with your lower lip, you gasped and hummed happily. "I will gladly accept it, sir. I would like it very much."

 In response to your whining, he stepped back and smirked in amusement. As he crossed his arms over his chest, he demanded, "Promise me, you're gonna be obedient." His voice was stronger and firmer this time around.

 With a frown on your face, you rubbed your legs together to increase friction.

Nodding, you took a deep breath. "I promise to be good."

 "That's my girl."

 A smile spread across his face. "I am now the one chasing the Easter Bunny, and we know who it is."

 Blushing you tried to run to bed, but Marc snatched you before you even got there.

Once he picked you up, you giggled loudly.

 "The Easter bunny has been caught. Now I'll be praised."

 As soon as you were back down on the floor, he made you walk backwards until you felt the cold wall of the room against your back. 

 Just then, Marc lowered his head a bit to place a wet kiss on the side of your neck, making sure to be as vocal as possible as he did so.

 With a soft moan, you grabbed Marc's cheeks and pulled him into a deep kiss, wrapping your arms tightly around him. You wanted to be sure he wouldn't pull away too soon.

 One of your legs was wrapped around his hip as he french kissed you.

 The kiss continued as you reached down to grab the hem of the shirt he was wearing so you could remove it easily.

 As he started working on your belt and the fly of your jeans, he let you tug it over his head and threw it aside, pushing you even more against the wall. "Is babygirl needy?"

 "Always." You purred and threw aside your own shirt as well.

 As your belt was also unbuckled and thrown aside, Marc opened your jeans and yanked them down rapidly, kissing between your breasts.

 You stepped outside of them. You were only wearing your white, lacy underwear in front of him.

 "Look at you, such a good girl in such defiant underwear. So fucking hot." 

As he worked on your bra clasp with his skilled fingers, he attacked your neck once more with another kiss. The bra fell down soon after.

 With a smile, you moved your hands up and down his chest until they rested on the waistband of his pants. "You're so strong, just bossing me around."

 He cupped your breast in his large hand as he reached down. He gently squeezed it, causing you to moan. Marc noticed your nipple was getting hard, so he pinched it between his fingers and gently started to pull. In response to this, you let out a tiny moan before you began stirring again.

 "Fuck. I want to suck your cock." You winced, staring into his eyes. "Please." You almost begged.

 He pulled back from your nipple and pressed heated kisses along your neck as both of his hands slid to your hips to pull your body more firmly against him - him as well as the noticeable bulge in his pants. Spector whispered, "You're naughty, and I like it. Let yourself go, babydoll."

 As you smiled, you moved your lips to his cheek and then his jawline. After that, you moved down his neck and chest, kissing every inch of his body. Before unbuttoning his pants, you remembered to pay special attention to his abdomen.

As soon as his cock popped free from his boxers, you licked your lips. You gave it a long lick from base to tip purring, "Yummy."

 Both his hands were in your hair as he gently bucked his hips. Marc praised in a husky voice, "Just like that. Such a little, naughty girl. Keep it up."

 Your mouth was wrapped around his tip as you sucked gently, muttering at the sound of his voice as you did so. Then, you took more of him in your mouth, moaning again, feeling how wet you became.

 Marc grunted, watching you from above, "You're so fucking skilled. Steven said you're good at blowjobs, but I refused to believe him. I was so fucking wrong."

As he bucked his hips forward, he caught the back of your head and made you swallow the entire shaft. "Just like that. Look at me. I said look at me, Y/N."

As you stared up at him, you softly growled around him.

 Your cheeks were cupped in his hands. He commented, "Such an obedient girl."

 After pulling him out of your mouth, you nuzzled his palm and purred. "Thank you, sir."

 "Up." He ordered simply.

 Because you promised to obey, you got up even though you didn't want to.

 Your tongue was warm as he kissed you deeply, tasting his precum on your tongue. Marc couldn't help but hum as he kissed you.

 Soon after, you were placed on the bed. 

After kissing your lips again, Marc proceeded to bite and lick his way down your stomach until he was kneeling in front of you.

 It seemed apt. You were a goddess, and he was your worshipper. And fuck, how much he wanted to worship you.

 Spector wasted no time sliding your lacy panties down your legs, finally ridding you of the obstructive material so that he could trail his eyes over your naked form.

 When he pulled you forward to press open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, Marc was able to smell your arousal, and it did little to quell the tenting in his ball sack.

 As you laughed, you placed both your legs on his shoulders, looking down at him with a playful smile. "Please, sir. I need you. So badly."

He leaned forward and swiped his tongue along your cunt before you could protest.

He thought you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. Marc gritted, yanking one of your legs over his shoulder, improving its position and burying his face in your beautiful pussy.

You moaned and cursed breathlessly, which spurred Marc on further. As he furiously tinkered with your clit while making some obscene noises, he buried his fingers into your ass, holding you against his greedy mouth.

As your hands moved through his thick hair, you grabbed it, letting out all sorts of sounds.

 His tongue was soon accompanied by his index finger. After slipping his digit in and out of your pussy a few times, his middle finger joined, stretching you out even more.

 Marc rubbed his tongue across your clitoris, sometimes catching it a little with his teeth.

 In the wake of the first climax, Marc flipped you over and climbed up, pinning you to the old mattress. The head of his cock brushed against your dripping pussy as he shifted again.

 While trying to calm down from your high, you panted deeply. It was nothing like the time you spent with Steven. Steven was soft and gentle, putting your pleasure first. Marc was aggressive and domineering.

What if you had to be honest? You fucking enjoyed them both. "I need you to fuck me hard until all I can moan is your name, Marc."  

He slid into your tight heat without another word, stretching you so perfectly that you thought you might explode. "Fuck." He mumbled against your neck, his shoulders tensed as he slowly began to rock in and out of you. "You feel divine. So tight around my dick. Fucking perfection. Damn. Thought Steven had made you lose just a little more. Thank God he didn’t. Fuck." He growled, the rumbling in his chest ten times more intense than it had been, his mouth claiming yours in a deep kiss as one of his hands tangled in your hair. "You're so fucking fine, doll."

 A hand was moved into his hair as you whimpered, "Your cock is fucking big. You are stretching me so nicely and fucking me so well! Ough! Yes!"

"Do you like it when I fuck your little cunt like that?" he said, as he caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

The pistoning of his hips struck you at the point where you saw stars, making his pace suddenly frantic.

While he pressed heated kisses to your throat, his teeth caught your skin as he sucked it into his mouth, leaving a hickey behind.

 Marc grabbed you by the throat as your pussy began pulsating around his cock. His hand was large and easily fit around your throat. He then began to choke you by squeezing slightly.

 He felt as if he was climbing a mountain - higher, higher, higher - before he finally crashed. "Oh fuck!" Marc snarled, his lips slamming against yours in a brutal kiss as he ran for his own release. As his cock started swelling inside you, his thrusts became more erratic and rough. He pulled one of your legs over his tense shoulder and continued to fuck you throughout your orgasm. 

 While biting your shoulder, Spector started firing ropes of hot cum into your pussy, unable to stop himself.

Whimpering his name over and over again was like some kind of prayer for you.

Having your own climax combined with the sweet feeling of him filling you up made it even more magical. It was still hard to believe, but you didn't regret a thing. "Fuck.. Marc..."

Marc gasped for air and fell on you, his tensed muscles glistening with sweat. "That was something."

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him. You gently stroked his thick, now messy hair with one of your hands. "That was something. I'm not sure I'll be able to walk."

Marc rolled off you and lay close to you, admiring the shape of your naked body while tracing the curve of your waist with his index finger. "Steven is lucky to have you as a girlfriend."

Since his touch tickled,you giggled. "I know he is. I am lucky to have him as my boyfriend."

Marc rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling as he slipped his hands under his head. "Why did you agree to that? To be fucked by me?"

Turning on your side, you looked at him as you nuzzled your pillow. "I don't know. You are different. I think my curiosity took over."

"When I heard so many of your complaints about me, I believed you were going to take him out with a solid blow to the head."

It's true, you are nothing like Steven. You are an asshole, no offence meant, but still, I just wanted to know you better," you shrugged. "And you? Why did you want to 'try' this with me?"

His voice became weaker for a moment. "It's been a while..." He paused. "It's been a while since I held a woman in my arms."

"So I was like a free whore to you?"

As he let out a sigh, he frowned. He stood up from the bed to walk to the nearest window and look out of it, as he said, "No. Do you realise how hard it is to share your body with others? You need to share your space with them, and that makes it uncomfortable. I felt everything he did to you, as well as the things you did to him. How do you like this fucking answer?"

 Following him was the first thing you did.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind and gently stroked his stomach while nuzzling his back. "I apologise, Marc. You are right, I don't understand it fully and I think that I will never do, since this isn't happening to me. Kindly forgive me for this stupid question. I still get confused." You said quietly. "I have a proposal."

While he did not return to you, he nodded, awaiting to hear what you had to say.

You explained, "No matter if it is sex or just cuddles, I'm here for you. Steven is a nice guy. I'm sure he will understand your needs."

 Marc frowned to himself before turning around and looking down at you. "Do you mean that seriously?

Looking up at him, you nodded. "Yes, I am serious. You both deserved some warmth and comfort."

The feeling was strange, unlike anything he had experienced before. With disbelief and happiness mixed within him, he smiled a libit.

"Your smile is contagious, Marc. I am glad to witness it. Could you do something for me?" You ran your palm up and down his broad, naked chest.

The man tilted his head, waiting for your request to be dropped.

"Could you... Speak to Steven if he has nothing against it? I am sure he heard everything."

"I promise," Marc said as he glanced down at you for a while. "Nice tits."

With rolled eyes, you got on your tippy-toes and flicked him in the forehead. "Now, Mr. Spector? Are you a big or a small spoon?"

"Big one."

You took his hand and pulled him back to bed, nodding. There you lied down and let him be the big spoon as he pleased. You pulled his arm around your waist as you pressed your back against his chest. "Comfy?"

While placing the kiss on your nape, he smiled, saying, "Yes, very comfortable."

Steven tried to take control of Marc's body and ask if you thought Spector was better than him in those aspects, but Marc didn't allow it; he simply wanted to enjoy the moment with you.

Più di te ♥ || Steven Grant x Reader & Marc Spector x Reader

Summary: As Layla searches for Marc, she discovers that there are two more people involved in the case. A big surprise awaits her when she discovers that her husband is not the same as he used to be.

Warnings: none, just Marc punching Steven & Steven punching Marc in revenge 😶

Word count: circa 3520

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader, Layla El-Faouly & Reader, Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly, Steven Grant & Layla El-Faouly, Marc Spector & Steven Grant

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

A/N: Marc's words are in italics

As you stood in the kitchen, you tried not to burn the breakfast.

You let Steven sleep in a little bit instead of waking him up when you awoke. All you wanted was to make a small, nice surprise for him.

After a loud groan, you heard a loud gasp that sounded almost like a scream, followed by an even louder noise.

Worried, you moved closer to the source of the spinning and gasped when you caught sight of Steven face-planting the ground due to the ankle restraint. "Oh my God, Steven! Are you okay?!"

 Trying to sit up a bit to undo the restraint, Steven repeated a few times, "Was I dreaming? Was I dreaming? Yes, apparently I was. Y/N, what are you doing here? I thought we were set for Friday."

 "Friday was yesterday and you let me stay here overnight," you reminded him and then helped him sit up before removing the ankle restraint. "You didn't hurt yourself, right?"

 "Friday was yesterday? Are you sure? I'm almost certain it's today..." Steven rubbed his head, trying to keep a straight face. "Oops, did it again?"

 You took his hand as you helped him to stand up, telling him, "I think you did, sweetie. Come on now, I made you breakfast. I'm hoping you'll like it."

His blushing was accompanied by a feeling of nakedness as he wore only a plain t-shirt and boxer shorts. "Give me a minute." Steven asked.

 You nodded and kissed his cheek, then headed back to the kitchen.

 As you were finishing up with breakfast preparation, a knock came at the door. As you went to open, you frowned.

 A visibly angry woman walked into the apartment like she owned it. "Where is Marc? Where is he?!"

You just stood there stunned by the whole thing.

While brushing his teeth, Steven peered into the main room from a bathroom, a toothbrush stuck in his mouth. His eyes were fixed on you. His mouth was full of foam as he asked, "Hhho datttt?"

Woman's frown deepened and she looked at you with her eyebrow raised before saying, "I should ask who is that?"

 Blinking and raising his hand, Steven indicated he would be right back.

He joined two women and stood close to you after a longer moment. "I'm sorry? Do you know me?" He asked, visibly surprised by the situation.

 Layla stared at him in disbelief. "Do I know you? Do you think I'm nuts?"

"I am his girlfriend, and this is Steven, not Marc." You told her.

 "His name is Marc and I am his wife." She protested.

 You instantly turned to face Steven. "Do you have a wife?"

 "Do I have a wife?" Steven blinked, his face turning pale as if the blood would float off. In fact, I don't have any! At least, I'm not aware of having any... By the way, my name is Steven Grant, not Marc. Steven. S-T-E-V-E-N. I work in a museum, I'm a gift shopper and I don't even know you! Y/N, I promise, I don't know that woman. This is the first time I'm seeing her. I assure you that I have never cheated on you. This is some unfunny coincidence!"

"This appears to be an unlucky coincidence, but it doesn't seem that way. It seems she knows you very well." You frowned harder, crossing your arms over your chest.

 "Steven Grant? What is going on here? Is this a cover for you?" The woman asked angrily. "It's sad you had to play with this poor girl like that."

 Steven wrapped an arm around your shoulders and exclaimed, "She's my girlfriend! And who do you think you are to attack her and me in my apartment?"

 "Exactly." You added, nodding.

The woman shook her head and began to walk around the flat. "This is crazy," she said to herself. "I searched for you for so long, but you just found all of this here. My name is Layla and I am your wife. Perhaps this will remind you of us." At that moment, she walked up to Steven and gave him a kiss.

He blinked a few times, his lips stiffening as she pressed against him. Steven tilted his head and gazed intently into her eyes as he pushed her a bit. “What the hell was that?” He growled, shaking his head. "Why did you kiss me?"

In an instant, one of his hands curled into a fist and threw a strong punch directly into Steven's own face.

You wanted to say something, but there were so many things happening that you stood there motionless.

Only Steven's shot at himself made you jump and scream out of pure fear mixed with shock. "What the hell is going on?!" You shouted, blinking.

 Steven stood up slowly, a look of surprise on his face as he said, "I'm not sure! I didn't strike myself!"

 "Don't you dare kiss my wife," a voice inside his head said.

 Steven cried out, looking around for the source of the voice, "But it was she who initiated the kiss!"

"Did you hit your head too hard, love? Who are you talking to?" You asked, reaching out to touch his cheek.

 Layla gave you a disapproving look as she asked, "Can you please not touch my husband?"

 "Would you please leave me and my boyfriend alone?" You snapped back.

Steven blinked, taking a few steps backwards. "As I said, my girlfriend is Y/N, and I don't have a wife!" The man reminded.

 As he glanced in the mirror with the corner of his eye, he was horrified to see his reflection in a different position. It was facing him fully, arms folded on the chest, and chin angled to the front.

Layla shook her head in disappointment. "Marc, this is madness. Drop the act and talk."

"I swear to God, if you don't leave, I'll call the police or scream so someone else will." You warned the woman.

Steven's reflection said coldly, "You kissed my wife, you fucking dumbshit. Do it again and I'll kill you."

Grant screamed loudly, trying to get as far away from the mirror as possible. "Have you seen that?! That damn mirror speaks!"

Layla and you both looked at the man even more confused than before. "Love, we're the only ones here. No one else." 

 Layla's annoyance was obvious. "Mirrors cannot talk."

 Steven exclaimed, "I'm telling you, it talked! I swear!"

 "You realize you look like an idiot to them now, don't you?" Reflection replied. "I am Marc and Layla is my wife."

 "Marc is speaking to me! He is inside the mirror."

 You looked into the mirror and then at him. "Love... I'm sorry to break it to you but it's just a mirror."

 Layla looked into the mirror as well, and said, "Maybe he really hit his head hard..."

 The man suddenly replied, but his voice sounded completely different. "He didn't hit his head that hard but he kissed you."

You looked at Steven. "He?" 

You didn't like it even a little bit as it was getting weirder with each passing moment.

Marc, who took control of Steven's body, scoffed. "Yes."

Angry and frustrated at the whole situation, you snapped at the man, demanding an explanation of what's going on. "Either you explain or I'm out of here forever!" You swore.

"I'm not Steven. I'm Marc." The man replied. "It's nearly impossible to explain. I don't even know where to begin."

"From the beginning would be nice, Marc." Layla replied irritated.

In one moment, you're Steven and the next, you're Marc?" You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I don't understand any of this."

"I'm Marc, but Steven sometimes takes charge."

Feeling lost, Layla asked, "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Exactly. Are you playing us both?" You questioned as well, feeling probably just as offended as the other woman.

"Ask me questions only Steven or I can answer."

"Where did we meet?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Where did we go before you disappeared?" Layla added with a frown, tilting her head a little.

"Well..."

As you looked at the other woman, you shook your head. "Is it okay if I offer you a cup of tea or coffee since our boyfriend and husband are acting crazy and cannot express a word?"

Layla nodded in agreement. She followed you to the kitchen and said, "Yes, I would kill for something warm. I've been looking for him for such a long time. Coffee, please."

Marc followed both women with a cold glance and then looked into the mirror. "Great. Any ideas on what we should do now? The very last thing I need is for my wife to be upset with me. Your fault, dumbass."

 Steven strode away from Marc, not looking at him through the mirror, as he told him, "Don't be rude and stop calling me names, I hate it."

The bulk of your time was spent in the kitchen with your unexpected guest. While you tried to be courteous and polite, every smile you made was fake just to keep the atmosphere calm.

 The two women were soon joined by Marc. "Listen, once again, let me explain the entire situation. But how about you opening your minds as well?" He looked at Layla and then he looked back at you. "It is required if you want to understand me well."

Layla nodded, looking at him.

As you nodded, you added, "But I warn you. I have a kettle full of hot water."

 He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and said slowly, "It's difficult to explain. It's like I have more than one personality within me. Sometimes my other self, Stevie, takes over."

 "Steven! It's S-T-E-V-E-N! Please stop using Stevie on me, I get anxious." Steven growled within Marc's mind.

 Laya and you looked at each other.

 After a moment, you looked at Marc or Steven or whomever and frowned. "So it's like two in one?”

 "I think it's more than two in one, but yes, that's what it is."

 "Why didn't you tell me?” Layla asked, expecting an honest answer. "I am your wife. I should know about something like this, don't you think?”

Marc rolled his eyes, resting one hand on his hip. "It is like my alternate personality. Sometimes I reluctantly give him control."

 Looking at him, you bit your lip nervously as you rubbed your palms together. "So, Marc, do I understand correctly? You are the original owner of the body, while Steven is a guest?"

 "You are correct, sweetheart." He gave a brief nod. Looking at the other woman, he frowned. "Moon Knight is well known to you, so why don't you believe me when I tell you there's another one called Steven?"

 Layla sighed heavily as she responded, "I saw the suit, so that was totally different, but it doesn't seem so hard now since you put it in a clear way. I'm just mad that you didn't tell me sooner."

Steven took control of Marc's body before he could react. "Marc wanted to say he pushed you away to prevent you from becoming Khonshu's next avatar."

"And... What about me? Why did I not know?" You asked hesitantly, not sure how to feel. "I don't even understand what you two are saying anymore."

Steve immediately walked closer to you, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I didn't know if everything was true or if my mind was playing tricks on me."

As you shook your head, you gently pushed him away. "Then why didn't Marc or whatever his name is come and say something? It's his body, it's his wife, and what the bloody hell am I in all this?"

Steven protested, "You're my girlfriend. I love you... And... I don't care about Marc! Sorry, Miss El-Faouly, but I want to be happy as well as I and Marc are equal beings."

"Do you really mean all that?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Of course, Y/N. I cross on my... On my heart and on the Scarab of Ammit."

Chuckling softly, you nuzzled his chest as you hugged him. Strangely enough, you began to cry, most likely due to the entire situation and the unexpected stress. It was still very jumbled for you at this point, but you felt like you wanted to understand more.

 Layla sighed and got up from her seat. "Okay, fine. This is all good, but could I talk to Marc now? I came here to settle some business with him."

Steven hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head and rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Don't cry... It breaks my heart... I didn't mean to hurt you in any way..."

The man glanced at Layla coldly when she spoke. "Don't you see I'm soothing my girl?" Steven asked. Then, he cupped your face in his hands as he looked down at you. "Don't you mind if I let them speak?"

 Wiping a tear from your cheek, you nodded at him. "Of course I won't. They are married in the end and it seems it took her a long time to find him. Let them talk."

Steven stepped back, looked into the mirror, focused and summoned Marc.

When Spector regained control, he looked at Layla.

"We have a lot to talk about Marc. But let's not drag Y/N into it." The dark-haired woman stated.

They both walked to another part of the flat so they could talk while you stood in that bloody kitchen.

Your chin rested on your curled palm as you took a seat at the table.

The amount of information you had to process was so overwhelming that you felt like your head would explode.

__________________________________

After talking for maybe an hour, Layla walked into the kitchen and gave you a friendly smile. "All is clear for now. Will you take care of him?"

You were surprised by her words. "I'll do my best."

Layla nodded. "Thank you." She then turned to Marc. "Keep an eye on her for Steven's sake."

Marc crossed his arms over his chest and nodded slowly. "You know I will. And you, you take care of yourself as well, okay, Layla? Don't get your sweet ass in trouble."

 "As long as you won't, I won't either. Call me when you know more. Okay?"

 Marc walked up to the woman, wrapped his strong arm around her waist, and gently kissed her. "Deal."

 You shouldn't be jealous; it wasn't your Steven, but still it was the body he was residing in. Despite being madly jealous, you looked away so as not to start a fight.

It wasn't long before Layla left and you were alone again with Marc or Steven. You were unsure of what to reply or do next. "So... Uhm..."

 "What?" The man asked in a rather harsh tone.

 Because of the tone, you flinched a bit and shook your head. "Nothing. Sorry."

"No, no, speak your mind." Marc said, taking a seat at the table.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say. This is so odd because there is this body and there is a man I love, but there are also you. You have a wife and I feel like this whole thing is so crazy." You told him with honesty within your voice.

 "Truth be told, it's not any easier for me," he said, stroking his messy hair with his hands. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not me anymore."

"I know. It must be challenging for Steven too." You whispered, shrugging a tad, not sure what to do with your palms. "I wish I could help, in some way."

"That's so kind of you. I'm happy he found someone like you. I find it very difficult to believe that someone with his strange personality can attract a girl though." Marc commented wryly.

"I don't mind him being a bit odd; he is just a sweet man," you replied with a smile. "If you are in the driver's seat, how does he feel... Does he feel exactly the same things as you do?"

 "Yes. The same applies to me since he is the one steering." Marc replied, getting up to stretch his back a tad.

 As you thought, your nails tapped against the wooden table. A moment later, you stood up and hugged him, wrapping your arms around him. "This must mean he would feel it." You replied and got up on your tippy toes to touch his lips with yours.

Blinking, he gave you a kiss in return, soon putting his hands on your shoulders to keep some distance when the kiss ended. "What was that? You're aware it's me, Marc, aren't you?"

 "But Steven definitely felt that," you said with a teasing smile. "And you returned the kiss in the end."

Marc frowned slightly, feeling a bit of blush appearing on his cheeks.

 As you walked away, a powerful blow was delivered to Marc's face. "Don't you dare to kiss my Y/N." Steven warned in Marc’s head.

 "Steven, don't do that! Marc, are you alright?" You asked worriedly, immediately returning to the man.

 The man was holding the bridge of his nose. Mark grimaced, saying, "If he breaks my fucking nose, I'll fucking lock him up somewhere."

 "If you do, then I will be the one locking the two of you somewhere and accidentally losing a key,” you warned..” Can I get Steven back, please?"

 A sigh escaped Marc's lips. "And what will I get for offering him my handsome body? Nothing. Not even a good word, but fine."

 A familiar voice spoke to you soon after the man's eyes rolled back. "I had to hit him. He kissed you."

 "Was hitting him worth it?”

 Steven growled loudly, shaking his head. "It wasn't."

You gently touched his nose before placing a soft kiss on it. "My poor thing. Don't do that again. Any of you," you said, fully aware now that Marc heard you as well. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Wow... I didn't realize how much it would hurt..."

"Oh, my baby. You need to be careful with that body. You want something cold on that nose?" Your voice was worried as you cupped his cheeks.

Grant nuzzled to your palms. "Yes, I think there is ice in the freezer."

"Sit down."

As soon as he did so, you went to the kitchen and looked into the freezer. Thankfully, there was ice there. Taking a few cubes and wrapping them in a towel, you returned to Steven with them. Placing the towel carefully over his nose, you asked, "Steven?"

As he pressed the cold compress to the base of his nose, his eyes became watery.

When you get better, can we go out for a snack? I didn't eat breakfast because Layla came in and it all turned cold. And I'm hungry." You said shyly.

Instantly, he smiled at you. "Of course, Y/N. You can choose whatever you want."

"I love you."

"I love you too. But please, do not kiss Marc next time. It makes me jealous. I mean, I asked you to be my girlfriend in the end... So please, don't kiss him. Just me. You can kiss me, but don't kiss him."

It was impossible not to laugh. My apologies! I won't kiss him again. Cross on my heart and on the Scarab of Ammit."

"Don't forget he's married. He has a wife he loves. Or that's what he says all the time." Steven rose to put the ice back in the freezer after his nose stopped hurting. "And I love you and I want to keep it this way."

"I'll dress up." After that, you ran to the bathroom to get ready for the day with Steven.

Steven smiled at you, but his smile disappeared as soon as you left the room.

Then he walked to the mirror and stood before it. "Don't you dare to touch my girlfriend," Steven said, pointing his index finger at the surface of the glass. "It was the very last time, Spector."

Marc reminded in a scolding tone, "And you don't put your hands on my wife."

"Deal."

"Okay, then, but I gotta admit, your girlfriend is a pretty decent kisser."

The redness on Steven's face increased as he gasped in anger. "Spector, quit it!" He commanded.

"I was teasing ya, buddy. Now get ready for your date."

Steven spent the rest of the day with you by his side. Your empathy and not treating him as a weirdo won him over. You were very kind to him, and didn't judge his mental state; instead you treated him like a normal man. You always understood the significance of things. You were that listening ear, the one who would wrap Steven in your love just with your soft face, tiny smile dancing in the corners of your lips and kind words.

Finding true happiness, Steven felt that it was what he had been searching for so long.