Marc Spector Imagine - Tumblr Posts

hi! i dunno if your requests are still open but if they are i was wondering if you could write headcanons for dr strange and/or tony with a male so whos sorta like a eldritch god/horror? if not i understand but thanks anyways(:

Marvel x eldritch horror male reader

  How did you know non-human reader fics were one of my favorites?

I sprinkled in some Steven Grant cuz I am obsessed with him, even though I haven’t watched the show yet, hope that’s okay lmao. I don’t know much about DID so I tried not to mention it much, and used what I know, so hopefully its alright.

I loosely based the readers main appearance of an oc of mine who is something like an eldritch horror themselves ^^

 I may have gotten carried away, but enjoy anyways.

Tony Stark

-          You meet when Tony is trapped in space with Nebula. You were just floating through space like always, taking in the sights and whatnot when you saw the ship and felt living organisms inside. One of them feels near death though, so you worry.

-          You haven’t interacted with many humans in your eternal life, so you panic and slither your everchanging form into the ship towards the dying being. Feeling around you with your smoke like mass, and using your abilities you can tell he is dying from lack of oxygen, so you make some.

-          He’s still falling unconscious, but not dying this time. So, you grace his mind just enough to get an impression, and take the form he would find most pleasing to look at. You end up taking him into your now only two arms, and holding him as he rests.

-          Things pass like in the movie, except you easily reverse what Thanos did and take the stones away from the ugly grape and fling him into the void.

-          Now that the threat is gone you grow close to Tony, and take great interest in human culture. You could learn it all immediately if you pleased, but having Tony show you and explain it made what would be your heart warm up.

-          In the beginning Tony, and all his companions, thought you were some type of alien that took human form, like the Skrull. So, it was kinda awkward to explain that you weren’t just that, you were what they called an eldritch horror.

-          Tony needed some time to come to terms with it, especially the fact that you were far beyond science. But after a while he seemed to just accept it, giving up that he couldn’t ever figure you out. Though he does try to at times still.

-          The two of you start dating, and it takes some time to get used too, mainly for Tony. You grow more comfortable letting your human go and just being more yourself. Though you keep your form mainly human.

-          You help out the Avengers at times, but mainly leave it to the heroes to go save the world. Though you will swoop in if they’re in life threatening danger.

-          You pick up cooking, though it isn’t very successful in the beginning, but tony seems to be very supportive, though he isn’t that happiest to be the taste tester as some of the dishes he swears are cursed.

-          You get better over time though.

-          The relationship is announced to the public, and you have to keep your human form when out and about for obvious reasons. The world is led to believe you have shadow based powers and have lived alone for most of your life, which makes up for you not understanding many parts of society just yet.

Stephen Strange

-          You meet when Stephen is doing magic work, maybe he has to cross over to the shadow between realities or universes to collect something or fight someone. He catches your attention by entering your domain, which normally no one can enter.

-          You keep your attention of the cloaked man, as he moves through your darkness with ease that surprises even you. His cloak flinches back when you reach a shadow up to pull on it, which confirms that it is alive.

-          The magic-user walks around your domain for a long time looking for what he’s after, but can’t seem to find head nor tail in the eternal darkness. You feel what’s almost akin to pity, like what you feel when you see a kitten stumble and fall. So, collecting a tiny part of your mass, you take a human-like shape.

-          The shape is like if you took shadows and dark mass and shoved it into a human shaped mold. You hadn’t really met humans before and you didn’t want to dig through his mind, so you took the next best option.

-          Stephen gets ready to fight when you appear, but when it becomes obvious, you’re friendly he tells you why he’s there and what he’s after. You offer to help him which he hesitates with at first, but ends up accepting. With little work of your powers, you’ve moved the two of you to what he needed

-          The two of you fall into talks, you mainly asking questions which he only seems to answer out of politeness as this is your realm, but as time passes, he becomes more friendly. He’s on edge around you in the beginning, but it lessens up.

-          When he leaves you vow to visit him regularly, which you then do. You pull apart the curtains of reality and step into whatever room he’s in, and as time passes you start to take a more human form as you learn about them. Though you keep certain features about yourself, like having more than two arms and smoke-like clouds rising from you at times, though Stephen doesn’t seem to mind at all.

-          The sorcerer grows to really apricate your company, and he treats you much warmer as time passes.

-          You dating is never really said in words, at some point you just start staying with him for longer, you start holding each other and kissing. Its only when Wong tells you to take your sucking faces somewhere else it clicks for the both of you.

-          Your relationship continues as normal, doing sorcery things, reading books, traveling places. Though now there’s more physical affection.

-          Stephen is very interested in the special brand of magic you use, though you explain it isn’t magic and just more you are bending reality to your will. He’s still very interested though.

-          He takes time off from being sorcerer supreme to spend time together, the two of you especially like traveling to other planets or alike to explore or go on holiday.

Steven Grant (Marc and Jake too i guess)

-          Unsurprisingly you meet Steven because of moon knight business. You first spotted him when he entered the afterlight as it is partly your domain, but before you could interact with him, he left again. You’re intrigued by the man, so you keep one of your many million eyes on him.

-          You let small parts of yourself start to slither into the human realm by poking holes in the fabric that is reality. Normally you would just have shoved a chunk of yourself out there, but the god that follows Steven around would notice immediately. Not that you couldn’t win with ease if the god wanted to fight, but you didn’t feel like it.

-          You had planned to grace over his mind for a shape when he slept, but he so rarely did. It made the small part of yourself you had put under his bed jolt as he got right back up, after he had gone to sleep. Flexing your abilities, you figured out there were not one, not two, but three people in the body, one of them being Steven.

-          Now you have always been an eternal everchanging being, so it didn’t weird you out or anything, you simply noted down for later to pay attention to who was fronting and that was it.

-          Weeks pass like this, and you’re comfortable just watching and observing. That is until Steven apparently gains control of the body in the middle of a battle. He’s lost and doesn’t even realize he’s in a fight until he almost gets punched.

-          Steven appears not to be much of a fighter, but you stay still until one of the people he was fighting pulls out a gun, which you now know is a weapon. You collect all the small shadows you’ve had cross over and mash them together to take form. You take a human form, the only thing showing you’re less than human nature are your eyes, which turn pitch black.

-          You make quick work of the goons, going as far as to crush the gun in your hand and flinging the people across the street and into a dumpster.

-          The god that follows Steven around immediately gets confrontational and curses at you and wants you gone, but you ignore him to crouch down to Steven and ask if he’s alright, lifting a smoke covered hand, where the smoke slithers around and seems to heal whatever bruises and cuts he has.

-          It takes some explaining and calming Steven down to explain who and what you are, and why you are there. He blushes when you explain how you found him so interesting and sweet you couldn’t help but want to stick around.

-          Khonsu seems to stop his cursing and threats when he figures out you are far beyond even his level of power, though the two of you don’t seem to realize. You don’t even notice when he seems to leave, giving you major side-eye.

-          One thing leads to the next and you’re spending a lot of time together, though its just you and Steven since you leave when you notice the other two fronting. You don’t want to make them uncomfortable or anything, and you and Steven thought that since Marc and Jake kept a lot of secrets in the past from him, its okay until you two know each other more.

-          When you start officially dating you end up introducing yourself to Marc and Jake, who both seem quite uneasy with you, but when they hear how you and Steven talk about each other they begrudgingly agree.

-          They won’t admit it, but they start to like you too, and get red in the face when you compliment them or hug them.

-          You and Steven talk about his interests for hours, and you can tell him many things that Khonsu doesn’t know or hasn’t told him, you even go as far as to tell him about how you have your own realm and alike. You visit it at some point, though there isn’t much to see as its just darkness and void.

-          Steven helps you learn the ways of the human world, though he struggles with it himself too, so you lean on each other for support. Though most days it can become quite a lot and you’ll just go home and cuddle in bed until Steven falls asleep and either Marc or Jake takes over, the man blushing when they realize they’re in your arms.

Paper butterflies

paring: moon boys x fem! reader; established relationship

summary: instances when moon boys found safety and love in your hands.

Who holds the reins of my desires if not my hands? My hands—my body’s gates of tenderness, the tools of my wonders, be they violent or gentle, be they both.

Natalie Diaz, from The Hand Has Twenty-Seven Bones—: These Hands If Not Gods

a/n: inspired by this lovely art piece.

genre: mostly domestic fluff

warnings: mention of nightmare, verbal harassment, swearing, slight violence

--------

• You place your hand on table corner, cupping the sharp edge so Steven doesn't accidentally hit his head when he bent down to pick up the spoon he dropped, the little gesture didn't go unnoticed by Steven.

To you, it was an instinct, most natural thing. Steven was baffled. No one loved him like you—you loved him intentionally and subconsciously, like every beat of your heart.

"You want some?" you stretch out your hand, holding out a small bowl of strawberries in front of him.

"Love?"

You hum in response, already chewing a piece of strawberry, juice dripping slightly down your lips.

He outstretches his hand, touching your cheek gently. He leans closer, pressing his lips on yours, his tongue swirling around the strawberry juice.

"Oh". No matter how many times Steven had kissed you before, his kisses still left you feeling giddy.

"Thank you, Y/n/n"

"Whatever for?"

For everything you are and everything you do.

"Nothing" he shakes his head. A mellow smile adores his handsome face.

• "Let me see"

Marc volunteered to chop the vegetables while you cooked, accidentally knicking his thumb finger.

"It's nothing, I'm alright, babe" he brushes you off and watches your eyebrows meet together in worry.

You ignore his words, giving him a 'what' look when his lips curved up in a smile. It doesn't matter if your boyfriends are the moon knight system, when they get remotely hurt in front of you, you panic.

"You've seen me get bloody many times before" he takes your fumbling fingers in his.

"I don't care if you are moon knight and have magical healing powers, you are my still my baby and I'm allowed to worry about you even if you dress up in your fancy suit with that silly cape and fight" you move past him to grab a band-aid from the first aid kit.

"The cape is not silly!"

Khonshu hit his staff on the floor.

Marc chuckles. "Hey, don't hate the cape", his thumb circles the top of your hand absent mindedly, "I saved you with that cape twice" he says, the smile never leaving his face once.

"How dare you talk about my powers like this? you little worm!" his voice booms.

"Khonshu is not happy to hear that" Marc chuckles again.

"Where is he standing?"

"On your right"

You turn your head to your right and stick your tongue out at Khonshu.

"Odd little mortal"

Now amusement laced Khonshu's voice, his earlier annoyance lessened.

• Khonshu have seen Jake smile once or twice maybe.

But when Jake was around you, that act came to him easily, natural as his skills with guns.

You two decided it was a nice evening was a casual stroll around the park, the fresh air and all. Besides, it would be nice to chill with Jake, you thought.

"Jake" you call out, watching him walk ahead of you.

"What is it, querida?"

"You dropped something"

His eyebrows furrow as he pats his pant pockets to check if he dropped something.

"This" you slip your hand into his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

He chuckles, "You are so cheesy, cariño"

"Oh, you like it", you smile back, watching the way his eyes crinkle and lights up his whole face. There is so much spark in his deep brown eyes—warm and tenderness.

He brings your interlaced fingers to his lips and presses a kiss on the back of your hand. This little gesture spreads warmth through your entire chest.

If Khonshu had eyeballs he would roll his eyes, Jake thought. But he ignored the God of the moon, continued to hold your hand for the rest of the walk.

• You knew Steven reads a lot. You wanted him to have something pretty for bookmarks. What better way to make it by yourself? After watching many pinterest and youtube videos, you made those cute butterfly bookmarks in different colours with different patterns on them.

"Yes, love?" he says, when you called him to get his attention. His gaze is still glued to his book.

You stride towards him to stand near his desk. "Pick one" you say, holding out your closed fists in front of him. Your grasp was gentle not to crush the butterfly bookmarks you are holding.

A small smile forms on his face, he closes the book and pulls down his glasses, taking it off and placing it next to the book. "This one" he touches your left fist, with that sweet smile still gracing his face.

You slowly open them to reveal a bright orange butterfly bookmark. You eventually open your right hand too revealing a blue one. "Since you are cute, you can have this too"

"Oh, these butterflies are lovely!"

"These are bookmarks, I know how much you like reading, so I wanted you have something cute, I know it's not much-"

He couldn't focus on your words.

You had his whole heart. How is it possible to love someone this much? He felt like his heart is about to leap out of his chest.

The smile on his face widens, "Oh, darling". He gently takes off those bookmarks and places them safely on his desk. He then pulls you on his lap, taking your face between his hands, he presses the softest kiss ever, as if physically giving you his love for you.

• It wasn't new to see your boyfriends have nightmare in the middle of the night. Marc had the most nightmares, Steven would have them too. But it was a bit surprising when you saw Jake screaming in his sleep.

"Hey, hey, Jake, Jake..." you didn't shake him too hard in case if it made him even more alarmed. You prop yourself to sit and switch on the bed side lamp. "Jake, babe, you need to wake up, it's okay..." you touch his chest, trying to shake him.

He screams, his hand clutching the left side of his neck. He jolts up still screaming, his eyes opening.

Even though you don't see his face clearly in the dark, the dim light from the lamp illuminates his face. His eyes are wide with panic, darting around the surrounding.

"Hey, hey, it's just me" you carefully touch his shoulder. "Baby, it's okay, you are safe now, you are safe..." you half whisper, keeping your voice gentle.

The panic in his eyes vanishes slightly when he hears your voice and sees you next to him.

Not saying a word, he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your chest.

Oh, God. What kind of nightmare he just had?

You don't dare to ask. You hold him tightly as he is holding on to you. "I'm here now, you are safe" you repeat it again, rubbing his back in soothing gesture. "It's okay, baby, it was just a bad dream, you are with me here now, you are safe..." you continue to whisper calm things in his ear, until you feel his breath becomes steady and uneven. You press light kisses to his head in between saying those comforting words.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He replies few seconds later, "no".

You didn't want to push him. You gently run your fingers through his hair. "Want me to punch the monster under the bed?" you joke, in an attempt to ease the situation.

He don't say anything but you could feel him smile against your chest, then a slight chuckle.

That's more than enough for you. "You are safe now, baby" you say it again, like a promise. You kiss his forehead.

You stayed up for a while to make sure he was completely calm and sleeping peacefully as he could be in your arms.

• A jerk at bar decided it would be fun to mess with you despite you making it clear you aren't interested. He cursed you out and moved away. You sent a glare in his direction before walking back to Marc.

"Is everything alright?" he instantly rushes to your side after seeing your annoyed face.

"Don't worry, I'm good" you smile at your man, trying to assure him, "Just a creep"

Anger flashes in his eyes. "Did he bother you? Where is he?" he clenches his jaw.

"Marc, it's okay. I got it handled. We are here to have fun remember?" you rub his arm up and down, calming him down.

He didn't want to ruin the night for you so he put on his best smile and kissed the side of your head. "Let me get our drinks. The usual?. He can be peaceful for you tonight.

"The usual" you smile back at him.

Moments later, you turned your head to hear a slight commotion.

It's that same jerk who verbally harassed you arguing with Marc. He 'accidentally' spilled drinks on Marc and now smiling like a smug bastard.

You roll your eyes in annoyance.

Why was Marc trying to smooth things over when it's not his fault?

You storm towards the jerk, staring right in his face. "Hey asshole, shut the fuck up or I'll make you shut up"

"What did you say, bitch? The fuck you gonna do? Cry? Run to your man?", he laughs mockingly.

"What did you just say to her, you piece of shit?" Marc lost his patience.

Before Marc could get to that jerk, you clenched your fist perfectly and throw a strong punch to his jaw.

"Or that" you shrug, shaking your fingers. You take a glass of drink from nearby table and chug it in one go.

He cradles his jaw, blood spilling from his mouth, his gaze was devoid of mockery, now full of anger and fear.

"Now, apologise to my man" you gripped his collar with a death glare.

My man.

Marc couldn't help but smile.

"Geez! Sorry, man" he admits, defeated.

"That's better" you let go off him.

"So much for fun" Marc smirks.

"I had fun" you smile sweetly. " I know you could take him out, but no one messes with my man and leaves. No one"

"I'm proud of you, baby" he kisses your knuckles. "That was so damn hot" he whispers in your ears, making you chuckle.

"Our girl is a badass"

"Agreed"

You never showed them your tough side before.

All of your boys are absolutely in awe and turned on. Oh, you are definitely going to have fun that night, alright.

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 

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

FOR SCIENCE | the project proposal

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (3.2k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: descriptions of mental illness, depictions of DID, fetishization of mental disorders (DID), potentially unethical scientific practices, no smut in this part NOTES: again, please don’t read this if you’re concerned at all with research ethics, as this is NOT a good demonstration of scientific procedures and studies. DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

next part →

Marc Spector’s psyche was a psychologist’s wet dream.

Three distinct personalities, completely separated from each other, all occupying the same host body. At one point, all mutually unaware of the others, but now living together in solidarity and (relative) cooperation.

Meeting Marc Spector was a happy accident—but meeting a man with a clearcut case of Dissociative Identity Disorder as a Professor of Psychology? Now that was just pure, dumb luck.

You had met Steven Grant first. You’d run into him at the British Museum during a university-sponsored visit. Your interaction had been brief, but it was memorable for you nonetheless—there was just something about those soft brown eyes and dopey, shy smile that melted your heart.

Imagine your surprise when you accidentally ran into that same man on the bus, only for him to introduce himself as Marc with a midwestern American accent and a cold, calculated gleam in his stare. He was forward and confident—very much unlike your previous encounter with him. When you called his bluff and swore you’d interacted with him under the guise of Steven, he pulled you aside and gently tried to justify the confusion.

“It’s—I have this...condition. It’s—have you ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

You had tried hard to fight your smile.

“Yeah, I’m familiar with it.”

It was only revealed to him—after his winded and lengthy explanation—that you had a doctorate degree in clinical psychology and specialized in mental disorders.

Steven’s curiosity was piqued, and Marc silently hoped you’d be able to shed some insight into the functioning of his fragmented mind. You quickly established an easy friendship, somewhat reminiscent of a relationship between a client and therapist—although you knew and cared for each other on a much deeper and more intimate level.

Several months later, you were finally introduced to the most elusive alter within the system—Jake Lockley.

You began to spend the majority of your free time with the men—all three of them seemed to be relatively taken with you. Steven was sweet, Marc was shrewd, and Jake was steadfast. It was sometimes difficult to conceptualize that they all shared the same physical body with how differently they behaved.

It hadn’t started as a project—genuinely, truly, it hadn’t. It wasn’t your intention to be so captivated by those big brown puppy-dog eyes or the softness within his smile. And the feelings you had for him—for all of them—were real, and raw, and indisputable. You would never, ever, ever do anything to make them feel uncomfortable or jeopardize your relationships in any way.

Which is why this was such a bad fucking idea.

Your nails drummed against the side of your porcelain coffee mug as your nervously chewed on the cap of your red pen, making a futile attempt to focus on grading the research report in front of you, but your attention was clearly elsewhere. Your eyes kept darting to the clock on the wall across from you, watching the second hand tick away slowly. The coffee shop was playing gentle soothing acoustic songs, the smell of cinnamon lingering in the air, but even the coziness wasn’t enough to shake your nerves.

“Hey, there, Doc.”

Your head perked at the sound of a familiar voice, a warming hand clapping your shoulder as Marc Spector walked to the other side of the small table and sat down across from you. You groaned at his greeting, pulling your reading glasses from your nose and setting them on the table in front of you.

“Marc, I swear, if you call me that one more time, I’ll—”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, although he was smirking slyly at you.

“Alright, alright, jeez—what’s got you wound up so tight, huh?”

He reached for the paper on top of the stack in front of you, reading off the title aloud.

“An In-depth Investigation Into the Underlying Psychological Causes of Erectile Dysfunction in Men Under 50.”

His face contorted in a look of disgust.

“Jesus—that’s gotta be the most boring fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.”

You watched as his eyes fluttered briefly, his posture sinking and his features softening. When his eyes regained focus, he shook his head, huffing.

“Bugger off, Marc—I think it sounds plenty interestin’.”

Steven smiled graciously, offering the packet back to you. You accepted it tiredly, throwing it atop the pile of what seemed like an endless supply of mediocre student submissions that had yet to be graded.

“Thanks, Steven, but Marc’s right—my brain’s fried. I swear, if I have to read another shitty case study about men whose dicks don’t work, I’ll gouge my eyes out.”

The man chuckled at your confession as you shoved the stack of papers into your briefcase clumsily, snapping it shut without a second thought and letting it fall back to the floor beside your table. You carefully picked up your mug and took a long, slow sip—your coffee was barely lukewarm, at this point, as you’d be sitting at the cafe for hours, working quietly as you patiently waited on your friend’s arrival.

Although Steven was blissfully oblivious, Marc was observant. His consciousness pushed to the front, studying you carefully—your white-knuckled grip against your cup, your shifty eyes that were looking everywhere but at him, the tension in your shoulders and nervous bouncing of your leg.

“Alright—what’s wrong?”

Your gaze snapped over to him where he was sat with arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed in suspicion. You tried to force a smile in an effort to cover up your uncertainty.

“Nothing’s wrong, Marc. Promise.”

You held his gaze intently, trying to convince him with your half-hearted response. His stare didn't waver, and after a few brief moments, you had to look down, overwhelmed with the intensity of his scrutiny.

“Alright, let’s try that again. Y/N—what’s wrong?”

You let a long, exasperated sigh, running a tired hand down your face. This had been weighing on you for a few days, at this point, and you still weren’t sure if you could handle the emotional labor this conversation would require.

“It’s true, nothing’s—nothing’s wrong, per se, I just—I just need to talk to you. I’ve—I have this idea—”

“Like—a work-related, science-y idea? You want Steven? Or—I can try my best to help, but sometimes you get excited and start talking really fast and I can’t keep up, but—”

“No, Marc, it’s not—I mean, it’s not really science-y, but like, also—it kinda is? I don’t know how to explain it, but I really need to—”

“I mean, whatever it is, you seem pretty worried about it, so obviously it’s important, and—and I just wanna make sure we’re giving you whatever response you need, or, at least—”

“Jesus, Marc, if you’d let me finish.”

You clipped, and his jaw snapped shut instantaneously, somewhat taken aback by your outburst. You were normally so controlled, practiced with your expressions, so seeing any sign of emotional imbalance was startling.

Guilt immediately flooded your stomach after you lashed out—you buried your head in your hands, taking a few slow, deliberate breaths in an attempt to quell your rapid heartbeat.

“Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean—this is just... I’m not sure how to go about this.”

You felt the featherlight brush of calloused fingertips against your forearm, coaxing your face away from your palms. When you finally lifted your head, Steven had returned, his eyes soft and reassuring. He pulled your hand into his, squeezing briefly before rubbing his thumb comfortingly across your knuckles.

“S’alright, love, truly. Take as much time as you need, and—and if there’s anythin’ you need from us, it’s yours. Just—whenever you’re ready.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies flitting in your stomach at Steven’s gentle promise. You inhaled once more, before finding his eyes.

“This—I need to talk to all three of you. Can you—are you in a place where you can all be co-conscious?”

Steven’s lips turned up at the corners at your thoughtfulness. He received verbal responses from both Marc and Jake—a confirmation that they were both actively listening.

“’Course. We’re all here. Is—do you have a preference, as to who you’d like to speak with?”

You returned his smile, offering a slight squeeze to his hand.

“I mean—since you’re already fronting, might as well stay, huh?”

Steven blushed, trying to fight the giddiness that came from your validation. He quickly steeled himself, reminding himself that you were struggling to open up to him.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready, then, yeah?”

You cautiously pulled your hand away from his, mostly to keep yourself grounded and get out what you needed before you second-guessed yourself.

“So.”

You cautiously began.

“I had this—this idea. And it’s—it sounds crazy, and I get that, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, especially because—well, I just feel like this is something that could have damning effects on the entire field of psychology, with both practical and theoretical applications, but—that doesn’t mean—I don’t want you to feel obligated by any means to agree, or—or to feel pressured into anything, and I definitely don’t want you to think that—that I’m using you, because that couldn’t be farther from the truth, I swear, and—”

“Y/N.”

His tone was soft, a quiet interruption from your rambling, and your eyes widened in concern. However, he offered you a reassuring nod.

“Just tell us what it is, yeah? We’ll go from there.”

You nodded slowly, squeezing your eyes shut, before beginning again.

“There’s this huge debate in psychology. It’s pretty much the basis of a lot of our research—the whole nature versus nurture debate. Basically, it’s all about how much of our personalities can be attributed to genetics versus how much can be attributed to our life experiences.”

Steven was listening intently, leaning forward into your words.

“Well, it’s—it’s a concept that’s really difficult to research, because, well, we don’t really have a basis of comparison. The best thing we have to go off of is when identical twins get separated at birth and grow up in different places. Or, at least—that was the best we’ve had up until this point. Does—does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

He assured, nodding in acknowledgement. You only hoped the other two alters were keeping up.

“So, basically what I’m getting at here, is, well—you, and—and all three of you, really—Marc and Jake, you guys provide a really, really unique opportunity, because, well—you share a body. So, physiologically, you’re completely identical. The only thing that’s different about you is who you are, so—your life experiences and memories and things like that. You’re—you’re like the perfect example of how our experiences shape our beings.”

“Right. Right.”

Steven followed your train of thought carefully, brows furrowed. You took a deep breath. This is the part you were dreading.

“So, I had this thought... you three boys are so vastly different from each other. Like, really, really different, and—and you each have your own preferences, things like that, but—but you still have the same body. In my Abnormal Psych course, we’re studying intimacy and desire right now. So—so what I was wondering was about your—your sexuality. Like, to what extent are your sexual preferences due to your biology rather than your cognition.”

Steven blew out a shaky exhale, though he tried not to appear perturbed by your words. His mind was silent—he could feel the intense focus from his alters, now hanging on your every word.

“What if there was a way, to, you know, test, how different your sexual preferences are? And to test and see how your arousal is different, or the same, based on locations of stimulation and things like that?”

Bloody fucking hell.

In a split second, Marc was fronting, Steven slipping back into the headspace, completely overwhelmed and unsure of what to say or how to react. You noticed the abrupt switch, and after recovering from the brief whiplash, you felt panic spur within you. You’d scared him away.

Marc’s brows were furrowed, like he wasn’t completely picking up what you were putting down.

“So, what exactly are you suggesting?”

You closed your eyes.

“I guess—what I’m suggesting is that you—you help me research. You—you let me study you, each of you, independently, to see—to see how different your sexual behaviors and preferences are.”

“Like—like a questionnaire, or something?”

Marc questioned, but when you shook your head, eyes casting downwards, it suddenly dawned on him. Steven’s departure made sense. Everything made sense.

“So... so lemme get this straight.”

Marc made a stopping motion with his hand, gesturing for you to pause.

“You—want to have sex, with me—with us... for science?”

“Well, I mean, it—it doesn’t necessarily have to be with me, I could—we could find someone else, if you’re more comfortable, and—and I could just observe, or—”

“So you’re a voyeur, now?”

You jolted and Marc’s vulgarity, eyes quickly scanning your surroundings to make sure no one was listening in on your conversation. Luckily, the cafe was relatively deserted at that point.

“No! No, that’s not—I’m just saying, with what I’m suggesting, it—it would make the most sense for the researcher to—to be more hands-on, but that’s...”

Your voice trailed off, staring at a speck of grime on the table, trying to calm the rapid racing of your heart.

Yeah, seems she's interested in being real hands-on, huh?

Marc struggled to hold in his snickering at Jake’s internal dialogue, but after seeing the worry that was clinging to your features, his sympathy prevailed.

“Y/N.”

He spoke calmly, cool and collected. Your eyes flitted to his, where he was watching you intently. However, you could see the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“So what you’re saying is... you want to have sex, with me, for science.”

He reiterated, and you opened your mouth to protest, to defend your credibility, to rationalize your bizarre proposition, but instead, a long sigh escaped you as you admitted defeat.

“Yes. Yeah. That’s…exactly what I’m saying.”

A brief silence stagnated between you, and there was a tightness forming in your chest as every worst-case-scenario began coming to fruition in the forefront of your mind.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to overstep, or—or—”

“What, exactly, would this entail?”

Marc inquired, unable to deny his curiosity. You blinked once, then twice, processing his words.

“So—so you’ll do it?”

He held up his hands as if to tell you to slow down.

“Just—hang on. Hypothetically speaking, what—what would this even look like?”

Excitement zipped up your skin as you reached down into your briefcase, pulling out a manila folder full of several sheets of scribbled ideas and disorganized thoughts.

“Well, see, I’ve been brainstorming—”

Christ, she has the whole thing planned.

Steven’s voice sounded faint, breathless, winded. Marc ignored him, instead focusing in on your sudden enthusiasm.

“—and I came up with a research plan. So, the way it would go—we’d meet for the weekend, three weekends in a row, with a week break in between. Each alter will have their own weekend to be the subject of study. Day one, we—well, you would lead the sexual encounter. Do what you want, showcase what sex usually looks like for you, what you like, what you don’t like—”

Marc's mind was reeling. He shamelessly attempted to ignore the effect your words were having on him. Do what you want. What you like. To you.

You were still talking.

“—and then the second day, you’d let me take the reins. I’ll psychoanalyze your behavior from the first day, and synthesize that with all the information I already have about you, and I’ll try to—well, I don’t wanna say push your buttons, but—basically, as shitty as it sounds, I’d be trying to bring to light any vulnerabilities, prod at the soft spots, stuff like that. Try to see if I can find what it is each of you seeks out through sexual intimacy. Does that make sense?”

Marc shook his head, lost in thought, but he blinked away the fog in his mind and quickly corrected himself with a nod.

“Yeah, I mean—I think so? Would this—what would you do, once it’s over? Like, what’s the point?”

“It would never be published, or shared with anyone else, I can promise you that. It’s—it would mostly be for me. Kind of like a passion project, I guess. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and, well...”

Passion project?

What’s she mean, ‘she’s been thinkin’ about it for awhile?’

Marc almost shushed the voices in his head aloud, trying to clear his head of static so he could properly take all of this in.

He looked up at you, and you were staring up at him with eye round and hopeful, almost reverent as they passed over him. He blew out a slow breath.

“Do... can we have time to think about it? To talk about it?”

The fuck do you mean, jefe? I’m ready to start right now.

You nodded encouragingly, although Marc caught the brief glimmer of disappointment in your eyes.

“Of course, Marc. Take as long as you need. And—please don’t feel obligated to say yes. I mean it. I know—I know this kind of came out of left field, and—and I don’t want to violate any boundaries, or—or jeopardize our friendship in any way, I would never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, just—”

You stalled your tangent with a slow breath.

“Just let me know, okay?”

Marc nodded at you, smiling softly and contemplatively as he rose from the table and exited the coffeeshop, leaving you to stew in anticipation and something adjacent to remorse.

The call came in the next day, at 11am on the dot. It was Steven on the other line when you answered, walking out of the lecture hall doors as your class adjourned.

“Hello?”

You answered.

“Mornin’, Y/N. It’s, uh—It’s Steven.”

You giggled.

“I know, Steven. I have caller ID, and believe it or not, your accent is kind of distinct.”

You could practically hear him blush on the other end.

“Right. Yeah. Well, I just—I was callin’ to, uh—Christ, of course they made me do this, I can’t even—”

“Steven.”

You interrupted gently, your calmness soothing his nerves to some degree. He took a breath.

“Sorry. I—We talked it over. The whole—your experiment. And—and I think we’re all up for it.”

You froze in your tracks, students continuing to rush around on either side of you in the hallway. Your hand was shaking.

“I—really? Are you sure?”

“Well, no—I mean, yeah, I just—of course, I’ve got some reservations, but, I mean—it’s for science, yeah?"

A smile was creeping up your face.

“Yeah. Yes. For—for research purposes.”

Yeah, solely research purposes, my ass.

Marc quipped internally, and Steven gulped.

“Right, then. Could we—shall we meet again today, or—whenever, to talk it over a bit more?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you.

“That’d be perfect. We can meet same time, same place as yesterday?”

He gave a hum of agreement, and you felt suddenly breathless as the reality of the situation began to set in.

“Right. I’ll—I’ll see you then, okay, Steven?”

“Yeah, ‘lright, cheers.”

“And, Steven?”

You called quickly, hoping to catch him before he ended the call.

He hummed in response. You smiled.

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”

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.

A One-time Job || Marc Spector x Reader

Vol 2

Summary: Who would have thought crushing a scooter could lead to a tomb robbery, which in turn may lead to a steamy night with a handsome fella?

Warnings: unprotected sex, drunk sex

Word count: circa 8090

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant & Reader

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

Rating: explicit! (+18)

A/N: Because this fanfic does not follow canon story, Marc does not have a romantic connection to Layla

As the eventide sky bloomed red, the land cooled, and as Marc came to love the black skies and the moonlight, Egypt became part of Spector's soul in a way that he couldn't sometimes comprehend.

His love for sand grew over time; the sand dunes were the playful waves of the desert, they rose and fell as if the desert was breathing.

A desert that he loved so much taught him how to do so much with so little, to adapt and overcome in a way that allows life to thrive.

Marc Spector was a former mercenary who was left for dead in the desert; a person rejected by society at some point.  

After the Moon God spared Marc's life, it was time for Marc to embark on a process of scouting the road less traveled, checking its safety, making sure it leads to someplace of greater importance than sticking to well-known routes. To undertake such an exploration, it took courage, a pure seed of faith, and a firm commitment to do what was right. Marc, however, was not the type of man to be easily scared - he accepted his new role with full awareness and promised to fight the crime as the Moon Knight. 

A new quest awaited Marc - he got a tip about ancient artifact smugglers raiding Egyptian tombs, and they apparently were working with no one else but Arthur Harrow himself.

Despite preferring to work on his own, Marc accidentally got a young woman involved in the business during the manhunt he conducted last week. It was impossible for him to foresee that a girl would park her scooter in such a narrow alley, almost in the middle of it. He probably wouldn't crush it with the car he stole if the scooter was parked closer to the building, but shit happened.

It was exactly how he ended up in one of Cairo's bars, drinking whiskey and scanning the room with careful, brown eyes, looking for the person he was set up with.

To say the least, you were pissed. Your scooter was crushed, the dude left his number, and he almost fled. Fortunately, he was more honest than you thought, because the number was real.

You walked into the bar he had set up for the meeting. Before entering, you adjusted your jacket and took a deep breath.

As soon as he spotted you entering, he raised his hand to signal his location.

You waved and walked up closer to him as you gave him a soft smile. "So, little break from crushing scooters and running after people?" You asked, sitting next to him.

"A little." He was trying to follow the joke. Please accept my sincere apologies once again, miss."

"Oh, it's okay. I just broke my only mode of transportation." You shrugged, waving at the bartender. "How will you repay me?" You asked openly.

"What do you want? I can write you a check or...," He hung his tone, "I have another suggestion."

The last offer caught your attention, and you moved closer. "Other proposition? I don't take payments in nature."

Your face caught his attention as he studied it with his own brown eyes; you were a very pretty girl, he had to admit. You contrasted the soft features of your face, rosy lips, and perfectly shaped brows with the full curves of your hips as you sat next to him in tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt. "I didn't mean that. Well, since you're from here, I think your knowledge might be useful to me."

As you stared at him, you couldn't help but admit; if it wasn't for him crushing your scooter, you would happily hit on him on your night out. He was quite handsome. "I'm from here indeed, but what can I do to help you?"

As he tapped his fingers on his glass, he said, more to himself than to you, "So I think you'd find it easy to get into somewhere."

You nodded as the bartender brought you a drink and said, "Possibly, it depends on what place you mean. I won't help you get into a bank or anything like that. What's your plan?"

"I'm heading for the east side of the desert, where there is a tomb that has not yet been opened. That's my destination."

As you sipped your drink, you frowned.

If that asshole hadn't crushed your scooter, you would've ridden there yourself. Did you have a competition to find a treasure? "Oh really?" You asked, trying to make the most casual tone you could muster. "What would you find there? It's just an old tomb."

"There is a smugglers group that raids tombs, stealing artifacts, gold, and other things. I want to track them down and stop them."

"So you're some kind of secret police?" You laughed and patted all of your pockets. "Great. Hey? Do you smoke?"

"I do. Do you need a lighter?"

Taking out your lighter, you sighed, "I need a cigarette." Your lighter was empty.

Marc pulled Chesterfields from the pocket of his leather jacket. He offered one to you.

After thanking him, you took a cigarette and lit it. "Well..." You hummed, taking a drag of the cigarette. "Since we discuss such things, I suggest we change the location to a less public one. We can meet at my home."

He got up, nodding at you.

After finishing your drink and paying for it, you showed him the way to your place. "I usually use it for work and as a hiding place." You told him before opening the door to let him in.

The flat was filled with books, maps, and souvenirs from all over the world.

Despite the messiness of your apartment, he thought it was an interesting place.

Marc rubbed his fingertips against the books on one of the shelves.

As you sat on the bed with your laptop on your lap, you hummed and said, "The valley on the east side of the desert, you say... Are you just looking for that group or are you looking for something specific within it?"

"I want to retrieve the things they will steal."

"What do you mean?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have a feeling there's more to it than you tell me."

"Only artifacts. We both know they have one purpose. And I know they have been observing this place for at least two weeks."

As you typed something on your laptop, you nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't there much. I would know more if someone hadn't crushed my scooter."

While inspecting your locum further, Marc rolled his eyes. "I apologized."

"I am kidding, don't get angry. I was searching for a way to open this tomb too, but I couldn't find a key to open the door. But what I did find was this," you showed him the picture on your laptop. "Can you see this?" You asked him as you touched the screen.

Crouching next to your bed, he watched the screen. "I guess it's some kind of riddle."

"Exactly!" You placed the laptop on the bed, slipped off of it, and sat on the floor next to him with the picture right in front of you both. "Well, you are almost entirely right. This is indeed a riddle. But you see those little gaps? That is a hidden entrance with the riddle as an opening mechanism."

Suddenly, it struck him. "My guess is that it is a Ptolemaic hinge."

"You think?" You pondered this and grimaced. "Wait! Of course! Why didn't I think about that?"

He replied, "Sometimes all you need is the right perspective."

"Or a proper partner in crime." You giggled all excitedly. "Shall we begin preparations? Should we rest first?"

Your words made him chuckle. "I don't even know your name, sweetheart."

You stared at him a bit shocked, and then it hit you. Your cheeks turned red. "Oh, shit! Right! Sorry. I am Y/N and you are..?"

"Marc." He reached out his hand to you. He shook your hand with a firm grasp.

Squeezing his hand firmly, you nodded. "Nice to meet you, Marc. What are your plans?"

"I think that would be the most effective way of getting around there," he pointed to a spot on the screen, "Before midnight, and just wait for them to show up."

"And what will we do when they arrive?"

He replied, cryptically, "And this, my dear Y/N, will be something interesting."

As you looked at your laptop, you smiled and said, "I'll take my gun. Great. I'll go get ready so we can leave."

"Wait. Wait. Let's set everything up. I have my motives to catch them, but what about yours?"

"I travel a lot, and I like to end up somewhere I shouldn't just to see an ancient temple or old ruins. In a nutshell, I like adventures. But my main reason is that I'm trying to get a guy named Harrow. He killed my uncle to steal some artifacts he had in his collection. What are you really after, Marc?"

"I cannot unfold them yet, but I think you will understand me better tomorrow for we both have a common foe." Marc replied, getting up. "I should leave to prepare."

"Fine, when and where should we meet? Just so we're on the same page." You questioned, looking up at him.

"Tomorrow at 10 pm, we'll meet at the bar where we met today. From there, we'll drive as close as we can."

Nodding, you confirmed, "Tomorrow, 10 pm, at the bar. Got it, and I'll be there ready to go. It's so exciting!" It was nearly impossible not to giggle with joy.

Marc offered you a surprised glance; the last thing he expected was a girl he just met fangirling about a possible upcoming exchange of fire.

Once Marc left, you couldn't help but jump in place from pure excitement. Your entire plan sounded so amazing that it seemed like a dream.

When all the emotions had subsided, you decided to start getting ready for tomorrow so that you would be fully prepared.

Marc waited for you on the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette and checking his phone from time to time.

As you sat next to him, you casually asked, "Is my partner in crime ready for some fun?" The clothing you wore was carefully chosen in order not to scratch you, but also to prevent you from getting heatstroke.

A look was given to you; you wore tight, fitted combat pants, black boots, and a white shirt with thick stripes. "Hi. Much. And you? From what I can see, you also took some time to prepare for this event."

"Of course. Who would enter an ancient tomb without getting ready. Especially when we might be pursued by smugglers. From experience, I know they love to carry guns." You confirmed, tightening your shoelaces.

A holster was attached to his thick, leather belt. "I'm ready too, so nothing will surprise us."

You nodded enthusiastically as you said, "I have one too. So we are safe and sound on this adventure, I believe. We know where we need to go but how will we open the door?"

"I think I'll be able to open the door."

You immediately perked up. "You know how?! When did you solve it? How?!"

"Trust me." Marc briefly ran his fingers against your chin, smirking. "Get in, Y/N."

Immediately after letting out a quiet purr, you laughed for a moment. You followed him into the car. "Before we get there, I want to settle one more thing with you."

Taking a comfortable seat in the driver's seat, he closed the door. "Yes?" Marc asked, placing his arm on the back of your seat.

You looked at him fully seriously and said, "We enter in together and leave together no matter what happens. Can I rely on you, Marc?" When the questions dropped you offered him your hand.

Taking your hand, he said, "Deal. And after we're done, we won't return to your crushed scooter."

"Oh! Thank you for reminding me about that!" Nodding, you laughed and rolled your eyes as you settled into your passage seat. "Don't worry. The deal is the deal, but I honestly forgot about this already."

"You're fast at forgetting things." He joked, starting the engine.

Soon, you two got close to the tomb.

You had to park the car at a decent distance from the destination so as not to be seen.

Marc and you walked through the sand, keeping an eye on the surroundings.

You couldn't get rid of the butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't your first adventure, but you still felt like a kid in a candy store. It was more than exciting. You were curious about how he solved the entry problem, and you couldn't wait to see what he found in the tomb. "Based on what I see, I think we are the first ones here, or maybe they have already entered." You said, trying to see something in almost complete darkness if not counting the dim light of the moon.

"Down!" Marc snapped at you and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to lay flat on the sand. "Look carefully over there." He snapped, pointing to the tomb's entrance where two dark figures stood. 

He removed the backpack he was wearing and pulled out a pair of binoculars. You received it after he checked them. "What are you seeing?"

Sighing deeply, you looked through the binoculars. When you looked closer, it didn't look as good as you had hoped.

At this point, you had a sense that there was more going on than just a 'smuggler group'.

It looked more like something out of a cult. So many goons were present. "My little eye detects cars and goons. Lots of goons with guns. I think I see Harrow.... He is standing there when they try to open the front door for him. What next?"

Marc announced, "We'll visit them."

The binoculars were moved away from your face as you asked him, "Excuse me? Ya just want to walk up there, say 'hi' and politely ask them to let us in first?”

"Cool your horses. I told you I have a plan. Come on."

Raising your eyebrows, you glanced in the direction of the tomb. You weren't sure whether or not you liked it, but you had an agreement after all, and you really wanted to get inside. In the end, you followed him.

As two of you sneaked closer to the tomb and group of people, he instructed, "Be careful and prepared. You can use the gun if needed."

As you looked around carefully, you stayed close to him. You hissed in a quiet voice, "That's right, but only two guns against a few machine guns isn't a good match. This doesn't add up."

Marc waved at you to calm you down. "Be quiet. Stop panicking."

Upon getting close enough to you, the man made you crouch, so the two of you remained in the darkness of the desert.

As you watched how they tried to open the gate, the two of you exchanged glances.

Marc muttered under his breath, "They're deluded."

Looking at everything that was happening, you whispered, "Yes, indeed. Trying to open it this way will take them ages." Looking around one more time, you tried to figure out whether the two of you could possibly work it out.

"Just hurry up and open the tomb!" Arthur himself yelled loudly to his men. "We've already wasted enough time. Let's not waste more of it."

Marc looked at you. "Stay close." He emerged from your hideout in the shadows moments later. "It's been a long time, Harrow. You can't even use a Ptolemaic hinge properly, as I can see."

While you watched him in shock, you remained silent. As a result, you just observed what was happening at this point.

"Steven... Or is it Marc at this point? I can see you finally got here." Harrow greeted him with a flat smile. "You must be desperate to come here by yourself."

The specter approached the other man, tapping his chin. "What's inside that you hired those idiots to get into? They have no clue what they're doing. Also," he gestured at you to join him, "I'm not alone."

Only your eyes were visible from your hiding spot as they glistened in the dim moonlight. With a frown on your face, you left your hiding spot to join Marc just like he wanted, even if you didn't like it. Slowly, you walked to Marc's side. "Hi?"

"This one is completely new to me. You're changing allies so quickly." Arthur chuckled.

"I know you!" You growled loudly. "Your goons killed my uncle for an artifact. I saw you on the recording!”

Harrow gave you a gentle smile for a moment. The nice man who wasn't keen on giving away something I needed? That is a shame. I'm sorry, but this is more important than one life."

If Marc had not grabbed your shoulder, you probably would have jumped on Arthur right away.

A fake smile appeared on Marc's face and he turned to you, leaning forward so that only you could hear his words, "Calm down. You will be able to avenge your uncle, but not now. Put your emotions aside and concentrate."

Mark walked to the wall of the tomb, counted something in his mind, and pushed one of the huge stones. This caused a huge granite block to move aside, revealing a narrow corridor inside.

As you ran up to Marc, your eyes widened and you gasped loudly. In spite of everything, you asked, "How did you do that?!"

Harrow said simply, "Isn't that cute? You've found someone who shares your interests. Such a shame it's over. Get rid of them both!"

When the first shots were fired, you cursed and ran for cover. "This is not how I expected it to turn out!"

Marc screamed, pressing his back against the stone wall, reloading his gun after a few shots were fired. "Go ahead, I'll cover you! Take whatever you find!"

"You... Are you sure?!" You screamed, hiding behind the cover again, firing a few shots yourself. "I won't leave you here alone!"

Marc yelled, waving his hand briefly at you. "Go!"

"Don't die here!" You followed his command and ran into the narrow corridor.

Being unfamiliar with what you could find here did not make it easy at all. "Fucking hell..." You groaned once you got further into the tomb.

Marc managed to shoot two of Harrow's smugglers. As long as he wasn't sure the group had rearranged their positions, he stayed under cover. When he realized the group had changed positions, he ran after you.

After a moment of walking, you stopped in front of the two different corridors. There was one going left and one going right.

As you took a deep breath, you tried to decide which way to turn when someone grabbed your shoulder. The first thing you tried to do was to punch the person who grabbed you, but when you saw Marc's face, your fist stopped. "Oh, thank God. Are you ok?"

"Don't ask silly questions now, let's go." He pulled your hand, taking your left side.

The two of you soon entered a large chamber with a stone altar in the middle.

As you looked around, you couldn't believe what you were seeing. It was better than you had ever imagined.  All the hieroglyphs and sculptures were in almost pristine condition. "Look at all that!" You exclaimed excitedly and then realized you were still holding his hand.

After clearing your throat, you let go of it and looked at the altar. "Do you think it's there?"

Mark said, not realizing he was holding your hand tightly. "Picture the hieroglyphs on the walls, and I'll collect everything."

Several artifacts, as well as a golden Anubis statue, were soon placed in the backpack. "Come on! Let's find a way out."

You were taking the last picture before putting your phone in the pocket. "There should be a hidden path somewhere in this area. We just need to find it."

Marc rummaged through his pockets and cursed. "Y/N! Lighter!"

No time for a smoke break!" you joked, but quickly fumbled in your pocket to get your lighter.

He lit it and put his hand up. A slight windblow put out the fire soon after. "This way."

You nodded and followed him, grabbing your lighter from him as you passed.

Smugglers and Harrow were on a manhunt after you, so you could hear their screams.

You checked to make sure that your escape path was not visible before running after Marc until the two of you reached the outside world. "Are we safe now?"

As he ran alongside you, suddenly he lost his footing and rolled down a dune, pulling you behind him.

As he stopped rolling at the base of the dune, he laughed. "Yes. You bet we are! And they got fucking angry at this point for being fucked by one unstable mentally ill man and a beautiful woman by his side."

You laughed as well, resting your hand on his chest and resting your chin on it briefly. "Oh, I bet they're pissed, and c'mon! Don't call yourself that! Not to ruin the moment but we should leave before they decide to go back outside. We can celebrate in my flat."

Marc handled the bag for you and got up, following you back to his car.

You felt safest in the car when both of you were sitting in it.

You looked at him as you placed the bag on your lap. "Let's get outta here."

He started the engine and drove off. "So you saw Harrow before?"

"In a way, yeah. I had no idea who he was, but I tried to find him. I didn't succeed until today." You nodded, stretching your legs. "Is he your old buddy from school or something?”

"Acquaintance." He replied shortly. "Open the bag."

As he asked, you opened the bag. "You picked up a lot of stuff. I see gold, artifacts, and manuscripts. I hope I can take something. I need a souvenir from such an adventure." You pulled out an old, nice-looking bracelet and shrugged. "The finder keeps the find."

When he saw you rummaging through the backpack so eagerly, he smiled. "It will suit you. Hey, where would you like me to drop you off?"

"We should stop a few streets away from the flat. We can buy some beer, go to my place by foot, and then celebrate."

"Are you inviting me over?" He asked, smiling wryly at you. "And two days ago you were about to send the police after me."

"I still can, so don't push my buttons, Marc. A woman never forgets." You warned him by placing the bag next to your legs. "To answer your question, I will invite you over a second time. For whatever happened back there, we need to drink. That was something."

He nodded, remaining a tad silent while he was driving.

As you stated, the car was parked or rather left a few blocks away.

While he was on his way to your flat, Marc bought some alcohol, keeping an eye on the backpack you were carrying.

It was a peaceful walk to the flat, filled with chatting.

When you arrived at the place, you opened the door and let him in. You placed the bag on the couch and looked at him. "Maybe you'd like to take a shower after such an adventure? I need it desperately, especially after you rolled me in the sand."

Trying to keep a straight face after hearing your offer, he cocked his brow.

Taking off the shoes, you muttered, "I have more sand in my hair than in my boots. I'll go first."

"Your flat, your rules." Marc replied, watching you disappear into another room.

When he heard the shower running, he dived into his backpack and pulled out several manuscripts. "Steven, wake up. Will you be able to read and translate those? Remember that we're looking for any clues about the Ankh Amulet."

As soon as Marc's eyes rolled back and Steven took charge, the man sat down on the floor, spread the sheets out in front of him, and ran his fingers along the verses. "I think I can. I'm not really proficient at ancient Egyptian, but Layla might be able to help." Steven's attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of a shower. "Wait a minute, we aren't in the hotel room. Where are we?"

Marc replied after overtaking the body, "It's none of your business. And don't you dare to mention anything to Layla."

Standing under the warm water, you hummed happily at the sensation. Lastly, you were able to get rid of all the sweat and sand you accumulated from that wonderful trip. Your excitement still lingered in the back of your mind. You thought about Marc. He was an interesting fella and you hoped to get to know him better.

You dried yourself off after the shower, tucked your hair in a bun, and dressed.

Since you were at home, you wore shorts and a checkered shirt.

You remembered to prepare clean towels for your guest. 

You left the bathroom and smiled as you saw the manuscripts on the floor. "My, oh my, you are getting right to work."

A smirk appeared on his face. "Do you by any chance know an ancient Egyptian?" Marc asked with a hopeful tone.

"I don't know much about it, but perhaps I can look online." You shrugged, looking over his shoulder.

"Ok, no need to, it's fine." He gave a short reply.

"Go take a shower. It helps with thinking." You encouraged. "I left a towel for you there."

"Thank you." He said, getting up. After you showed him the way, Marc left for the bathroom.

Before walking to the kitchen, you glanced at all the manuscripts and shook your head.

It only took him a few minutes to remove dirt, sweat, and sand from his body. He appreciated you letting him use the shower. Having only known him for three days, he expected you to be more cautious having him in your flat.

You were sitting on the countertop with a cigarette in your hand and a bottle of beer next to you when he left the bathroom. 

Because of your really short shorts, it looked like you would be sitting only in your shirt since your legs hung in the air. Your hair was already down as well.

Marc improved his jeans in the corridor. His eyes immediately fell on your legs.

Men are visualisers by nature, and it was exactly who Spector was as well. Observing your long legs with perfectly shaped calves, he could sense that your body was lean and tense with smooth, silky skin on top. After clearing his throat, he said, "Thanks for your hospitality."

You shook your head and handed him a bottle of beer. "No problem. At least this is something I can do. Now we can relax and rest before our next adventure."

Marc accepted the bottle, thanked again, and sat down at the table. "Your enthusiasm for the adventure is contagious. Do you have anything specific in mind or do you just want to feel the tension, excitement and desire?"

"I just love to explore. To see those places untouched by men for centuries, to see their mysteries and beauty. And you?"

"I have personal reasons that I'm not eager to share. Please forgive me." He apologized softly.

Giving him a nod, you smiled softly. "I'm not pressing, no need to apologize."

"You were brave back there."

"Says the guy who just walks up to the bad guy, saying hi as if he was his best friend." You laughed and took a sip of beer before taking a drag. As you shook some of the ash into the ashtray, you shrugged. "Not my first trip, and not the first time I've been shot at. I'm used to it."

"The way you look, I wouldn't say so. You look like a girl from a wealthy family, standing aside from all the trouble."

As you laughed, you brushed your still wet hair with your hand. "I guess we have something in common. You look alike, yet you step on the tail of the smuggler with the utmost vigor for some reason."

Taking another sip from his bottle, he chuckled a bit.

You took another sip, rocking your legs a little.

Marc got up, taking another look around your flat. "Are you living here alone?"

"I mostly use it to rest, prepare, and plan during my travel breaks." You explained, watching him. "Is it strange for a girl to live alone?" You asked.

"No," Marc replied honestly, "I was just wondering whether your boyfriend wasn't getting jealous of you living on your own."

"Well, he would have to exist first in order to be jealous." You concluded. "There's no need to worry about someone coming in and beating you for being here. Well, unless you annoy the hell out of me, in which case I'll do it myself."

A voice in Marc's head said, "Tough one," but Spector ignored it.

As he downed his bottle, he turned to face you. "I just wanted to know."

"Now you know. So what about you? Your wife or girlfriend won't mind if you work with a woman?" You asked, taking a drag of your cigarette. "I'm sure that I would."

"I don't have anyone." He replied honestly. Having anything to do with me won't result in you being pursued by any girlfriend or wife."

"Two singles! We're so lucky! Kind of sad." You sighed.

"What do you mean?" Marc asked, setting the empty bottle on the kitchen counter and lighting up a cigarette.

"Stop fucking talking and instead start acting, Spector." The voice within his head seemed relentless. "She likes you, I sense it."

You shrugged, finishing your beer. "What I mean is that it would be nice to return home to someone who cares and misses you." After saying it you hopped off the counter and grabbed one more beer. "You want another one?"

He followed you and took the offered bottle out of your hand. "Thank you, Y/N."

"No problem, Marc.” You gave him a smile. "Since you like to end up in odd places with odd people, let me show you where I ended up during my travels."

This is how the evening unfolded.

Marc just saw your pictures from each place, and you told him about what actually happened. It was fun talking to someone who listened to you.

You didn't stop at just two beers each, so after a while things got a little loose.

"It was a big, old ship!" You giggled, telling him one of the stories.

Marc laid with his head on your lap at that point, looking up at you and chuckling whenever you said something funny or got excited about something ordinary. You had a very cheerful attitude, and he regretted not having met you before.

Marc ignored Khonshu's plea to move his ass and not let the girl decide what to do; he had been sick of God's bullshit for the past few weeks.

Marc reached up to play with a strand of your loosened hair. "Ya pretty." He complimented you out of the blue.

When his words made you freeze, you were playing with his hair and giggling at your own story. You stared at him with confusion. He may not have meant it, but it was actually nice of him. "Thank you. You aren't that bad-looking either."

Laughing, he rolled his head back a little, his eyes closed. "Don't pretend you don't like me that way. Come on, I know I've got your attention."

"Maybe you did. Even if you did, what then? I think you're handsome." You were honest, immediately regretting saying it as your cheeks were covered in blush.

He looked at you, smirking. "Knew it." Playing with your hair, he touched the side of your neck, letting his hand slide down your collarbone, to your décolleté.

You raised an eyebrow just observing, curious to know what he would do next. "I see your hands like to wonder, huh Marc?"

With his index finger, he gently lowered the neckline of the shirt, peering inside. "Hmm. Nice boobs."

You chuckled and slapped his hand away, rolling your eyes. "I didn't say you could look in there."

"What if I want?"

When you looked at him, you got a nice idea that was probably affected by the alcohol, but you didn't care about it. "Well, then you should pay for that pleasure."

He slowly sat up, furrowing his brows, looking at you. "Like? Pay how?"

As you gently caressed his cheek, you said, "You need to pay like this." Your lips gently caressed his as you pulled him into a sweet kiss.

Your taste spilled onto his tongue, and he let out a moan, making out with you slowly, letting his tongue dance with yours as one of his hands instinctively cupped your breast and kneaded them.

As his rough hands played with your breast, you let out a quiet moan. You smiled as you pulled away from the kiss to grab the hem of his shirt so you could pull it over his head.

Having let you do so without protest, he immediately shifted his kisses to your jawline and to the side of your neck. A low grunt came from his lips as he kissed your warm skin.

A soft sound escaped your lips as you felt his kisses on your skin. Having someone so close again felt good. Your hand moved slowly to his chest. You felt each scar on his body.

Marc quickly pulled away to help you take the shirt off. "You're so goddamn pretty, Y/N."

At this point, you didn't try to hide from him since there was no point. You were completely naked in front of him. "Do you mean that or is that just alcohol talking?"

"I meant all of what I said." Marc growled, stealing another kiss as he cupped your breasts in his hands, massaging them, brushing his thumbs over your already hardened nipples. "Look at you, doll."

As his lips touched yours, you gasped, purring happily. Your palms rested on his shoulders and you straddled him, pushing him a little down. "I would rather look at you, handsome."

He laid comfortably on the mattress, immediately grasping your hips, massaging you there. "Look at you. So eager."

"Difficult to not be eager with you by my side. Especially after our little adventure." You hummed as you ran your hands down his chest, softly scratching his skin with your nails while rolling your hips to grind against him. "Is that your gun or you are just as eager as I am, Marc?"

He chuckled darkly to himself, caressing the curves of your hips and waist. "Well, well. You're so hot, Y/N."

His hand traveled down his body and Marc adjusted himself within his jeans as the bulge became uncomfortable for him. "This is what you're doing to me."

"Oh really? I feel flattered to hear that. Shall I help you again?"

He couldn't take his eyes off you; your face flushed with blush, eyes glistened with sparkles of desire and need of closeness, your breath hitched. "Yes." He demanded within a soft tone.

"So demanding. You need to receive some more attention. I will take care of you,"

After those words, you leaned down to kiss him deeply one more time before moving to his neck. While he caressed the curves of your hips and waist, he chuckled darkly to himself. "Well, well, you're so hot, Y/N." Marc said as he adjusted himself within his jeans as the bulge became uncomfortable for him. "That's what you're doing to me."

"Oh really? I feel flattered to hear that. Shall I help you again?"

He could not take his eyes off of you; your face was flushed with blush, your eyes gleamed with desire and need, your breath was tense. "Yes." He demanded in a soft voice.

"So demanding. You need to receive some more attention. I will take care of you." After these words, you leaned down to kiss him deeply one more time before moving to his neck. Next, you positioned yourself between his legs. As you stroked him through his pants, you giggled, "I wonder if you'll fit in. I can already see you are big."

With one hand on your cheek, he stroked you there with his thumb as his upper body rested on his elbow. Marc bit his lower lip as he observed you carefully. With one hand, he unbuckled his belt.

Not breaking eye contact with him, you bit your lip and nuzzled his hand.

Soon, he undid the fly of his jeans and pulled his cock out, giving himself a stroke.

Your palm wrapped around him and you stroked him yourself. After placing a brief kiss on his hand, you leaned down to swirl your tongue around his tip.

He gasped, not stopping himself from looking down at you.

Your warm tongue moved around his tip before you moved away a bit, giving him a few strokes. Then, after sending him one last smile, you wrapped your lips around his cock tightly. Purring around him, you swallowed as much of him as possible.

Marc started grunting loudly, instantly slipping one of his hands into your loosened hair to deepen your moves. "Such a good girl, just like that, sweet bean."

As you hummed happily at his praises, you continued sucking his cock. Your palm moved to his balls to massage and play with them gently.

Marc's muscles tensed as the blissful feeling spread across his body. He rolled his head back and laid comfortably on the bed, stroking your scalp with one of his hands.

You pulled away, replacing your mouth with your palm. "Feeling good? How about we try something better?'

He raised his head and gave you a look. "Yes to whatever you have to offer, doll."

"Look at you. So eager." You chuckled and sat up. Giving him a look, you started slowly removing your shorts, showing nothing else under them.

"Fuck." He whispered to himself, admiring your nakedness and smooth, tanned skin.

You made sure to stretch a little bit to fully present yourself to him. Then, you once again straddled him, wrapping your hand around his cock. Soon, you slowly slid down on him, letting out a moan as his cock stretched your pussy.

His hand instantly found its way to your hip where he gently massaged you, letting out a soft grunt, rolling his head back, resting it against the mattress. "Fuck. Oh, fuck, Y/N."

You rolled your hips, looking at him with a smirk on your lips. "Feels right, sweetie? You feel so good, so deep in, fuck."

"So good." Marc replied, gasping heavily and stroking your curves.

You started to move faster, moving on his cock while playing with your boobs. His name was like a prayer that you repeated, moaning just for him.

He moved his hands up your body, resting them on your breasts, kneading them, and brushing your nipples.

"Such a softie in bed. Who would have thought?" You teased, placing your palms on his hands.

He enjoyed your touch on his palms but your words made him a tad angry. Therefore, he pushed you off himself and rolled on top of you, pinning you down to the mattress.

Gasping loudly, you looked up at him and giggled. Not even a little were you scared of this, it was what you were waiting for.

He pushed himself back into your core, humming softly as he attacked your neck with kisses.

"Fuck, Marc." You moaned loudly, wrapping one of your legs around his waist as your hands moved into his hair.

His hips moved rhythmically back and forth; he was gasping as your inner walls squeezed his member.

You whimpered, feeling your climax approaching. Just as you expected, you cum soon around him, moaning his name as loud as possible.

He kept on fucking your pussy until he shot his warm semen in your core, biting on your neck with a loud grunt escaping his parted lips.

You squeaked, surprised by the bite, but instead of being mad you simply giggled, wrapping your arms around him  "I see I have an animal in bed."

He crushed his lips against yours, moaning and whining, still bucking his hips into you.

Soon yet, he pulled out, making sure to jerk all of the cum drops that left on him on your pussy.

You gasped, kissing him before you pulled away with a cocky smile on your lips. "Well, well, well, fancy to leave me a little souvenir?"

"Maybe." Marc replied with a cocky smirk dancing on his lips.

Laughing, you cupped his cheek to press one more kiss to his lips before you moved a little to reach into the drawer of your bedside table. "You wanna smoke?"

He kissed his way down your body, flicking his tongue around one of your nipples. "Uh-uh. Thanks."

You took the pack of cigarettes, lighter, and little ashtray out of the drawer, and lit one.

He soon laid down by your side, sliding hands under his head.

"I hope you will stay for the night." You said, lying comfortably next to him.

"Ask nicely and I'll think of it."

You laughed and sat up on the bed to locate his shirt. Once you did, you grabbed it and put it on to quickly lay back by his side, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "It wasn't a question, to be honest."

His strong arm was wrapped around your waist as he smiled. "Bossy."

Shrugging with a proud smile, you gave him a glance. "Maybe a little."

"A little?"

"Yes, a little." You repeated, nodding.

He played with your loosened hair. "You're a cutie. Sexy cutie. Imagine waking up buried in that sweet pussy of yours."

"I never said you cannot do that. You won't wake up here alone." Turning on your side, you looked at him, admiring how handsome he was.

Marc reached for his boxers and pulled them up, offering you a place on his chest.

You quickly finished with your cigarette and put it in the ashtray to gladly accept the offer, getting comfortable on his chest.

He chuckled. "I would never say we'll end up fucking after I crushed your scooter."

"Oh! Thanks for reminding me. Where is my money, Marc!?” You growled playfully. Finally, you could get some rest after a day full of adventure.

As you were slowly waking up, you nuzzled to your pillow.

You turned around so that you could nuzzle Marc, feeling soberer than yesterday.

What an amazing day yesterday was! Honestly, in the morning you hoped for fun, but it didn't come.

He sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, with his hair messy, and was visibly trembling, quietly sobbing.

As you opened your eyes, you frowned softly. Worried, you sat up and crept closer. "Marc? What's wrong?"

The man jumped up from his place, looking at you slightly above his shoulder. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Did... Did I disgrace you... Oh, God..."

Confused, you laughed nervously, not sure what's going on. Did he regret last night? "You did and no need to be sorry, we both wanted this... Right?”

"Oh my God." The man replied and dared to look at you; his chin was shaking, eyes watery. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey. Calm down." You moved even closer and dared to wrap your arm around his shoulder. "Marc? What got into you?"

"I'm not Marc! I'm Steven. With the 'v'. I'm not Marc... Can you imagine how awful it is to wake up with the taste of dry wine in your mouth when you didn't drink it..."

Since you've had similar accidents on your own in the past, you were actually familiar with the feeling. However, it definitely wasn't the right time to admit something like this, so instead, you blinked confused. "H... How Steven? I... I don't understand.."

"I'm Steven Grant. I'm a gift shop-ist... I work in the museum... And I apparently got laid! Please tell me we had a condom…"

"We didn't, but I take pills, so don't worry." You said, shaking your head. "So, yesterday it was Marc, and today it's Steven? Can you explain? I don't get it right now."

"Marc? Was he here? I don't remember giving the control to him..."

"Yes, he was here... We robbed a tomb together and then we had some fun here." You replied slowly, confused. 

"He did it again. He stole. How could he do that? Oh God, we are going to be damned."

You were at a loss at this point. There was no way you could have known what was going on. He was more nervous than you ever were. Steven, is that right?" You patted his shoulder and smiled as soon as he looked at you. "I will change, give you back your t-shirt, and I'll make breakfast while we talk. Sounds good to you?"

"I... I don't know you..." He claimed slowly. "I... Where are we.... I need to get back to London. Gus! Gus will starve to death!"

"My name is Y/N. I met the other you when he crashed my scooter and we had a nice adventure together. Currently, you are in Egypt."

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

"No, no, I am fully fine. No need to worry about me, Steven." You shook your head, patting his shoulder.

He nodded and was about to say something but suddenly his eyes rolled back and the familiar voice asked, "Oh, you got up so early."

"Okay... You tell me what the hell is going on here or I punch you in that pretty nose of yours." You frowned.

Marc rubbed his temple and sat up on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I have some… Personality issues. It’s a long story. It’s just a dissociative identity disorder, I was told.”

You moved closer and dropped your legs over his. "So? There is like... Two of you? You, a badass,  and that poor, confused British guy?”

He looked at you hesitantly. "Yes, actually yes."

"That must be tough." You nuzzled his arm.

He didn't comment, just nodded. "It is. Hope you won't take me for a weirdo now."

"Don't be stupid. I have never met anyone like you before, but that doesn't mean you are a terrible one." You smiled and got out of bed to remove his shirt. As you walked to the kitchen, you picked up your shirt from the floor and put it on before saying, "Time for breakfast. I have nothing else in the fridge but beer and eggs."

The morning with Marc went like this. During breakfast, you talked and smoked cigarettes.

You didn't want him to leave, but at the same time, you couldn't keep him.

You walked to Marc as he was getting ready to leave. "Hey, Marc?”

As he adjusted the stripes of his backpack on his shoulder, he raised his head, looking up at you. "Yes?"

He didn't want to leave; rather, he wanted to stay as long as possible. Marc felt secure and safe by your side.

"I know you have to go," you sighed, nervously playing with your palms, "But I want you to know that if you need assistance in another robbery or just some company, you have my number."

Your nose was kissed by him. "Given our shared love of adventure, I will use your number soon."

Your eyes rolled as you laughed, blushing. "I hope so, but remember that my help isn't cheap, love. Now go before I try to stop you. Please, take proper care of yourself."

He held you tightly in his arms, brushing his cheek against yours, whispering, "See you soon." Moments later, he was gone.

As you sighed deeply and rubbed your warm cheek, you realized you had a crush on that man.

After Marc left, you returned to your regular routine and started planning another adventure.

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector x Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

Vol 1

Summary: Marc finally calls you after two months, only to drag you into another adventure among Cairo's sands

Warnings: none, just Steven in an attempt to be funny

Word count: circa 6900

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant & Reader

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

A/N:  we have a non-linear story here that will kinda initally not follow the plot of the show until we deem otherwise - due to this fact we inform that Marc does not have a romantic connection to Layla. Also, red italics indicate Khonshu, green italics indicate Steven speaking within Marc’s mind

He was reluctant to call you, but he wanted to hear your voice again.

Marc wasn't sure how you would react to his call since it had been almost two months since your adventure. Since then, he hasn't contacted you; first, he didn't know what to tell you or how to act after your affair, and second because he didn't want to cause any more problems for you.

With his flipphone pressed to his ear, he waited for you to answer the call.

Currently, you were hanging from a harness that prevented you from falling to your death. While it wasn't comfortable, it hugged you well enough so you felt safe.

Apparently, one of your friends found a temple hidden deep in the caves, so you had to check it out.

As you focused on the descent, you twitched, scared by the sudden sound of your phone.

After pulling the rope to stop it, you reached into your pocket to look at the screen. Marc's name appeared on the screen. "Well well well! Look who has finally called me! How are you, handsome? Are you stepping on someone's toes once again or did you miss me?"

As he said, "Hi, Y/N," Marc was hesitant at first. "I missed you long enough, so I decided to take the first step since you didn't seem to be reaching out. Are you in Cairo?"

You casually swung your legs, saying, "Um... Nope. I'm currently hanging pretty high up in a cave. I think there are some hard rocks under me. It doesn't seem that dark there. Why? Do you need help robbing another tomb or even the pyramid itself?"

"If you're able to meet me next week at the same bar in Cairo, I'll tell you everything."

You huffed and then looked down. While discovering some ancient temple hidden in a deep cave would be fun, seeking an adventure in Cairo with MARC would be even more enjoyable and warmer. "Oh, sweetie! If you ask me nicely, I can get there as soon as possible."

Laughing softly, he cleared his throat. "Y/N, I'd like to meet up next week at our bar. In addition, I missed your scent."

"Oh, my, oh my, this sounds like a nice invite, and I'm pleased to hear we have our own bar. It's settled then! We'll meet up in OUR bar next week. I can't wait to see you."

"Thank you and please be careful in the cave. I'd rather have you whole, not just a piece."

Marc smirked proudly at his reflection in the mirror after he hung up. "Good job, man."

"Shall I remind you that Layla is also interested in you?" Steven asked mentally, but Marc just shrugged.

Placed the phone back in your pocket, you giggled and pulled at the rope. "Ey! I need to get up now! Get me up!"

There was no time to waste so you simply dumped your current working partner. 

Before you grabbed your backpack and left, you instructed the team what to do, so you weren't such a bad friend.

It was wonderful to return to Cairo.

You decided to rest since you still had a few days before meeting with Marc.

After preparing your stuff, you spent most of the night in bed reading and smoking.

You were eager to see Marc again on the day of the meeting.

You kept playing with your scarf around your neck as you walked to the bar. Suddenly, excitement turned into stress.

He had already smoked a few cigarettes, which turned out to be a bad idea - his stomach was twitching and he was feeling a little nauseous.

Order yourself some whiskey, it'll help, Khonshu advised, but Marc almost immediately regretted listening to God again. Still, he downed two more glasses and waited impatiently for you to arrive.

After taking a deep breath, you nodded to yourself and decided to walk in.

Finally, you spotted his messy hair after looking around.

Seeing as he sat with his back to you, you took advantage of the opportunity. Your palms covered his eyes as you sneaked up behind him. "Guess who?”

He placed his hands on top of yours. "I guess she's a young, beautiful woman who likes to sneak on older men."

Your hands slipped off his eyes so you could fully wrap them around his neck. You nodded, nuzzling his cheek. "You're right, sweetie. Glad to see you again." After kissing his cheek, you took a seat in the chair next to him.

"Long time no see." He smiled brightly at you and reached out to caress your cheek with his palm. "Can girls get even prettier?" he asked.

Chuckling, you leaned into his touch, rolling your eyes a little. You're still a sweet talker, huh?"

As he gently touched the lower side of your cheek, almost on the jawline, feeling a scar under his fingers, he said, "Yes. You like adventures, and you also got a souvenir. What happened?"

You suddenly turned red, not expecting him to find that scar. You shrugged nervously. "Nothing too serious, little fight."

He warned softly, "Don't hide things from me. I know I've pulled you away from your second expedition, but I finally had the manuscripts translated. It's about the Anubis statue we discovered. There's a hidden tomb. His tomb. Near Giza."

Laughing, you moved your chair a little closer to him, clearly interested. "What's the plan? Are we going to get shot or is this a clean job?"

Marc replied, moving both hands through his locks to take them back, "I'm afraid option number one is preferable."

Groaning, you rested your forehead against his shoulder. Having a calm trip with him would be nice, but apparently, he enjoyed trouble more than you did. "You're a troublemaker, huh? Then why are you here?"

"Artifact. It's supposed to be hidden in the tomb."

"Cool, cool and what will you do with it? Would you consider yourself a private collector? Or do you sell those things?

"Let's say I'm a collector. Once you come to my house you'll be able to see my collection."

"That would be nice since I invited you last time," you patted his shoulder. It already sounded interesting. "So, you know how I am doing. How about you? What were you up to when I was gone? How's Steven?"

"We're looking for someone who has been successful at translation apparently. Steven? Steven is doing well. He has been in charge for the last two weeks since we returned to London. He works at the museum there."

You nodded, "So you collect stuff and he works in the museum?". "I hope he took good care of you then."

"Bravo. You're lying to the girl you like. Are you insane or does that idiot have too much influence over you, Spector?" Khonshu's tone showed his disappointment.

Marc smiled at you, grabbing your palm and saying, "Well, it's more complicated than that. He did take care of him. Or rather, I did."

"Well, I am glad to hear it. I just hope he wasn't too mad at me for waking up in my bed. To be honest, I was worried he would have a heart attack." You gently squeezed his plan. "I'm glad you called."

He pointed to his chest and smiled a little. "Don't worry about heart attacks of any kind. This heart is strong enough to survive," he said. "I missed you terribly."

I missed you a lot and I was also worried, but since you didn't call, I figured I wasn't needed at the moment." You shrugged. "I left my job to help you as soon as possible."

Then Marc leaned forward and stole a kiss from you while looking deeply into your eyes.

As you returned the kiss, you squeezed his hand even harder without realizing it.

As he pulled away, you sighed deeply. "I think this was the part I missed the most."

Marc was about to confess his feelings for you and admit that he had a crush on you when his hand aimed him a hard slap, hard enough to leave a mark on his cheek. "Crap!" Marc exclaimed.

Steven reminded him, "Layla, she also likes you, Marc, so hold your horses."

As you looked around, you made sure no one was watching. It wasn't like you knew him very well, but you never expected something like this. "Is there a problem?" You asked, raising your eyebrows.

Marc hissed a little angrily, mumbling something under his breath. "No."

"I have a feeling you're lying to me, but I'll pretend I do." You kissed the cheek he had just been slapped on. "Maybe we should start planning our next expedition?"

"I'll take you to my place. It's not a flat but a hotel room, but I think you won't mind, will you?"

"I don't mind at all, Marc. Lead the way, we have big plans to accomplish." You said, shivering with excitement.

He stayed in a hotel with a view of the desert. In spite of the fact that it was the middle of the night, you could hear the beetles singing in the distance.

The room had a large bed, a small bathroom, and a balcony.

"Well, Well, Well. I see you like a large bed." As you removed your shoes and jacket, you couldn't help but tease him a bit more. You immediately stepped out onto the balcony.

Upon reaching the balcony, Marc wrapped his arm instinctively around your waist, his face leaned down as he nuzzled into your nape.

"I see you really missed me." Your hands clasped around his waist as you whimpered.

He nuzzled your neck and nodded. "So much. You can't imagine how much."

"It would be nice if you could call me earlier," you smiled and stroked his hair. "But I am here right now."

"I didn't want to put you in another bind."

You turned your head to look at him, giggling. "You didn't so I did it myself. I wouldn't mind some trouble with you, Marc."

While brushing his bearded face against your skin, he shifted a strand of your hair from your neck so he could kiss you there, focusing on his pulsepoint.

"Marc..." You whispered, trying not to moan for him.

Your jawline was kissed as he tightened the hug he was giving you.

"You're such a tease." You growled before making him kiss you.

He couldn't stop himself from feeling hotter and hotter with every second of the kiss. As he pressed your back more against the balcony railing, his strong palms gripped your hips.

You let out a hum, sitting comfortably on the railing. You wrapped your arms around his neck for safety.

You were held down by his arm, which was wrapped around your waist. Marc moved his kisses to the side of your neck again when the kiss was broken, almost moaning. "I love the scent of you."

When he kissed you, you giggled, running your hand through his hair. As you moved your soft hands under his shirt, you were able to touch him. "I would like to find out how soft this big bed is, handsome."

He kissed you once again, making sure you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips before picking you up; one hand under your ass, the other resting on your back as he carried you back to the room and placed you gently on the bed.

As you wrapped your legs around his waist, you joked, "So comfy, I wonder if it's durable."

He pinned you down easily, stealing another kiss from you while his hands slipped under your shirt; he groaned at the softness of your skin under his fingertips.

You moaned into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his touch. You definitely waited too long for that. You were stupid not to have called him earlier, even if it was just to say hello. "Marc... I missed you so much." You whispered against his lips.

Marc kept on kissing you, slipping his tongue past your lips from time to time; his one hand slipped into your hair and he tugged on it gently to expose your neck where he sucked on your pulse point, leaving a visible hickey.

"Fuck!" You shouted for him loudly, not caring whether anyone heard you.

You strode his cheeks when he pulled away and smiled. “As much as I would love to be fucked in the mattress, I just want to be held. Can we... Just cuddle?"

Marc looked down at you, his eyes glistening with lust, but he nodded and rolled to his back, right next to you. “Surely.”

You placed a kiss on his cheek and moved to his neck before looking at him as you hummed. You nuzzled him before whispering into his ear, "Don't worry. I can't wait to feel that cock stretch my cunt."

His voice was barely audible as he spoke, "I regret not calling you sooner. What a fool I've been."

You giggled, blushing. "I wanted to call, but I didn't want to look desperate. Then I waited for your call."

"Kind of the same applies to me," he told you, playing with a strand of loose hair.

This made you laugh. "Apparently we are smart enough to find and raid a tomb but we aren't the best when it came to relationships of any kind."

Marc closed his eyes and agreed. He felt safe and secure in your presence as if all of his demons would have vanished in a flash.

Your head rested on his shoulder as you kissed his cheek. "Marc, where have you been these two months?"

"I had to return to London for a few weeks... Why are you asking?"

You traced a random pattern on his chest with your hand. "I just wondered where you were every evening."

"It looked like my doll was jealous as she thought she might have held some other woman in my arms," Marc teased.

Trying to conceal your blush, you nuzzled his neck. "This, too..."

"Is that so, my cute doll?" He caught your chin in two of his fingers and forced you to look him in the eyes.

Trying to not look him in the eyes, you nodded. "Yes..."

"Look at that, my little doll has grown jealous of me."

Growling, you looked him right in the eyes and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I was worried and jealous that you were busy with other ladies while I waited like an idiot."

"Just so you know, there was no other woman held in these arms. No other lips were kissed, no other curves were caressed by these hands."

You looked at him surprised but smiled and hugged him tightly. "The same is here. I traveled a little, yet I couldn't bring myself to touch, kiss, or sleep with another man. I was just thinking about you and your touch."

Marc closed his eyes, smiling a bit to himself. "I think I have a massive crush on you but on the other hand I'm a tad scared of what you'll think about me when you know the entire truth."

"I am also smitten with you," You said quietly. What is the whole truth then?"

Marc sat up and gently pushed you off his chest.

You sat up as well after he did. "Marc, I am fine. Nothing has changed. I met Steven, and I don't think less of you."

He swallowed a breath as his voice hung. "Steven isn't everything," he said.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, whatever it is," you assured him, rubbing his back.

"Several years ago, I nearly committed suicide in front of Khonshu's statue... Khonshu is the Egyptian God of the Moon. He offered me another chance to live as his avatar. My story sounds ridiculous but it's true," Marc explained slowly, trying to avoid your gaze.

As you stared at him, you asked, "I know who Khonshu is, but I have never heard of such a thing. Aren't gods just stories people made up to have something to believe in and explain things they cannot?"

Khonshu appeared next to the bed, looking pity on you. In a deep tone, he roared, "Girl has no idea what she's talking about. I am the true justice for the wrongdoers!"

Marc exhaled a sigh. "He just stated that he is the true justice."

With an eyebrow raised, you looked around before looking back at him. "He is here? Now?"

Marc pointed at the place where Khonshu stood. "Yes, he is over there."

"Marc. I don't see anything," You sighed. "So, you said you are his avatar. What does that mean?"

"Well, it's complicated. Avatars are supposed to be gods' guides on Earth and carry out their wishes without drawing attention to themselves."

"Are you his puppet then?"

"What a splendid summary she provided us with, worm," Khonshu let out a soft chuckle.

Marc rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed. "Sort of."

"He isn't hurting you, right?" You asked, moving closer to him. "That's why you are looking for the tombs? Is Khonshu the reason?"

Not necessarily tombs, but those who commit crimes. Stealing ancient artifacts is part of that. It may sound bizarre, but Harrow got his hands on something very valuable. I am now tracking him and his men down to plan a final attack."

"I hope your god-friend won't snatch my head off," you said as you moved behind him to place his head on your lap. "Let me verify if I understand correctly - you are a vigilante in the hands of an Egyptian God of the Moon, beating up bad guys?

Marc laughed softly with his eyes closed. "No matter how ridiculous it sounds, it is what it is."

You ran your fingers through his hair gently. "Indeed, this sounds ridiculous, but we live in a world where there are real superheroes."

"Don't think I'm as fancy as Iron Man or Captain America." Marc chuckled.

Khonshu poked Marc with his cane. "Thanks to me, you are far better than them."

"Oh, c'mon! Don't kill my hopes for a billionaire or a handsome World War II soldier!” You joked and laughed, ruffling his hair. “Sincerely, I admit that this is quite a lot to take in, but I don't think any less of you. You seem to strive to do good things. That's important. Can I help somehow?”

"Oh, yes, she can. In case you get killed, I'll know where to get a new avatar from," Khonshu said before vanishing.

"Oh my God, he's a pain in the ass, I swear," Marc whined and rolled his head more to look into your eyes. "No idea how you could help, but it would be useful if you keep yourself outta any unnecessary trouble."

"Staying away from unnecessary issues will be hard when you're by my side, so I won't follow," you said, rolling your eyes as you kissed his forehead. "I'll do my best to help."

"Aren't you afraid? Scared? Anything?"

As you shook your head, you bounced a little in your seat. I'm not. It sounds nuts but at the same time, it sounds so exciting! Egyptian gods are actually real, and they use ordinary people as their avatars to be somehow present among us."

Marc cocked his brows as he studied your face. "You seem fascinated. I'm glad you aren't taking me, or should I say us, for some weirdo."

"Because it is fascinating! We've been taught our whole lives there is one God and to believe all old beliefs are just stories, but here you are telling me all of that," You said, looking right at him. "How can I not be thrilled?"

Marc rubbed your cheek with his hand, replying, "You're so cute. Little and brave, not scared of anything."

"Should I be offended that you call me 'little'?" You nuzzled his hand. "I am glad you crushed my scooter. I had a chance to meet you."

He smiled. "But look at you, you're little. That's the fact. Little and cute."

Growling playfully, you kissed his forehead again. "You don't sleep much, do you?"

"It's hard, you know? Because I can't be sure I'll wake up in my own body."

Nodding you moved away and started to remove your clothes until you sat just in your underwear. "Don't look at me like this. I won't sleep in my clothes."

He rolled to his side and rested head on his hand propped on the elbow. "Look at that. You're so fucking sexy."

"I know and thank you, but now jump out of the clutches. Time for some sleep. I will guard you.'' 

Marc removed his shirt and pants, staying in fitted, black boxers. He laid by your side, outstretching his arm for you.

You nuzzled to him, pulling the thin cover over both of you. "Comfy?”

"Yes." He replied softly, closing his eyes.

You were never a fan of getting up in the morning. Even at home, you loved to sleep, but the warm sun and noises outside didn't help you sleep.

Your body stretched as you let out a little sigh and opened your eyes. 

The only thing you hoped for was that this Morning with Marc would be different from the first.

His breath was slow and steady as he slept on his belly, face nuzzled to the pillow.

There was no doubt that this was a much more pleasant sight. It looked as though he had gotten some sleep. Following a few minutes of watching him, you moved closer and kissed him on the head.

As Marc turned slightly to the side, his body twitched a little and a soft groan escaped his lips.

"Morning," you whispered, smiling softly. "Slept well?"

"Hey, gorgeous. Yeah, but I wouldn't mind a few more minutes. My head is killing me."

Nodding, you kissed his forehead. "Sure, take your time. I will go to my place and grab some stuff. We still need to find that tomb."

He nodded his head, not bothering himself to open his eyes.

You covered him, and got ready to get your stuff.

The process of gathering things back at home was exciting. You couldn't believe that Marc was back in your life. The things he told you last night sounded stupid but somehow you believed all of this and wanted to help as much as possible.

After collecting your stuff and gear, you headed back to Marc's hotel.

On your way there you visited the local market to find your friend and possibly get some info.

Your research with Marc was great fun; it got more and more exciting every time you two got closer to anything.

Eventually, the two of you found the tomb's possible location. The only thing left was to go there and check it out.

Before you secured the rope, Marc reminded you to be careful.

As you asked, "Are you worried, sweetie?" with a cheeky smile, you jumped down the opening, leaving Marc on top.

"Yes." Marc soon joined you down, using the very same rope you used.

As you untied the rope and turned on the flashlight, you concluded, "Well, that was fun." Glancing around, you felt the excitement building. "Do you see this, Marc?!”

Hieroglyphs covered every wall. You had no idea what they were saying, but the simple sight of them made you jump.

There were boot prints in the sand under your feet, leading further into the darkness of the tomb. "I see that, too." He pointed to the sand under your feet.

"And I was hoping for a quiet adventure with you, but troubles seem to love to follow you... Or be somewhere before you," you sighed and looked at him. "We should be careful."

The man followed the footprints on the sand, ordering you to turn out the flashlight.

It would be easier if there was an open space like last time," you whispered, staying close to Marc. "Do we have any plan?”

"Yes. If it gets heated on, you stay behind and don't try to play a hero."

"You think I will just leave you if it gets heated? You crazy?" You frowned. "Maybe we can sneak past them?"

"Stay here." He ordered, the tone of his voice changed.

The only thing Marc had to protect himself was his hands as he stepped into yet another huge chamber. In trying to circle the group of men who were setting up equipment there, he stepped on an old vase that cracked, attracting everyone's attention. "Fuck." Marc cursed. 

Moments later, his skin turned as pale as his eyes and he knew he was clocking out.

You hid in your hiding place. Again. Just like last time, you simply observed and sneered when he cracked the vase, but things quickly got interesting.

Marc told you to stay, and despite knowing he would be mad, you slipped into the chamber anyway to do at least a little bit of good.

Marc's appearance changed; soon, a ceremonial suit of white armor given by Khonshu to his avatar appeared on Marc and he immediately attacked enemies.

You probably would have just watched him since everything became so interesting. However, to be a bit more useful you got rid of a few baddies, aiming more at their legs to lower your kill count.

Marc, holding a curved dagger in the shape of a moon and removing his hood, glared back at you when the terrain was cleared of goons.

As you waved from behind your cover, you smiled awkwardly. "Sweetie, you're looking great! You're a badass even, I would say."

Marc, despite knowing Khonshu won't approve, made a little turn to show you his entire outfit, spreading the cape a little. "Say hi to the Moon Knight."

After looking around one more time, you left your cover and approached the man.

"I am just speechless." You couldn't help but gently touch the golden moon on his chest. Your touch was so soft that you were basically doing it with your fingertips only. Your palm moved to touch the 'fabric' on his arm as you asked, "So, what exactly is that? Some kind of magical power? An ancient robe? An armor?"

"It's the ceremonial suit of armor, Khonshu granted it to me."

As you grabbed his hand to take a closer look, you said, "This is really beautiful. You look scary, but not for me. They feel like bandages, but they are not!"

Marc looked down at you as soon as the hood and mask that covered his face disappeared. "You're fangirling."

You squeaked, piling into your place. "Can you blame me? Look at what you're wearing and WHO gave you this! A ceremonial suit of armor from the ancient Egyptian God of the Moon! And I see no scratch on you... Is... Is it healing you?!"

"That's one of its advantages." He nodded and stepped aside, looking carefully around before crouching down and picking up the golden scarab. "The Scarab of Ammit will show us the way to Ammit's tomb."

Suddenly, Marc's outfit changed into a plain, white business man attire. Steven waved at you cheerfully, saying, "Oh! Where am I? Oh! Y/N! Hiya!" You could hear a thick, British accent of Steven's.

As you looked at him, you gasped and jumped again in your place.

The first thing you did upon greeting Steven was to look at his suit, touching the collar of the jacket. "I can't believe it! This suits different people. For Marc, it's a full armor, and for us, it's a suit. You look great, Steven."

He tried to show off his biceps. "Innit? Classy, fancy yet sharp, and dangerous! Just like me!"

As sharp as a pocket knife, eh?" You laughed. "It's just amazing how well it adapts to each of you. Khonshu, if you're here, I just wanted to let you know that you are a fucking genius with that thing."

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a v!" He sang in a happy tone, rocking his hips from left to right. "Of course it's sharp!"

Khonshu appeared right next to you and poked you a little with his cane. "Of course I am. You see, idiots? She knows how to be polite and grateful."

You laughed softly and stumbled a bit. As you suspected, it was caused by Khonshu. "Okay! Let's get back to reality. Steven?"

When you called him, Steven was making sure his suit was not stained with blood. "Yeah?"

Marc and I came to this tomb to find the thing you're holding. Marc told me it's the Scarab of Ammit, a look at what was happening here before you joined," you clapped your hands, shrugging, before pointing to the way you two came. "We should go."

"I sense a better way. Come!" Steven grabbed you by hand and pulled you further behind him into the tomb. 

You were shocked and let him lead you, curious as to what he sensed.

Soon, the two of you headed through long, narrow corridors, until you reached a wall. "Khonshu, do your magic trick!" Steven asked.

The God appeared behind you, poked his staff on the wall and it opened, revealing a narrow passage leading outside, into the desert.

Your mouth was wide open as you watched the stone blocks move. As you spent more and more time with them, things got crazier and crazier. "That's Harry Potter level shit."

"I like Harry Potter. And Avatar. Good films." Steven replied and extended his gloved hand to you. "Shall we?"

After accepting his hand, you followed him outside the tomb.

Steven's heart skipped a beat and he screamed internally when you grabbed him by the hand. Even though he wasn't happy with you stealing Marc from Layla, he realised how much he liked you.

Taking a glance at Steven with a smile, you were glad he didn't act hostile towards you. The fact that Marc liked you didn't mean Steven would be nice to you, but thank God he was.

"I think we should leave before someone finds us here. We can talk more about stuff back at the hotel. You can drive, right?"

“Ah, Marc, you've got this." A blink of an eye later, the white suit had disappeared and Marc stood in front of you in his regular clothing. "He doesn't have a driver's licence." He explained shortly.

"Ah, I like that suit." You whined, hugging Marc tightly while pretending to be disappointed.

"Come on."

Spector took you back to the hotel he rented the room in.

Your first move upon entering was to take the Scarab from Marc and sit at the closest table to take a closer look at the item. "So what does it do? Is it some kind of odd device that opens something? It calls for all the aliens that built the pyramids?”

Marc poked your ribs with a chuckle. "No, silly. I told you it was like a compass."

"Can I have a question?”

As he flipped over on the bed, he nodded. "I think that yes, you can have one."

"Khonshu is a god and he sees lots of things. I can't understand why you scurry about looking for magical compasses, manuscripts, and bad guys when he should just point and say 'go there, worm!', right?" You exclaimed, pretending to be Khonshu.

Marc propped himself up on elbows with a mischievous grin. "He doesn't know everything, and without his avatar, he wouldn't be able to find and defeat Ammit."

Khonshu appeared from nowhere on the balcony. "She should be more authentic if she wants to imitate me. Pathetic."

Getting into fangirl mode again, you jumped off the table and hopped onto Marc's bed. "What about other gods? Are they here as well? Do they have people as their avatars? Do they walk among us?

He responded as if it was the most obvious thing, "Yes, they do."

You chuckled softly, pushing his shoulder gently. "Don't say it like it's an obvious thing. I didn't believe in any of them until yesterday." You explained. "Have you met them? What are they like? Whom have you met?"

"Shhh. Easy. Except for Khonshu, I haven't met any of them, so far."

As you smiled, you looked down at the scarab that remained in your hand. "You found what you were looking for again. Do you think you will disappear again for another two or three months?"

"I'm heading to England." Marc stated.

You shrugged as you asked, "Can I like... Go with you? I have friends there. Someone will no doubt let me sleep on their couch."

"You won't stay with any of your friends, I guarantee."

"I don't want Steven to be bothered. It's fine." You assured him.

"You'll stay with us in his apartment."

"Do you think he would be OK with this? Or did you decide for him? I don't want him to wake up thinking I broke into his apartment."

"I will talk to him, or you can do so, if you wish."

Khonshu commented, "Don't worry, the idiot will be happy to talk to someone who's not just a reflection in his bathroom mirror."

"Just to be sure, I'd like to speak with him personally."

As Marc flopped on the bed, he took in a glance at the mirror hanging above it on the ceiling and soon surrendered his body to Steven. Heavy British accent followed, "Hiya, Y/N."

"Hi again, Steven." You greeted him with a kind smile. "I heard you and Marc were going back to London. If I may be honest, I don't want to be away from him. Could I perhaps rent a couch at your flat?"

"If you promise not to drive me bonkers, I think it'll be a very interesting experience, won't it?"

You assured him, "I am the finest roommate you will ever have. I will show you my maps and journals and I can cook. I hope you like old books a lot."

He looked at you and asked, "Do you like Egypt and Egyptian beliefs? I have a lot of stuff on the flat, it's a total mess... It's not against you staying there, but I'll need to make a few changes. Oh, I'll introduce you to Gus, he'll be delighted."

"There are many beliefs I admire, but Egyptian beliefs are my favourites! I can help you clean up a bit before I move in." You nodded. "I'll also pay for myself, don't worry about that."

Steven replied with a hint of hesitation within his tone, "It's not about cleaning really. I have something in there that many people would consider a red flag." The man explained.

"Steven, what did you mean by that? Now I'm curious." Turning to him, you placed your head on your hand.

"This is too much explaining. Soon you'll see for yourself." 

There was no plan to sell your flat or anything like that, so all you brought to England were a few boxes filled with the most important things and clothes.

You nodded and looked around, carrying them inside. The flat was not much bigger than yours but was charming nonetheless. "How nice!" 

Steven, who entered directly behind you, shook his head briefly for no. "It's messy, it's old... Ahm, don't go to the bedroom, I mean, it's over there," he pointed in the proper direction, "But don't go there yet, there is sand around the bed."

"Steven, I've seen worse places, trust me." You said, nodding. "It's your flat, so your rules apply. I'm not going there."

After lowering his head, Steven rushed to the said area of his apartment. 

Khonshu appeared right next to you, poking you with his cane. "And you are going to live here? In this mess? You couldn't possibly get any lower, Y/N."

You shrugged, sitting down. "Oh well, I really slept in the worst places. If it means...” Only then you realised who you were talking to - it was Khonshu himself. After letting out a scream, you fell off the couch and onto the floor. "I... I can see you! Why am I seeing you?!" 

Khonshu poked your shoulder with the tip of his slightly curved bill as he lowered his body. "I'm fed up with hiding from your gaze. I want you to admire my grandeur."

You frowned, looking right at him. "I honestly expected you to look differently." Getting up you took a closer look. "So you are real indeed! Oh my! I can't believe it. YOU ARE REAL! You are so tall!"

"He is!" Steven screamed from the bedroom.

Khonshu poked your belly a few times. "You can bathe yourself in my glory, little human."

You rubbed your stomach as you said, "I have more questions that need to be soaked in your glory. Why did you pick Marc? What gods also walk among us? Why do you look like this and why are you rude to boys when you clearly need both of them?"

"There are all kinds of the other gods among you. I saw his mental issues as something easily exploited, plus his skills as a mercenary overlapped with the role of my avatar. This is just the way I look and I'm not rude, just being honest."

"I don't like the mental issues answer. Can I touch you? Or are you look like a ghost? What with the staff? Can I hold it?” You asked, circling him curiously.

Khonshu turned his head in an attempt to spot Steven. "Marc, I need your help, she's tiring me already." After looking back at you, he nodded. "You can touch. But you can't hold my staff."

You immediately decided to try and touch him, gasping excitedly once you realized he felt just like Marc's ceremonial robes. "Fuck! So cool!”

Steven returned. "I'm afraid Marc is temporarily unavailable. Y/N, what are you doing to the pigeon?"

"I AM TOUCHING AN ACTUAL GOD!” Squeaking loudly, you jumped in your place.

Steven blinked. "You're a real fangirl but if I were you, I wouldn't touch him. You never know where he was lurking."

Khonshu turned his skully head to the man. "One more word, worm, I swear."

"Steven, please be nice to Khonshu." You asked. "What did you mean by Marc being temporarily unavailable?"

"I can't summon him back."

"Well, then I think I need to wait." 

The rest of the day went quiet. 

It took you a long time to unpack all your belongings. 

The evening came, and you sat on a couch, drawing in one of your journals while Steven slept in his bed.

His body jerked suddenly and the man sat up.

Looking over your shoulder you waved at him. "Evening! Feeling better after the nap?"

Marc rubbed his temples, saying, "My head hurts like hell, I feel a little hangover..."

After getting up from the couch, you looked at him worriedly as you carefully walked up to the bed. "It's the second time it happens, and I witness it, love. Can I help you somehow?”

"Can you get me a glass of water, please?"

To fulfill the wish, you simply turned around and walked to the kitchen. You then went back to him and got on the bed, trying to avoid the sand. "Here."

Taking the glass, Marc downed the contents immediately, wiping his lips with the top of his hand as he did so. "Thanks. So, how do you like Steven's place?"

By placing yourself on his lap, you massaged his scalp with your hands while moving them along his temples. "It's nice. Really nice. I met Khonshu. I was just worried about you, love."

He closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of your fingers; it soothed his anxiety.

"Do you feel better? Because I need to talk to you, Marc."

"It's me, sweetie."

"As Steven slept and you were gone, I sat on the couch and was thinking a lot about you, Steven, and Khonshu." Your hands rested on his shoulders.

As he set the glass aside, his palms were placed on your hips. "Any conclusions?"

You nodded, getting more comfortable on his lap. "It's exciting, but also a little scary. Those are things that no ordinary person has to deal with every day," you remarked. "Get what I mean?" 

As he looked at you bluntly, he shook his head no.

I'm trying to say that," your arms wrapped around his neck, "I love you and I'm worried about you. If you like it or not, you will have to deal with one stubborn, reckless treasure hunter. Not because of what you do but because I see something special in you as a person."

There was nothing left for him to do but kiss your lips deeply; it was more than he expected from you, and his heart was filled with joy. "I love you too, my little treasure hunter. For the better and for the worst."

"For the better and for the worst." You agreed, nodding your head eagerly. "I am not gonna leave, no matter how dirty stuff will get. I am ready to help."

He took one of your hands and brought it to his lips to plant a tiny kiss on its top. "The real adventure starts now."