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damn-stark · 1 year

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Chapter 2 Isn’t it strange?

Chapter 2 of Moon Star

A/N- Thanks for all the love and support on the first chapter :)

Warning- Violence, blood and weapons, angst, fluff?

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader

Episode- 1x03 & (the beginning of) 1x04

————

*6 YEARS AGO. CHICAGO*

“Okay, I’ve thought of it,” you interject happily. “I want to go live with you. I want to take a gap year after high school.”

The breeze was chilly, the night was clear, letting the stars, and the moon in its full phase shine brightly from the dark sky. Yellow lights basked the park's paved path, and the smell of sweet cinnamon swirled in your nose as you held a cinnamon pretzel in hand.

“But—”

“I know,” you cut your father off and meet his gaze as he glances over at you with uncertainty. “I know what you’re dedicated to dad, but I don’t care. I mean It’s kinda cool,” you giggle. “You’re like a…hero.”

Marc scoffs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t call it that,” he murmurs and averts his gaze.

You shrug softly. “You have a cloak,” you quip. “Hero.”

“That God that came to earth, Loki, also had a cloak, he wanted to rule us,” your dad argues. “He was evil.”

You shake your head. “No, pa, that was more of a cape,” you argue.

He tilts his head and squints his eyes as he sucks in air through his teeth. “Was it?”

You nod and blurt. “Yes! You have a cloak okay?” You jump and drop cinnamon sugar all over your hand. “It’s a cloak, I said so. Just like I say you’re a hero! Because Khonshu is into justice, punishing the ones who did wrong already. Hero.”

Your dad sighs and nods as he can’t help but smile. “Fine, but I think you’re the only one who’s gonna think that.”

You shrug and grin. “I am okay with that. Makes me special.”

Your dad looks up at you and smiles wider.

“So?” You press. “Can I go live with you?”

His smile begins to fade away, his eyes fall, and he swallows thickly whilst he comes to a stop towards the end of the path that’s near the parking lot. You mirror his actions and wait in silence.

“First,” he adds. “I need to tell you something. Something about me.”

You tilt your head just slightly and squint your eyes as you grow curious in your wait.

Your dad looks up at you to meet your gaze all seriously and upset. “I have—”

Before he can finish his sentence though he cuts himself off as he throws his arms around you and shoves you to the ground the moment a car comes flying through the park, ending up crashing in a tree close to where you were both just standing.

“What the hell?” You gasp in shock as your dad helps you off the ground.

“Stay here,” your dad instructs as he turns to walk towards the car crashed into the tree with smoke coming out of its completely obliterated hood.

Regardless of what he just said you slowly follow him towards the car, noticing the broken window and a conscious passenger, but no driver.

There wasn’t a driver inside.

“Help me!” The passenger yells when they notice your dad approaching. “Please! My husband he just, oh god! Oh my god!”

Your dad throws his hand out and begins to run towards the passenger. “I’m coming! I’m going to help!” He exclaims.

However, once your dad reaches the door, you stop in your tracks as the passenger inside suddenly begins to turn to dust.

“What the—” your dad mutters.

The passenger reaches out for help from your dad, he tries to speak but then all of him just disappears.

“Pa, what’s going on?!” You yell in between pants.

He doesn’t turn, he begins to talk to himself—or really the God you can’t see, so you wait in horror over what just happened to those people.

However, as you wait, all of sudden you catch your pretzel fall to the floor without you feeling it. As you begin to look down to try and find the reason why it suddenly dropped, you see your hand beginning to disappear, to turn to dust.

It doesn’t hurt, but seeing yourself vanishing begins to freak you out more than you already were. You could hardly breathe now, hardly hear anything with how fast your heart was beating. But you did know who to call for, the man that brought you comfort and safety.

“Dad?” You call in a quivering voice.

He looks over and immediately his eyes widen and he doesn’t fret to break into a sprint towards you as you continue to turn to dust.

“Pa,” you cry as you’re unable to hold back your fear and the tears that ensued. “I’m scared. Please, please.”

He grabs your shoulder with one hand, whilst with the other one he grabs your cheek as he shakes his head in denial. “No, no, just, I’m going to help—Khonshu!” He bellows. “Baby,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Nothing stops what was happening though, you’re vanishing; your arm is gone, your legs are disappearing, making you fall. Luckily your dad catches you and crouches down with you.

“No,” he sneers. “No. Y/N, just….”

You hold his gaze and see tears in his eyes, and that’s when you feel a sudden wave of comfort; being in his arms, holding his warm brown eyes. You were no longer scared. You smile even if it’s wobbly

“I love you,” you whisper and grab his cheek. “I'm glad you’re my—“

“No, stop it,” he cuts you off with tears rolling down his cheeks.

You try to wipe them off, but your hand begins to disappear now too.

“Don’t say it,” he whispers and tries to cradle your face. “Baby…”

And you were gone, all he held onto was dust, all he felt was the sugar grains on his cheeks that had been stuck to your hand.

You were gone.

He couldn’t—he didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want to accept that he couldn’t save you. He didn’t want to believe you were gone. Even if the truth was clear, even if he couldn’t change it, he didn’t want to….

But he had to. That made him break.

He broke into a grief and pain stricken sob as he held onto the dust still on his hands.

Anger then overwhelmed him too, so much so that he began to smack his hands against the cement until they were red and raw, until there was nothing but scrapes on his hands.

And then in the midst of it all he was gone too, he escaped his pain and let another come through.

——

*NOW. CAIRO EGYPT*

“Okay….he’s…now he’s less than a quarter of a mile to the east. We’re close,” you say and look from your phone in hopes you’d see a glimpse of him, of his hair, his face, or his eyes. But no, there were too many people crowded in the streets of Cairo to see him right away.

“Come on, stay close,” Layla intructs as you both swerve past bodies of people to follow the tracker you had on Marc.

You scoff. “How do you think he’ll react?” You ask her.

“Anger,” she responds right away.

You laugh and nod.

“Look, he’s—”

Her words albeit get lost in the breeze as the sight of a clothes stand nearby steals your attention—more specially a particular jacket on display.

When you rush over there you instantly fall in love and can’t help but swindle the man into giving it to you for cheaper. Sure you disobeyed Layla for something insignificant, but on the bright side even if you had broken away from Layla’s side it wasn’t hard to find her again, using the tracker led you right to her and Marc.

“Layla,” you make yourself known with excitement.

Said woman looks past Marc’s shoulder, and Marc slowly turns to face you and instantly groans and shakes his head at the sight of you.

“Great, you brought her too,” he mutters without the accent.

As much as his words stung, you ignore him and smile at Layla as you put your hands out. “Look at my jacket. I just got it. Like, just now.”

Layla nods. “I see that. After I told you to stay close.”

You flick your wrist down to brush off her concern. “Look. The sleeves huh,” you point out as you rub the black sleeves. “The many pockets to hide stuff,” you point to the pockets on your sleeves and on the dark green torso part of the jacket. “And watch this,” you pause and put on the hood before connecting the mask that went over your nose and mouth. “For the sand! I got it for super cheap too.”

“What are you doing here, y/n?” Marc asks and crushes your excitement.

You pull down the mask and scoff. “I’m here with Layla,” you spat. “Marc? Or Steven?” You point as you fold your arms over your chest. “Who am I talking to? Or are you pretending to be someone new?”

Marc sighs deeply and turns his head to face Layla. “Layla, explain to me why you brought my daughter with you?”

Of course he’s ignoring you now.

“Your daughter,” Layla clarifies in your defense. “Is 19 now, Marc, she can do whatever it is she wants.”

“But if you’re so concerned,” you interject and walk over to face him. “I’m here for Layla. To help her. So save whatever fatherly concern you suddenly feel. Also,” you sigh. “I’m going to need my tracker back. It’s still a work in progress.”

Marc eyebrows furrow and he slightly narrows his gaze in confusion. “Tracker? What tracker?

You roll your eyes in annoyance and reach behind his ear to pull the tiny tracker you had managed to tuck when helping “Steven” try and calm down.

“This tracker,” you say and show off the tiny tracker that looked almost like an earring bud. “Undetectable against airport technology and new metal detectors.” You put it away in your bag and smile with pride. “I’m working on the kinks. But hey, it tracked you all the way over here without you feeling it, so it works nicely even if it’s made out of scrap materials.”

Marc’s scowl falls and his lips begin to lift to a smile, but you don’t get to fully see it since you look away and Layla interrupts.

“Come with us, we’ll help you find what you need.”

You don’t add anything else, nor do you let him tell you anything in any regard, you stay close to Layla and make it known you don’t wish to talk to him. Not like there was a lot to add from either of you besides, Mogart, Layla’s contact that knows about what Marc is looking for, Senfu’s sarcophagus.

It's a ways away from where you were, in some property past some river. And the entire way to the river was painfully quiet, there was some conversation, mostly between Layla and you but since Marc was close, you didn’t feel like talking much. It’s just that he…he angers you, he makes you furious over old reasons, and over the fact that he hasn’t tried to explain himself about this Steven character. It’s like he expects you to know already, to piece it together on your own instead of simply explaining it, instead of telling you.

Is it so hard? It was so easy before, talking to one another. There were ups and downs of course, but you liked to think that you had a good relationship, you understood him and his job. But now after coming back, he’s like a completely different person. When you look at him, you see your dad, you recognize his face, but everything about him is new, he’s a stranger full of anger.

Unbeknownst to you though, he was trying. He would think of things to say in his own way, things that feel right, things he knew you wanted to hear, a genuine apology and a good ass explanation. But as he looks at you, as he watches as you listen to music while you try to nod to sleep with the rocking of the boat, he couldn’t work up the courage even if he had it all planned.

It’s just…if Khonshu got to you because of him, because he got close to you again, he wouldn’t forgive himself. It seems it’s too late to avoid getting you in harm's way, but he wouldn’t permit Khonshu to make you his next avatar. No matter how much the distance hurt him, not even if Layla was trying to encourage him with pointed looks to say anything to you.

Yet that only hurts you a hundred times more, the avoidance. Even if you have music playing in your earphones to pass the time, you don’t have it loud enough to block out the conversation between Layla and Marc. You hear him, the kind things he says to her. “I am sorry for whatever that’s worth.”

You stiffen and your breath trembles, you try not to but you can’t help but look over at your father, in pain, in betrayal. You watch him, you see his sincerity and it hurts.

That’s what you wanted to hear, all of it. It’s that simple. You wouldn’t hold a grudge for him missing your graduation, or for not calling you when your grandmother died because you knew about their strained relationship, you wouldn’t hold a grudge about anything. But he didn’t even look at you. It’s like you weren’t there to him.

“So, this Mogart guy. He’s really gonna have this sarcophagus?” He asks Layla.

“Yes,” Layla assures him. “I asked around. Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities.”

Their conversation comes to a halt and they drift to personal stuff as the music from the other passengers gets louder and someone begins ululating.

You try not to listen in, but you can’t help yourself, or the jealousy that begins to ignite within.

“You could’ve told me. You know. What’s its been like for you. About Steven.” Layla says, making you glance over at Marc, and notcing him avert his gaze for a moment before focusing back on her and interjecting.

“For what it’s worth I had it under control until very recently.”

You glance back at your phone and listen to Layla question him. “What happened?”

“I-it doesn’t matter,” he tries to dismiss her, but she leans forward and grabs his hands. “We could’ve handled it together.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

You clench your jaw and let out a deep breath. You hide well.

“That’s not really what I do, is it?” He continues. “Never really been able to just talk about everything.”

“Anything real?” She questions and he nods in agreement.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t have.” Layla says.

Marc nods and ends up pushing her hands away. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe. A little too late for that now, though.” He pulls away from her, and you watch him look away and just go cold. And honestly their distance makes you happy.

It sounds vain, selfish perhaps, but it’s an honest truth.

“Okay, let’s get our story straight. Y/N.”

You pretend to not hear right away so it doesn’t seem like you were listening in.

He proceeds to lean over and nudges your knee, and you finally pretend to give him your attention. “What?” You lower the earphones from your ears and look between him and Layla.

“We’re discussing our cover,” he lets you know.

You sigh and nod along in comprehension. “Okay.” You blink and begin to smile. “Can I pick my own cover?” You meet Layla's gaze and wiggle your eyebrows.

Layla purses her lips together and shakes her head. “Sorry, kid, I already have a cover for you,” she lets you down.

You groan deeply and sink in your seat.

“Your name is y/n Estrada.” She lets you know, and you groan again.

“I keep my own name, how boring,” you grumble.

She shrugs nonchalantly and looks at Marc. “You’re Rufino Estrada. We just got married and we just got back from our very first family trip to the Maldives.”

Marc nods along and you throw her a thumbs up since you have no other choice.

“And,” Marc says and looks over at you. “Listen to me, Wolfie, you stick by me the entire time, got it?”

You meet his gaze with nonchalance and scoff. “I can protect myself,” you rebuttal. “I don’t need you to protect me. I made sure of that.”

Marc gets ready to argue back, but you scoff and tear your eyes away and make it known that the conversation was over between him and you.

“You got all your weapons?” Layla directs at you.

You look over at her and pat your pockets before shaking your bracelet with a smile. “Got it. Small pockets,” you show off. “Useful.”

“Okay,” Marc interjects. “We’re almost there get your bags.”

You duck down and pull your backpack from under your seat, feeling your phone vibrate in the meanwhile.

It’s probably just your grandfather Elias, you think at first. As you pick up the phone to check, you grow wary as you see that it’s not actually your grandfather, but an Unknown ID.

Weird.

You unlock the phone and pull down the notification bar to read the message.

Unknown

Does texting first earn me a name?

Oh—oh my god. Oh.

You turn off the phone and drop it back on your lap to stare off at the water ahead of you. You try not to get excited but it’s late, you read it, you know it’s Spider-Man, you can’t stop the butterflies from fluttering or your heart from racing because that’s close to what you said to him.

It’s him!

“Oh my god!” You exclaim as you’re unable to contain your excitement, causing Layla and Marc to instantly look over at you in confusion. “Ah!” You giggle and jump up to your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe out and face Layla. “Remember the job we did in New York the other day?”

Layla slightly narrows her gaze and nods.

“Well,” you continue and briefly cover your mouth before clenching your fist and dropping your hand. “I might’ve given Spider-Man my number and he totally just texted me!”

“Spider-Man?” Marc mumbles.

“Spider-Man?” Layla retorts in disbelief.

You nod. “Yes! Spider-Man!”

“Are you going to text him back?” She asks. “Text him. Go for it,” she encourages you.

Yet someone isn’t as thrilled.

“You don’t even know him,” Marc complains. “What if he’s some old man? A real weirdo.”

You scoff. “And what if he’s like…” you pause and realize that you’re talking to your father so you just sigh and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. And,” you point at Layla. “I will, but not yet, I don’t want to sound desperate. If he’s interested he won’t care if I let him wait.” You smile happily and sit back down even if the boat is about to dock.

And just as the boat comes to a stop and you let everyone else get down first, your phone begins to ring.

“Oh, fuck,” you blurt and turn your phone away. “It’s ringing—” you swallow thickly and feel your heart pound faster. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Don’t answer,” Marc grumbles.

Without a second thought you hand your phone to Layla. “Tell me who it is,” you mutter rapidly.

Layla chuckles at you and grabs your phone to check the caller ID. “Not who you think,” She reveals and hands you back the phone.

You grab it and once you read that it’s your grandfather you let out a frustrated sigh. Nevertheless you answer as you stand back once everyone on the boat is off.

“Hello,” you greet more calmly and watch Marc get off first.

“Y/N, honey,” your grandfather responds with happiness. “Just checking up on you.”

You smile and hand Marc your backpack so he can hide it under the dock before you climb out of the boat, whilst you respond. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t call, I’ve been busy. But we’ve got our hotel now, and we’re out…exploring,” you lie so he wouldn’t worry.

“That’s good,” he says. “I’ll keep it brief then so you can get back. Wear sunscreen, keep your head covered so you don’t overheat, drink lots of water…”

You giggle and peer over your shoulder to make sure Layla was off the boat now—which she is.

“And take lots of pictures,” he finishes.

You nod even if he can’t see it and begin to walk away from the dock, knowing Layla and Marc were right behind you. “Okay,” you say. “I will. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“I am, don’t worry about me.” He assures you.

You sigh and smile softly but feel bad you had left him all alone. “I’ll call tomorrow, or I’ll text you, okay?“

“Okay. I love you.” He says.

You grin at the phone. “I love you too, have a good day”

“I will, don’t be scared to call whatever time, my phone is always on.” He continues to assure you.

You nod. “Okay,” you assure him. “I love you. Bye.”

“Bye,” he responds and hangs up, letting you put your phone away, and getting an immediate reaction.

“Who was that?” Marc asks.

You side eye him since he’s walking at your side and scoff. “My grandpa Elias,” you reveal bitterly. “Unlike you he actually tries to check up on me everyday.” You roll your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

Marc drops his head and nods as he licks his lips and sighs deeply out of his nose. “Okay, I get it you’re upset—”

“No,” you cut him off and don’t bother to look at him. “Don’t give me some shitty ass apology now. Let’s focus on the job.”

Marc goes quiet and nods stiffly, and you slow down your pace to end up walking behind him and Layla as you begin to approach the ring where there’s security guarding, and men playing El-Mermah inside.

“Bek,” Layla greets a tall man in a fancy dark suit.

“Layla,” the man greets and takes a look at Marc, and then at you behind them.

“It’s been a while,” she says as they shake hands.

“Good to see you,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He pulls away and begins to turn. “Right this way,” he says and leads the way to the ring, making Layla and Marc hold hands to make the cover believable.

Albeit you know it’s not just for cover.

“He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Bek adds. “After Madripoor I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about. Excuse me for one moment,” he excuses himself as he brings you to stop in front of the ring. “Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly.”

Once the man is gone you approach the ring, and prop your arms on the fence to lean forward and watch with interest as a shirtless man rides around in his white horse.

“So what?” Marc interjects. “This joker just puts on El-Marmah games in his backyard, for fun?”

He can if he wants to, you think to yourself as you watch him with a sly smirk.

“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard,” Layla corrects Marc, whilst you see as the man brings his beautiful white horse to a stop to hop off and get his fancy red robe put on him.

There’s just something about hot older men that have a way to just turn you on. Mr. Mogart definitely is one of those men.

“Cool,” Marc comments. “I like the robe.”

“Layla,” Mr. Mogart addresses her with a charming smile. “Come in.”

Layla leads the way, and Marc and you follow after her.

“Such a delight to see you,” he continues.

“You too,” Layla says.

“How have you been?” He asks as he takes her hand so elegantly.

“Good,” Layla responds as Mogart presses a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you for having us over on such short notice.” She pulls her hand away and the man does not drop his smile.

“Oh, please,” he assures her. “I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by.”

Layla then proceeds to turn to Marc and pats his shoulder to introduce him, causing Mogart to look over at him as she did. “This is my husband, Rufino.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marc responds and offers Mogart his hand.

“Pleasure. Oh right,” the man mutters and wipes his hands on his robe to shake Marc’s hand.

“And that’s my step-daughter,” Layla points to you as you stand beside Marc. “Y/N.”

The man steps away from Marc and offers you a much kinder and much more charming smile than the one he offered Marc.

“Hello, it’s nice meeting you,” you greet with a smile of your own.

And as you stretch out your hand Mogart takes it and leans down to press a kiss on your knuckles. “Delight,” he says, causing you to smile wider and hold his gaze.

Meanwhile, Marc beside you was slowly furrowing his eyebrows and trying not to pierce daggers into the man with his glare.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Mogart tells Layla as he lets you go and turns to walk you away from the ring. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

Layla sighs. “A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?” She asks.

And once you walk out of the ring with Mogart, the men that were inside continue with their game.

“Well,” Mogart answers. “I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation. Now if I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?” He asks as he brings you to stop in front of a small glass pyramid that has what Marc is looking for inside.

“Oh, actually our purchases are—”

“I’m sorry,” Mogart cuts Layla off before she can finish her explanation. “I’d like to hear from your husband, if you don’t mind.”

He’s playing with her.

Marc hums, and Mogart hums in agreement as he folds his arms over his chest and waits.

“I think that…” Marc begins to say. “But I think I just would love to take a look.”

Mogart keeps quiet for a moment before commenting, “funny man.”

You keep your gaze on him for a moment to try and figure him out, to try and read what he’s playing at, but you get interrupted by Layla grabbing your arm to pull you inside the pyramid.

“Please, just let Steven out before you blow this,” Layla tells Marc as you walk to Senfu.

“Not a chance,” Marc retorts. “All right, what do you see?”

You begin to walk around as you study the sarcophagus, noticing text carved on the wood.

“Well,” Layla answers before you can. “The burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts.”

“The what?” Marc questions.

“It’s legit,” you answer as you come to stop to look inside, noticing something over the corpse.

“But all I see is literature to guide the dead,” Layla adds. “There’s no location indicated.”

You sigh and point to the dark material within. “Don’t think it’d be that easy. Must be uh, coded or something, right, with this?”

“Okay, uh,” Marc cuts in. “Will you guys give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven…just keep him occupied.”

So it is real. Is it? This Steven character.

Nevertheless, after some hesitance you end up trusting him and walk off with Layla to rejoin the men watching from the outside.

“He just needs a couple minutes in there alone,” Layla tries to explain. The guard tries to walk in, but she grabs his arm and pulls him back. “Please, yeah. He is…he’s praying,” she excuses his actions.

When you look over you see him talking to himself with his back turned, so you understand why it’d look weird, why the guard continues watching him without as much as listening to what Layla has to say. Nor does Mogart actually pay any attention to her or you whatsoever anymore.

Furthermore, before you the guard doesn’t wait and departs from the group.

“Wait,” you try to stop him, but he doesn’t stop, he walks in the pyramid.

When you go in after him he immediately pulls out his gun. “What are you doing?” He demands to know from Marc.

You try to pull apart your bracelets but as Marc hears, he instantly turns and manages to steal the gun and point it at the guard instead, causing more guards to point guns at both Layla and you in retaliation, and forcing you to stop from grabbing your own weapons.

“Marc!” Layla exclaims, “don’t.”

Said man looks over and his eyes widen as he sees what unfolded.

“Shit,” he hisses and hands the guard his gun back, letting one guard point at both Layla and you so he the other could walk over to Marc, before finally letting Mogart walk in after Marc.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Mogart spats. “Get on your knees.”

“Anton, stop!” Layla tries to talk him down.

But Mogart ignores her. “Get on your knees,” he repeats himself. And to your surprise Marc does as he’s told—“Layla,” Mogart says and looks back at her. “I was so ready to make peace with you.”

The guard behind you nudges both Layla and you inside with his gun high, causing you to peer back and glare at him.

“You don’t understand,” Layla rebuttals. “We’re trying to save many lives.”

There’s four guards in here with guns, Mogart is too pretty to be holding anything, so it’s just the four guns. You have weapons, Layla also has her own daggers, and Marc has the suit so it can be manageable, you can take ‘em together if you try.

“Hey, pal,” Marc interjects. “Take a look inside the sarcophagus.” Marc points his head to said object. “There’s somethin’ really, really big.”

Mogart slowly gets closer, but his guard then walks to him and whispers something in his ear that makes him turn to look at the three of you.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Mogart says a bit smugly. “It appears we have a concerned third party here.” He begins to walk out now. “Get up.” He orders Marc

Said man does as he’s told, and as you all get walked out, there walking towards you is the same older gentleman from before, Arthur Harrow Marc said his name was.

“Whatever they’ve told you,” he adds. “I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible.”

Sure just like how he offered that poor old man food and shelter only to kill him. So much for justice. He’s nothing but an evil old man.

Regardless, Harrow shows off the scarab in his hand. “Why settle for a clue when you have the treasure,” he continues to try and convince Mogart.

“Anton,” Layla tries to talk to him. “Anton, don’t listen to this man. He’s trying to stop us from reaching—”

“Please, stop,” Mogart cuts her off as he turns swiftly to point at her.

“He’s gonna kill millions, trust her!” You exclaim out of annoyance that he was being so ignorant.

Mogart glances at you and then glares at Layla. “Do you seriously want me to trust you, Layla?”

“Please,” Harrow interrupts, making you groan—“there’s no need to descend into violent accusations. Each one of you has so much more in common than you know. Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your fathers murder from reopening. But something stands in your way. Your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.”

You look between Layla and Marc in confusion and worry, hoping that what this man was talking about was out of his ass to just turn them against each other.

“And Marc,” Harrow continues to say and creates more tension. “You don’t tell her because you know if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.”

“You piece of shit—”

“You distance yourself from your daughter,” Harrow cuts him off, making your breath catch and your eyes narrow. “In hopes that will keep her safe from that within, when reality that’s not what will destroy her, but yourself.” His eyes slide to you and he tilts his head. “And you, you use violence to silence the pain your father caused, but there's also a small part of you that enjoys it. That control. Just like him.”

The balls on this man.

You scoff and narrow your glare on him. “You fucking piece of shit,” you grumble, but he just ingores you and turns to Mogart.

“Anton,” he says and lifts his cane that begins to glow purple once again. Just like last time. “The lore surrounding these relics, I offer proof that it’s real.” He begins to walk ahead and continues to speak. “This sarcophagus does not belong to anyone.”

Suddenly as the man stops speaking the lights around begin to flicker, and the breeze begins to pick up.

“Anton,” Harrow speaks, “would you like to see for yourself?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mogart’s response let’s Harrow begin to chant, it makes the wind blow harder, the lights flicker with more urgency it seems, and that purple hue begins to grow brighter and surrounds the sarcophagus before destroying it.

“That's just a taste of the godly power I offer.” Harrow says as he continues to walk away.

Nevertheless, it’s while you were busy focusing on what was happening around you that you don’t notice Marc disappear until people from within the ring point it out.

However, you don’t lose him for long because as you look up at what stands on top of a glass pyramid, you see Marc in his suit.

He’s there, looking down at everyone, and you can’t help but smile.

Nevertheless, since everyone else sees him, Mogart is taken away, the guards around you lift their guns to shoot. But Marc quickly throws one dagger and takes out the guard by Layla, leaving the one still pointing his gun at you.

It seems that Marc is going to jump down and attack him that way, but the man instead hooks his arm around your throat and presses his gun at your head. “I will shoot her!” He bellows and begins to step back.

Marc lands on the ground and pulls out two more crescent moon daggers, whilst Layla begins to approach with a gun she grabs from the ground.

“Back off!” The guard yells at Layla and points his gun at her too, making Layla stop in her tracks.

“Please,” you feign a shaky voice and slowly begin to raise your hands in the air. “Please let me go.”

“Tell him to—”

Before he can finish his demands you flip the blade hidden in your ring and stab his jaw, making him groan and step back as he grabs his bleeding wound. You then spin around and kick him in the gut before pulling out the dagger from your bracelet and slicing his throat.

When the man falls you pick his gun off the ground, and then turn to see Marc’s glowing white eyes slightly widened.

“G-Cool,” he stammers.

You shoot him a smirk before you catch a line of guards approaching from the ring. When Layla notices she grabs your hand and pulls you towards Marc as he pulls his cloak around the both of you as the bullets fire…without as much as making a hole.

“Buy me some time,” Layla tells Marc.

Said man, without hesitation assures her, “I can do that.”

He then pulls away and twirls around to throw daggers at most of them out of his cape, before throwing his crescent daggers at the stragglers, leaving you in awe.

Layla then tries to take you with her, but you pull your hand away from her grip and shake your head. “No,” you protest. “Go, I'll stay here with him.”

Layla tries to argue but you turn away before she can and follow after Marc.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts when he notices you.

You lift your earphones and put them in your ears. “Helping,” you retort. You then turn your music on before jumping over the fence and throwing out a small explosive at the group of approaching guards, whilst Marc takes down more by himself.

Of course before you vanished into nothing but a pile of dust, Marc told you about his alter ego Moon Knight, who was brought thanks to Khonshu. But you never got to witness his capabilities. Marc always tried to tell you but stories aren’t the same as actually witnessing it for yourself. And now that you see him you can’t help but feel that same awe you felt when he’d tell you.

It’s not something you wouldn’t tell him though. Not anymore. Nor will you let him catch the awe on your face, so before he can see any sort of reaction, you use your gun and shoot at two approaching men, before Marc covers you and throws daggers at the other two that began to shoot.

More come from behind so you break away from Marc and pick up a spear from the ground to hurl it one before throwing a paralyzing gadget at the other three. One man tries to sneak up behind you, but you catch a glimpse of him and throw your elbow back on his nose before twirling around and slamming your bracelet on his neck to electrocute him, before using your ring to cut his throat.

As he falls to the ground you turn and see that Marc is getting overwhelmed, even more guards come out from who knows where and all continue to try to surround him, and you. Mostly him, so you look around for something else to use to help him, and actually see a horse someone abandoned still tied at a pole by the fence.

Alas, on your run to the horse one guy tries to rush you, while another tries to shoot you. But the one with the gun out gets a crescent dagger thrown to his chest, letting you use the gun to shoot at the one running at you.

After that you make it to the horse without an obstacle, but the horse gets spooked, and when it sees you approach it exclaims and jumps up on its back legs.

“It’s okay,” you try to assure the horse and throw your hands out. “Shh, it’s okay, I just…want to help,” you continue and slowly step towards the rope.

The horse gets back on all fours but fidgets. Yet it doesn’t try to kick you when you untie it, it stays put and lets you approach it—“that’s a good horse,” you whisper and brush your hand on its side before climbing on. “Now, let’s go take out those bad men.”

A smirk plays on your lips, and as you get the horse to run forward, as you feel the breeze on your face, you begin to grin and keep your eyes on Marc, and those guards who wants to kill you both. As you approach the spear you hurled at one guard, you throw your hand out and grab it, but as you try to pull it out of his body as the horse runs ahead, you almost get your arm ripped out of your freaking socket.

“Oh by the—fuck,” you grumble and roll your shoulder back. “Mother fuck—”

Nevertheless, you brush your pain aside and make the horse run faster. As you approach Marc, you lift your arm and smirk mischievously before you throw it at the man he had behind him.

Marc tries to look over as he notices but another guard tries to take him from the front and distracts him. So you nonetheless have your back turned to him as the horse continues forward. When you turn, you see Marc in a different outfit, in the plain white suit.

“All right, time out!” He shouts in the british accent—Steven. “That’s it, time out! Guys, let’s all calm down, yeah? We’re all worked up! Let’s all just, like, chill the F out and talk for a second…” Before he can finish, his spear gets thrown at his back. Another man on a horse comes racing past you and stabs another spear in him.

When you get close to him again he suddenly changes again and he’s in his previous outfit with the cloak on.

You would’ve asked why the sudden change, but there’s no time now, so you make the horse run faster and head towards the man on the other horse. He sees you approaching him and raises his spear as he makes own horse sprint towards you.

One of the other men nearby rushes you and ends up pulling you off the horse. When you hit the ground you land on the man. He tries to push you off, but you slam your bracelet on his neck and electrocute him first before punching him and knocking him out.

Now albeit, when you stand to your feet, the man on the horse comes running at you. He lifts his spear, but you raise your gun and shoot him first, leaving no one in front of you so you turn.

However, when you do turn, you see Marc with spears all over his body, and see Layla get cut by Mogart.

“Layla!” Marc shouts before you could.

You try to run to her, but Mogart grabs a spear and turns on his horse to face Layla now. Meanwhile, Marc was on the floor with the spears still on him.

There was a choice to make, help Marc so he can help Layla, or help her and risk Mogart getting her first.

No matter what jealousy brewed by the attention Marc was just giving her and the apology he gave her first, you love her too much to lose her, so you make your choice and run to Marc. There were only three men, so you raise your gun and shoot, but find the gun without bullets, so you just throw it out and grab your dagger to hurl at one man’s back.

The second one on Marc’s side looks over and grabs his gun to shoot at you; and he actually does shoot a bullet, but you slide down on your feet and use your last dagger and hurl at him.

He deflects it and continues to shoot, but Marc then uses the man’s own spear and pushes him back before turning to get the other.

And while Marc is distracted on the third man, the second one tries to cut him, but you pull your dagger out of the other man’s body and throw it at his hand this time, causing him to drop the spear. You then pick his gun off the ground and shoot him just as Marc turns to deal with him.

Marc then looks over at you and you meet his glowing gaze, and in between pants point to Mogart with your head. “Go.” You mouth.

Without a second to waste Marc turns and breaks into a sprint towards Layla. Mogart does the same. But just before Mogart reaches Layla, Marc grabs her in time and flips her over, forcing Mogart to continue running ahead, this time towards you.

His eyes then proceed to fall on you, but you don’t move and just hold his gaze with a scowl since you see Marc throw his dagger at him.

Mogart furrows his eyebrows in confusion at your reaction, but in that moment before he can even try and hurt you, the dagger stabs him in the back and he goes on ahead and leaves you.

When he’s out of sight and no longer a threat, you pick up your daggers and clip it back on your wrist before heading towards Layla and Marc.

“Y/N, are you okay?!” Marc asks as he turns to meet you halfway once he’s secured Layla.

“Yeah,” you assure him without the attitude. When he reaches you and you both stop, he grabs your shoulders and makes his mask disappear so his face is visible now.

“Are you okay?” He asks again and scans you for any injuries.

You look at his hands before you meet his gaze and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I told you,” you pant. “I can protect myself.”

Marc cups your cheek with one hand, making you stiffen and avert your gaze to look over at Layla now. Once she meets your gaze you quickly pull away from Marc and run to her.

“Layla,” you exclaim, and quickly grab her arms once you reach her. “Are you okay?”

Said woman nods and grabs your wrists to redirect your question. “Are you okay?”

You offer her a half smile and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. I'm glad. I’m proud.”

You smile wider and let her go to turn and face Marc as he approaches the both of you.

“Do you have it?” He directs at Layla.

“Yeah,” she assures him. “We need a car.”

He nods. “Yeah, come on.”

——

*LATER*

You: You’ll get a name when you give me yours so for now I’ll just tell you my name is wolf.

You press send without regret and wait now, hope Spider-Man might answer back—given you were going to answer earlier but well the fight happened.

“Ay,” you hear Marc comment from the front of a…borrowed car. “I really liked that jacket.” He throws his jacket back over the pile of backpacks set beside you, and turns his neck to steal one glance at you before turning back again.

“What was Harrow talking about?” Layla asks Marc, and you lower your music as your interest is piqued.

“What do you mean?” Marc asks as he takes off his shirt.

“He said I had a right to know,” Layla adds.

“I have no idea,” he assures her as he throws his shirt back before you catch him, from the corner of your eyes, pointing at his bag. “Y/N, pass me the white hoodie in my bag.”

You put your phone down and pretend to be uninterested as you reach over and unzip his backpack.

“I never told anyone why I really moved,” Layla says, whilst you pull out what he asked for as he answers her.

“I don’t know, he’s just trying to mess with you….”

Your phone vibrates with an incoming message so you quickly push the hoodie to Marc to pick up your phone, noticing it was Spidey, and going unaware that Marc lets his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning away.

“…you know he’s trying to get in your mind. No, don’t let him do that. You know he’s got this idea that can see the true nature of people or some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he’d have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, would he?” Marc finishes saying while you unlock your phone to read the message.

Unknown

Alright, fair. That’s fair. By the way, wolf is a cool name, or alias or whatever.

You scoff softly in amusement and continue to listen to the conversation happening from the front of the car.

“So, it’s not true?” Layla asks Marc. “What he said about you and…”

“No, it’s not true, of course not,” Marc cuts her off to assure her. “No, he’s just trying to divide us. Don’t let him get in your head.”

So what Harrow said about Marc and you, what is it? Is it true? Or is it a lie?

If it was a lie though, why would he say that Marc is trying to protect you from the bastard god that has him imprisoned?

Maybe he’s just trying to get your hopes up to then get them crushed when Marc reveals the actual truth that he doesn’t care.

Maybe that’s it. Which would prove your grandmother right.

“Every time I learn something new about you,” Layla adds. “I think, “that’s it. There can’t possibly be any secrets left between us.” And then something else pops up, and it’s like I’ve not known you at all.”

“Yeah,” Marc doesn’t fret to agree. “You haven’t. You don’t.”

As conflicted as you currently felt, you know for sure that what he said now to Layla was rude. She doesn’t deserve that even if it might be true.

Which is why you get discouraged to bring up your own questions on the same Harrow regard. Marc would just turn you down, lie. There’s no point. So you leave it alone and get back to answering the message.

You

Thanks :) Now tell me Spider-Man and be honest are you an old weird man? Cause yes I might be into older men but I need to know who I’m talking to. Weird? Perv? Too young?

You leave the message app and turn up your music, you look up again and now see both Layla and Marc as far as apart as they can be. Layla's eyes are watery, and Marc wears an…upset frown on his face as he stares out the window.

Now you feel shame for feeling happy that they had gotten into an argument earlier.

Yet deep down not really. Part of you…that deep flawed part of you doesn’t want them to reconcile, to be happy, not until he can talk to you first, not until he apologizes to you first. No matter how much you do love Layla.

Is that bad? Does it make you a bad friend? A bad step daughter? An even worse daughter?

Maybe. But you can’t deny what you feel.

Regardless, your phone vibrates and a message from Spidey pops up.

Unknown

No to your first two questions. At least I don’t think I’m weird. But I’ll tell you my age when you do. Cat burglar.

You scoff and don’t wait now, you’re too intrigued.

You

I TOLD YOU! I DO NOT STEAL! everything I take is already stolen and sold on the black market. I just steal from the actual stealers and return the items to their rightful owners.

And! no. You’re a man, I know men. I’ll take my caution. Tell me your age first.

As you wait now, you glance up to try and look out the window, to try and watch the stars, and the moon follow the car, but you end up catching Marc’s stare through his side-view mirror.

“Tell me you’re not actually texting that spider guy,” he says when you catch his stare. He then turns around on his seat to look at you.

You scoff and blink in disbelief before you narrow your glare on him. “Why should it matter?” You snap.

“Why—because y/n he can be a creep, you don’t know him!” He argues.

You pull out one earphone and quickly defend yourself. “If he was a creep would he go on saving people. And think about it, when you meet someone, you initially don’t know—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t give me that crap. I don’t want you texting him.”

You feign a laugh and shake your head. “I am nineteen now, I can text who I want. And please don’t you give me that dad crap because you will not like where I’ll take it. Unless you want to talk about shit?” You wait and hold his gaze for him to say something, anything. But he just presses his lips togehter and sighs.

You wait longer, for a moment longer in hopes he’d add anything, but he continues to keep quiet and turns back around.

“Exactly,” you grumble, and ignore your eyes beginning to sting and just put your earphone back on to blast music in your ears to block him out.

When you look down at your phone you see Spider-Man had texted you back.

Unknown

I’m 19. Now you. I need to know who I’m talking to.

You let out all your frustration through a deep breath and answer him.

You

I’m also 19. Yet I’m not so convinced about you.

A couple minutes pass and a message is sent back.

Unknown

Well, girl who gave me her number without knowing me I don’t know what to say

You’re gonna have to trust to me

You slowly smile at your phone and counter his comment

You

Will I regret it? Be honest.

This time when you wait, he takes longer to respond. You try not to let it get to you. You try not to get anxious and check your screen in hopes you just didn’t feel your phone vibrate, or maybe while you were checking the message somehow hid from you.

You try to watch the stars that you pass, the glowing moon that follows the car—

Perhaps it’s the time difference. Maybe he’s working, in school. Or…maybe he fell asleep.

Maybe you came on too strong? Or—

You break from your train of thought as you feel your phone vibrate. When you check you see that it was him.

He did respond.

Unknown

I don’t know

You hum at his response but find it intriguing so you answer.

You

Okay, Spidey, I’ll risk it.

You smirk and look up, noticing now that everything around you was darker as the city lights began to get further and further the deeper you drove into the desert. Now all that basked the car and your surroundings was the car's headlights, and the stars and moon’s hue that was nothing compared to London, Chicago or New York’s stars and moon shine.

Out here, even if it was in the middle of nowhere the stars shone a lot brighter, more beautiful. The Milky Way was actually visible from the desert.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you mumble as you shut the car door and look up at the night sky.

“Until you get lost,” Marc mutters while he pulls out something from his backpack before shutting his door and joining Layla at the hood of the car to begin piecing together some sort of astrological map.

However, it doesn’t turn out to be so easy, seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to an hour.

“Try that,” Marc tells Layla as he hands her a piece.

Layla tapes it to the other piece and then adds, “maybe, actually.”

“This one?” Marc suggests as he hands her another larger piece.

Layla takes it and presses it down. “Uh…no. Anything else?”

“I’m not getting any whole constellations,” Marc says. “It’s just little pieces and fragments.” He then proceeds to slam his hands on the hood out of frustration. He sighs and walks by you. “This is gonna take forever,” he adds.

You sigh and look up at the sky before you look down at Marc. “Maybe Steven can come out?” You suggest and begin to swing your feet from where you sit on the hood of the car.

Marc sighs and picks up head to look over at you.

“From what I’ve gathered he has a good understanding of all of this,” you continue. “I think it’s worth giving him a shot so we don’t waste more time.”

Marc stays quiet and hesitates, making Layla interject. “Marc, we can’t wait. It’s okay, just let go. We don’t have time.”

Marc suddenly groans and storms over to rip the side view mirror off the car and take it with him as he suddenly walks over to grab all the pieces off the hood without any sort of explanation.

“What are you doing?” Layla questions.

Marc continues not to answer and walks away from the car. He doesn’t walk far but in the spot he stops at he dumps out all of his stuff before looking through the side mirror he ripped out.

“What’s going on?” You question as both Layla and you continue to watch him.

Layla sighs and shrugs, whilst you see Marc get down on his knees and stick the pieces together. Which meant…he was Steven now?

You slide off the hood and begin to slowly follow Layla towards…Steven.

“…I don’t need that,” you hear him whisper as you approach him.

Layla gets down on her knees beside him and calls him out, “Steven?”

Said man turns and looks at her. His gaze lingers for a brief second before he interjects, “Egyptians invented modern navigation.” He pulls out more tape and bends down. “There’s not a lot of landmarks in the desert. So they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. It’s bloody genius, isn’t it?”

It’s weird now, now that you’re grasping that your dad has alters, that Steven is an alter born out of a dissociative identity disorder. It’s just that’s the only thing that explains this accent, this change, and the fact that he knew nothing about you.

It’s something you’ve seen on tv, you’ve read in textbooks, but you never imagined you’d actually meet someone that has multiple personalities. So it’s weird because his face is your dad, a man you’ve known for nineteen years, but this accent, this completely different personality is a different person.

It’s weird to get used to. And it’s especially hard not to be mad at him because Steven does carry the same face as Marc.

How does Layla do it? How can she differentiate them so quickly?

“Et voila,” Steven says and shows off the map pieces he turned to a star.

“Whoa,” Layla gasps and takes it from him.

“It’s French,” Steven mumbles as he can’t take his eyes off her.

Layla laughs. “I know.” Her gaze lingers on him before she looks back to show you the star-shaped map.

You get closer and squint your eyes, and find yourself actually smiling in awe as you can actually see the constellation.

“So,” you add. “What do we do with it?”

“Well,” Steve says and takes the star back. “I’m not sure, but if…” he moves it and then puts it against the light. “Hand on a minute. You see that? You see those little pinpricks there? That’s a constellation.”

“We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates, right?” Layla asks and pulls up her tablet. “Let me just scan it.”

You scoff. “I don’t think it’s gonna work,” you point out and prop your hand on your hip. “You see if you think about it, uh—”

“It’s not working,” Layla mumbles and puts down the tablet.

“Yes, no it won’t,” you explain to her. “The stars drift over time, not so much, but what was in the sky then won’t be the same now. But it could mean the difference between us searching miles and miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking.”

Layla smiles, and Steven grins as he nods in agreement. “Yes!” He exclaims. “Yes, so basically, Senfu marked that tomb, like, two thousand years ago. So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date, we’re beggard.”

You sigh, “yeah.” You look away from the map and look back at Steven, noticing that he seemed to be a thousand miles away himself now.

“Steven?” You call out softly and follow his line of gaze, seeing nothing.

Said man looks back at you and Layla and points ahead. He begins to walk off and Layla and you follow. Albeit you follow with more caution than she does.

Once you reach a sandy hill, Steven calls out. “Khonshu?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the sound of the name and you continue to watch Steven until suddenly the air begins to pick up and sand rolls back.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Yet you get no answer, instead Steven puts his arms out, looks up at the sky and gets his suit on.

You glance down at Layla and she glances up at Steven. When you look at him again he has hands up and suddenly purple begins to color the night sky before the stars begin to spin around, as if it’s some earth globe.

“What,” you gasp in awe and feel shivers down your spine. The sky turns brighter and spins faster until suddenly it stops and the constellation from the map shows up on the sky.

“That’s it,” you mumble and watch Layla lift the tablet to record it.

“This is surprisingly painful,” Steven comments.

“It’s working,” Layla mentions and begins to walk around him to get the entire constellation overhead.

“I can feel my energy leaving me,” Steven groans, and you see his mask disappear from his face, whilst the stars in the sky begin to shake—“oh, god, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

You look back at Layla and see that it’s almost complete. “Just hold on, a while longer,” you assure him.

Seconds later the computerized voice speaks the coordinates.

“I got it,” Layla exclaims. “29 degrees north, 25 east.”

Steven falls on his hands and knees and groans in pain, causing you to rush over to him to help him up, whilst his outfit completely disappears and the sky turns back to normal.

However, Steven falls again and you fall to your knees with him, noticing now that he went unconscious.

“Da—Steven?” You call, and Layla rushes over to help you flip him over. “Steven,” you try again and pick up his head. “Hey. Steven? Dad? Come on. Come on.” Your voice begins to quiver and your eyes begin to sting. “Come on.”

“Steven?” Layla calls out too and brushes back his hair. “Marc? Where are you?”

He continues to lay unconscious and his pulse feels weak.

“Hey,” you call out quieter. “Come on. Wake up. Please.” Your heart begins to race, and your stomach begins to churn as your mind races with the worst. “Wake the hell up!”

“Let’s take him to the car,” Layla says and walks to grab his legs, whilst you grab him from his arms to begin slowly carrying him down the sandy hill to reach the car.

Albeit, you don’t end up making it far at all because different car headlights show up whilst an engine is heard nearby.

“Shit,” you hiss and get down to begin carrying your fathers body that way.

Yet guns begin to get fired, so you have to let go so he can roll down and get down faster. His body then ends up tripping Layla and she rolls down with him.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim as you slide down the sandy hill.

The car begins to drive down so you break into a sprint and almost trip on your way down. Luckily you don’t roll down and end up stumbling close to Layla.

“Explosive,” she whispers. “They have explosives in the back of the car.”

You look over and see them beginning to turn.

“Go,” you urge her. “I’ll stay back with him.”

Without a second thought Layla begins to sprint over. The moment she makes it to the car the other car turns and begins to head towards her, making you clench your jaw and dig your nails in your palms.

You see Layla opening the trunk, but you also hear people speaking in Arabic as they drive closer. Once they begin to drive towards the trunk you hold your breath and let your body slide down a little bit.

Nevertheless, they don’t get off or spot her, they continue to turn and point their lights in your direction, so you gasp softly and lay on the ground to close your eyes and pretend to be dead.

They don’t seem to get out of the car but they also don’t fucking leave. Albeit you do hear one scream before they smack their car and finally turn away. As you look up you see them facing Layla holding a red match before they begin to shoot and drive towards her.

You want to yell out to get their attention, but Layla then gets down and hides the light, making them stop shooting and drive closer. And the moment they’re closer, Layla crawls to the other side and lights another match to throw it in their trunk and set off their explosives. Finally making them stop.

“What’s—”

At the sound of Steven’s voice you gasp and jump back. “<What the hell is your fucking problem?>” You swear off in Spanish as you clutch onto your chest and push yourself to your feet.

“Did I scare you?” Steven asks as he follows you towards Layla. “I'm so sorry!”

You wave him off and let out a deep breath as you head back towards your seat in the back, missing the way Steven stares at Layla in awe until she comments on it. “What?”

Is it weird to be confused about their relationship? It feels like Steven is being weird with Layla since she is married, but at the same time she is married to him…his body, his face, so is it weird to be rooting for their reconcile and at the same time their downfall?

Ah. It’s too confusing.

Music should help.

Yet…

“What are you listening to?” Steven asks as he crawls into the back with you.

“Uh,” you hum as you watch him struggle to swing his legs over. “Just, uhm,” you mumble and lean back so you don’t get hit by his body. “Yep, just….”

He falls on the bags and groans softly before turning around and pushing the things aside to sit down.

“Okay,” you laugh softly. “Yep.”

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly.

You glance at him and then back at your phone and nod slowly. “Hi,” you say back.

“So, what you listening to?” He presses.

You sigh and turn your phone on to show him the song that popped up first when you hit play.

“Ah, This Feeling by Alabama shakes, cool. That’s cool.”

“One of my favorites,” you mumble.

“You know,” he scoffs lightheartedly. “I really like this song called, Lobo-hombre en Paris by, uh, La Unión.”

You lick your lips and look up at him. “Really?” You probe. “That’s crazy, that's one of my favorites…”

You heard it from Marc actually.

“Oh, really?!” Steven exclaims. “That’s so cool! Cool.” He nods.

You hum and sigh softly, whilst Steven rummages through his jacket pocket until he pulls out something small.

“I think,” he interjects, “this belongs to you. Maybe.” He opens his fist, and there on his palm is a small carved wooden wolf. It was once yours, it was a gift from Marc.

“Uh...” you swallow thickly, and pull your headphones off. “Yeah. Well it was mine.”

He hums and holds it between his fingers to study the gray and brown wooden wolf. “I’ve always carried it with me, I never remember how I got it, but one thing I did know is that it helped me feel…safe. Calm. So I made sure never to lose it.”

Your eyes and throat begin to sting, and suddenly you feel at a loss for words

“I think it’s yours though,” he continues to add. “I mean because Layla calls you wolf, like the animal, so I assume—”

“Again, it was mine,” you interject. “I gave it back to Marc a long time ago. When he was leaving to one of his many trips around the world,” you begin to say and take the wooden wolf from Steven. “I told him it would keep him safe and that it would be like taking me with him wherever he went. Because I remembered that when he gave it to me he said that he picked it out because it reminded him of me. I was around five, so you can imagine how happy that made me.” You sniffle and hand it back to Steven. “Now, you keep it.”

Steven shakes his head and tries to give it back, but you close his hand around the wooden wolf and offer him a soft smile.

“Keep it,” you assure him. “It will continue to keep you calm. And so you can remember me.” You grin.

“But,” he tries to interject. “It’s from your dad. Which oddly enough your dad is…me? My body?”

You giggle. “Yeah, it’s confusing, but just keep it, please. I want you to keep it. It’ll keep you safe.”

Steven holds your gaze for a second before he sighs and nods with a faint smile on his face. “Thanks,” he whispers.

The sight of his face makes you want to punch him less, but he still is your dad so your anger isn’t actually gone completely.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “For the way I acted with you before. You’re obviously not Marc, so my anger is not directed towards you. I’m sorry for being an ass.”

Steven scoffs softly and shakes his head. “No, don't worry about it. I get it. Marc is an arse.”

You nod softly in agreement.

“Can I ask, what did he do? What happened?”

Your eyes flicker down and a shaky sigh escapes past your lips. “Don’t…don’t worry about it,” you deflect his question. “It wasn’t you.” You offer him one last smile before you put your earphones back on and continue to listen to music as you continue towards the tomb.

Unbeknownst to you, while you apologized to Steven, as you warmed up to him, Marc from within was growing jealous that it wasn’t him who you were talking to; that talking to you couldn’t be as easy as Steven was making it out to be.

A/N- Now is y/n’s fascination with older men because of her daddy issues or because it might be leading to something else? 🤔

Tagged: @broadwaytraaaaash

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sadlyghost · 2 years

Note

can u do one where the reader is marc spectors kid but acts a lot like steven grant and they have a lot more in common with steven and maybe its a bit hard for them to bond with marc but then the kid is introduced to steven so marc and the kid have to find their own unique way to bond?

maybe with the line "I dont think he'll ever understand me". up to you if u use it or not tho

cheers!

Summary: You and your father, Marc Spector, had always had trouble connecting and understanding eachother because of your differences. When you finally learn about and meet Steven, the rift between you and your father is only highlighted more, as you realise you get along with Steven better than you do with your own dad.

Pairing: Marc Spector x (platonic) Teen Daughter Reader | Steven Grant x (platonic) Teen Reader

Words: 3000

Content Warnings: Angst, slight family issues.

Your father had always had trouble connecting with you. Maybe it was because of his own childhood. Or because you were unplanned and he had to raise you himself. Maybe it was because he didn't know how to be a parent, and had to learn everything along the way.

Whatever it was, you had both sensed it more and more as you grew. You and your father were just simply so different from eachother.

Of course he loved you with all his heart and he would accept you for who you were no matter what, but he just couldn't understand you sometimes. He found it hard to relate and connect with you, no matter how hard he tried.

You didn't really mind. He was your father and you also loved him no matter what, but you also felt as if there was some sort of barrier between you two. Things never felt complete or at ease, there was always some aspect of awkward force when you two talked, like it was a necessary part of life, not like it was something enjoyable. But thats how things had always been, so neither of you would bring it up to the other, even though both you and your father yearned for a deeper connection with eachother.

Eventually, when he thought you were old enough, Marc explained his situation to you. He thought you were mature enough to handle the information and understand it well. He explained his DID and mentioned Steven to you, and thankfully, you were accepting and understanding of it all.

Marc had made a deal with Steven when you were young. He didn't want Steven to have to look after you when it was Marcs actions which lead to baby you unexpectedly showing up on his doorstep in a basket and with a note from Marc's ex. Steven had a seperate life which he seemed to enjoy and Marc wanted you raise you alone, so they made a deal to only introduce Steven to you when you were old enough to understand.

Marc had also recently been asking advice from Steven. As you became a teenager, the rift between you and your father had only become larger and Marc finally decided to take action before it was too late. Steven had always been more of a people person than Marc, and Marc hoped that Steven could somehow connect with you, which would then allow Steven to give Marc some tips on how to approach things better.

What Marc didn't know, is that you and Steven were going to get along way better than he ever expected.

The day that you met Steven, you felt more seen and heard than you ever had felt in your entire life. It was like you could immediately connect with him.

"Heya luv, Marc told you about me, right?" Steven says, casually walking into the kitchen to make some tea. You nod softly, feeling a bit reserved at meeting someone new, but any tension was soon gone, as Steven made you feel extremely comfortable.

You noticed immediately that his entire demenour was different to that of your fathers. He seemed looser, more carefree, more welcoming. Not to mention that his accent was completely new to you. British you guessed. He moved around the kitchen to grab some tea bags as he hummed softly to himself. You just observed, kind of shocked to see who would usually be your tense father acting so loose and welcoming.

"Marc said you liked this herbal tea" Steven commented before turning back to you with a cup, handing it to you with a soft smile on his face. You smiled back warmly.

"Yep, it's my favourite" you said to him through a smile.

"I'm glad to meet another tea person" Steven joked softly with a welcoming smile. You laughed softly at his words, feeling relaxed around him.

You both sat down at the kitchen table as you sipped your tea. Steven had been introducing himself to you while you listened. He was such a character, so different than Marc. In fact, Steven felt almost similar to who you were. You connected so easily on so many different things and it didn't feel like any sort of chore to communicate.

"You a book person?" Steven asked casually, before sipping his tea.

"Of course. Either informative non-fiction, or full on fantasy" you said through a smile.

"Oh what non-fiction do you read??" he asked, seeming excited as he bounced up and down slightly.

"Mostly about different cultures and just general history stuff" you answered. He beamed as he smiled widely.

"Do you know anything about Egyptian Mythology?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah a little bit. I've definitely always been interested in it though" you reply. He seemed to shake in excitement.

"Then look no further luv. I've got so much information on Acient Egypt, you wouldn't believe it!" he said enthusiastically. You laughed softly at his reaction.

"Would you like me to bring some books for you to read when I come around again?" he offered kindly.

"Definitely! I'd love to learn some more about it" you said through a smile.

You and Steven talked for a few more hours. It was a relaxed friendly conversation. You guys just seemed to get along so easily. It was like you just understood eachother on a level which you had never felt with your father. It was a welcomed feeling.

Steven seemed to enjoy it as well. He seemed just as relieved to find someone with similar interests as him. Moreover, someone who was willing to listen to his Ancient Egyptian rambles and actually enjoy and learn from it.

When Steven said he needed to go, you honestly felt a bit sad. That sadness quickly turned into guilt. Were you really sad that your father was going to be back soon? You had a great time with Steven and you just hoped Marc would let you speak with him again.

When your father was fronting again you felt a bit more reserved as usual. It was just how you and him were, it had been your dynamic since forever. You often felt as though you lacked something with your dad, but after meeting Steven, you were sure that you and Marc didn't connect on the level that you would like to.

Marc's usual demenour returned. He seemed a bit more awkward than usual as he looked back over to you with the neutral look in his eyes that he often had. But there was something different in his eyes this time. Almost like he was worried? Fearful? Hopeful? You couldn't quite identify it.

You smiled awkwardly and turned away from him a bit. Marc hesitated to speak at your reaction.

"So, um, that was Steven. I assume you liked him?" he said, voice quieter than usual. You nodded, smiling softly as he observed your behaviour.

"He was very nice" you reply, a warmth in your voice which Marc wasn't used to. It shocked him. You seemed to like Steven so much. You seemed to look at him and speak to him in a way which you never spoke to Marc. It made his heart ache a bit. You had only met Steven once, did you really like him more than you ever liked your own father?

Marc gulped insecurely and turned away from you as well, feeling discouraged. You two couldn't even properly look at eachother, and all this behaviour was just being highlighted after yours and Stevens interaction. It made everything seem so much more obvious.

"Well I'm glad. He um, he seemed to like you too. You two get along very well..." he said, voice sounding forced and distantly pained. You silently nod before the both of you go off to your seperate places.

The more Steven fronted, the more you came to like him. He felt so different than your father, and you very much enjoyed his company. However, the more time you spent with Steven, the less time you spent with your own father.

Steven had noticed how easily Marc had been giving up control to him. Marc wasn't usually like that, especially not around you. Steven would usually have to persuade and convince Marc to let him front. But recently, Marc has shown no reluctance. In fact, Marc had been encouraging Steven to front around you. This worried Steven. Why was Marc so easily giving up time with you? Steven was of the understanding that Marc wanted to try connecting with you more, so why had he seemed to of given up on that?

You and Steven were hanging out like usual, it had become normal for you two to spend time together doing whatever. Today, you were playing uno with him, both having a wonderful time.

"I've been here a while luv, I should probably go soon so you have some more time with Marc" Steven says, reshuffling the cards the after the previous game of uno. You look up, unsure if you should say what you were thinking.

"Um....what if you stayed a little longer?" you suggest, almost ashamed by your own words. Steven frowns softly.

"How come? Don't you want to spend some time with your father? He's been hoping you two could connect some more" Steven explains simply. You shrug awkwardly.

"Well I guess I do. But I also like spending time with you. You're just.....different to him. Not in a bad way though, its just.....I don't think he'll ever understand me" you admit quietly. Steven frowns more.

"He tries very hard to understand you, luv. We both do seem to be similar, but that doesn't mean that you and Marc can't connect, it just might take a bit more effort. People communicate and relate in different ways" he explains.

"Yeah....maybe...." you trail off, not really wanting to dwell on the topic more. You thought about Steven's words though. Maybe the two of you just had to try a bit harder.

"A little while longer, okay?" Steven proposes, you nod with a dissapointed sigh as you play your last game of the night before Marc returns.

What you didn't know, was that Marc was distantly listening from the headspace, and that your reaction to the knowledge that your father will soon return broke his heart just a little.

A short while later, Marc decided to ask you something important. Steven seemed to of been making you happier and more open lately, and that was all Marc ever wanted for you. He didn't want to continue making you feel reserved and awkward. If Steven was the key to your happiness, then Marc was willing to step back for your sake.

He always knew deep down that he just wasn't built to be a father. He tried his best to provide for you and to keep you happy, but it seemed he really was lacking. As much as he wanted to, apparently he just couldn't offer you the understanding and connection that you had wanted with your dad.

He had to accept that maybe Steven was better for you.

That's why he sat you down one day and asked you a question which could possibly break his heart.

"Y/n, sweetheart, would you prefer Steven as your father instead of me?" he asked, his voice sounding insecure, hesitant and worried. You looked up him with wide eyes, shocked that he would ask such a question. He looked back at you, desperate for an honest response so that he could ensure your happiness.

"What...?" you breath out in disbelief, unsure of how to answer. Marc looked to the side in shame.

"You and Steven, you seem to understand eachother in a way that I never could. So would you like him to take care of you from now on?" he reiterated softly. You still didn't reply. What kind of an offer was that? Were you just going to switch fathers like it was nothing? Why does it sound like Marc was just going to dissapear? You genuinly didn't know how to respond.

"It's completely fine if you prefer him, I don't mind, I can easily let Steven front more.....or all the time if you want...." he said, voice wavering slightly as he spoke. If you looked close enough, you might be able to notice his slightly teary eyes.

"He can be your dad and you can feel more understood and seen with him around. You can spend as much time as you want with him. How does that sound?" he proposes, before looking back to you, anxiously awaiting an answer. His eyes search yours, desperately trying to understand what was going through his childs mind.

"You don't want to be my dad anymore.....?" you ask insecurely, voice close to a whisper. Marc sighs to himself, what he feared would happen had happened. You two had so much trouble communicating. But this was important, and Marc didn't want you to take this the wrong way, so he was intent on ensuring you understood.

"It's not that. Of course I wan't to be your dad, y/n. But....I've seen how you act with Steven and I was just wondering if you preferred him over me? Would you rather him be your dad so that you can feel understood all the time?" he says, trying his best to keep his voice stable.

"I don't want you to go away....." you admit quietly, feeling a bit scared at what your father was implying. Could your dad just dissapear because of his DID? The thought scared you. Marc sighs in relief, at the very least, his child still wanted him.

"Steven is nice and it's fun to do things with him. But you're my dad..., I still need you" you say honestly.

"But I've tried so hard to make you feel seen and understood, and it hasn't worked. Steven can give that to you, sweetheart" he says sadly. You shuffle in your chair.

"Steven said people communicate and relate in different ways....what if we just haven't found a way that works for both of us?" you say maturely.

"If you want to continue trying then of course I'm willing to as well. I just want you to be happy" he responds. You nod to yourself, feeling determined. Not only were you sad because you always felt a disconnect from your father, but your sadness had increased tenfold after learning how your own father felt about it. He was usually a pretty neutral guy, rarely putting his thoughts and feelings on display. But now he admits that he is willing to step back from your life just so that you could be happy. You had no idea he would ever propose such a thing. It saddened you greatly. Which is why you now felt so determined to make things better. You were going to make a huge effort to mend the disconnect between you and your father, and you just hoped that it would pay off in the end, for the both of you.

From that moment forward, you and your dad created a plan to stick by. You were both committed to this plan, and although the both of you would have to comprimise on things, you were both extremely determined.

You decided to start slow, an activity twice a week for a little while. Both of you suggested things. A walk in the park, going to see a new movie, trying out a new cafe down the street, going to a market. It was fun, awkward at times, but you both ended up enjoying it in your own way.

Next you started cooking dinner together, making the chore fun and fulfiling. You chose some recipe you found online and you'd both try your best to cook it, even though neither you or your father were the best cooks. You ended up learning a lot of skills in the kitchen, and luckily Marc had a lot to teach you.

You two would eat dinner together, sometimes just talking about your days at the table, Marc inquiring about school and you being curious about his job. Other times you'd choose a favourite movie to watch over your meal, alternating between yours and Marcs favourite films.

The more you two shared about eachother, the more you connected. You found that there were similar interests between you two that you could talk about, you just had to try a bit harder to find them. But it was worth it when you could finally have a conversation with your father about something that both of you are truely passionate about.

Over time, things became easier and more natural. You both still had to put in an effort to communicate and be mindful of each others ways of processing and understanding things, but it was much more enjoyable now. It felt like both of your combined efforts were going somewhere positive, and that things were changing for the better.

You and Steven still hang out and had just as much fun as before, but you no longer felt guilty about it, because you knew things were good with your father as well. Same with Marc, he didn't have to worry about you choosing Steven over him as a gaurdian anymore. He felt secure enough that he was fulfilling his role as a parent and that you were truely happy.

You no longer felt misread and unseen, but rather understood and appreciated. You both valued the effort the other had put in to understanding eachother. And even though it took a long time to get there, you and your father were happy about the place that you were in now.

~~~

A/N: Does anyone read the authors notes? Haha. Anyway, thank you to the person who requested this! This was one of my first requests and I'm so sorry it took forever to write! I had it in my drafts for a while. I don't usually write angst between the characters, usually the angst comes from an outside thing, so this was a bit challenging. If the person who requested this is still checking my blog, then thank you very much, I hope this lived up to what you hoped for :) Any feedback is welcome and very much appreciated! If anyone reads these notes, would you like more dialogue in these stories? I enjoy reading dialogue a lot, but I sometimes find it challenging to write. I'd love to know! I've also noticed that many requests want a gender neutral reader, but I continue writing x daughter because I'm not sure what else to use? Is there a gender neutral term for a child? Child is the only alternative I can think of, but that seems to imply that the reader is extremely young if I write x child reader. Of course I make sure to write the character gender neutral but I write x daughter in the pairing. Does anyone have an alternative?

#moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight platonic #moon knight x reader #moon knight series #moon knight imagine #marc spector #marc spector platonic #marc spector imagine #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x teen!reader #marc spector x teen reader #marc spector x daughter reader #platonic #fanfiction #platonic fanfiction

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moiravim · 1 year

Note

Are you gonna make a part 2 for Moon Dad meets y/n? I would like to see Marc's first meet up.

Moon dad's part 2.

Summary: what it's like living with Steven and Marc as your father figure<3

It has been a month since you moved in with Steven. By now you had been introduced to Marc and had gotten an explanation on who Khonshu is. Marc had immediately grown a soft spot for you.

It was nice being around someone who accepted you and could relate to you.

They had treated you like you were their own child and you were forever thankful. Even Khonshu had a soft spot towards you. Although he often gave you bad and dangerous advice so Marc told you to ignore him.

They knew he wouldn't let anything happen to you, so they didn't mind if you spent time with Khonshu as long as you weren't doing anything dangerous.

You finish the chapter of the book Steven had given you before placing in the bookmark and standing up.

You walked into the kitchen where Steven was preparing breakfast and asked; "do you need any help?". He smiled at you before shaking his head no and responding; "I'm almost done, love. How about you go sit at the table?"

You nod and he smiles lovingly at you. You go to the table and sit down in your favorite spot. It was facing the window so you could look out as you eat.

Khonshu appears and you casually look up at him. The first few times it was scary, but by now you enjoyed his presence.

"What are you doing?" He questions you as you stare out the window. You roll your eyes at his nosiness and respond; "I'm just watching people. Dad's almost done making breakfast..."

"Dad?" He asks. You cringe at the realization and try to play it off. "Dad? I said Steven..." Khonshu lets out a sound that almost sounds like a laugh before disappearing again.

Steven walks up with a plate of breakfast prepared for you. You smile as you grab your fork and taste the food.

He laughs as he looks at your exited face. You loved when Steven and Marc spent time with you and it made them feel bad for you.

It broke Marc's heart to see how happy little things meant to you. It made him overthink a lot about your childhood and made him hate your parents even more.

Steven sat in the seat across from you and started eating his own food. When you finished eating Steven said you could go to your room or watch TV but you responded that you'd rather stay there.

When he finished eating he told you that; "I have something planned. I was hoping that the we could go to the book store today. I just finished my book and it looks like your almost done with yours".

Your face becomes happier and you nod. He leaves the table to go get everything he needs and then goes to put his shoes on.

You quickly tie your shoes before standing up and walking to the door. "Hurry up!" You complain as Steven lets out a small laugh. He finishes putting on his shoes and opens the front door.

He holds your hand as the two of you walk around the large town. When you arrive at the library, Steven lets you look around while he picks out a book for himself.

By the end of the day you and Steven are both satisfied and spend the afternoon reading together. Marc fronts and the two of you lay down on the couch and watch television together until you fell asleep.

Marc carries you back to your bed and tucks you in before leaving a kiss on your forehead. He grabs your favorite stuffed animal which had fallen onto the floor and lays it down next to you.

He leaves the room and quietly closes the door before going to help Khonshu as moon knight.

A/N: should I do a part 3 where YN meets Jake? And maybe YN gets adopted? If you all have any other ideas, lmk 🥰🥰🫶

#marvel x reader #marvel #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #moon knight daughter #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x teen!reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #marvel x gender neutral reader #marvel x yn #marvel x platonic reader #marvel x teen!reader

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positivelyholland · 2 years

Note

Omg! Imagine Jake, Marc and Steven finding out that their daughter got a boyfriend and sneaking out late at night to meet him and stuff. Who do you think would be the most upset? (I’m HC’ing Jake to be the most pissed off lmao)

tysm for ur request!

Jake

he would find out as he hears the window open and someone falling through it

he immediately thinks his house his being invaded

so he runs up to the room so fast

but when he sees its just his daughter sneaking back into her room

oh hes pissed

jake being jake, he pressures her into telling him where she was

and when she finallt caved in and told him about her boyfriend

he'd be extremely upset but not rly at her

it'd more like

who has the audacity to go near MY daughter

and honestly might try to break them up

because he may seem like this tough guy

but he has a MAJOR soft spot for his daughter

but wish the kid luck on the day they meet because he'll sure need it

Marc

he would find out in a similar way to how jake did

he would be pissed that she didnt tell him but i think he understands why

he would immediately wanna meet the kid before he makes any judgements

i think he would be super protective though

like not even in a bad way but he just genuinely wants the best for her

also she definitely forces her dad to have a daddy-daughter day after he finds out to ensure that he knows she's still his

because we know that marc would feel like hes losing his baby girl

and he wouldnt say it out loud but his daughter just knows

but i think he'd warm up to the idea pretty quickly

Steven

awwww he'd be heartbroken that his daughter didn't wanna tell him

i also feel like he'd be more upset at the fact that theyd been sneaking around

because they could've just told him and make everyone's lives easier

but if he likes the guy he'd be so supportive of the whole relationship

in general he'd just be so supportive but wouldnt hesitate to destroy the kid if he hurts her

#steven grant x daughter!reader #marc spector x daughter!reader #jake lockely x daughter!reader #marc spector x teen!reader #moon knight x daughter!reader #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant x teen!reader #positively holland #sophie answers ⚡️#positivelyholland's concepts

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cas-kingdom · 2 years

Text

The Prelude

A/N: My first Moon Knight fic! I decided against changing my OC’s pronouns to fit the reader-style stories I usually write, just because I think her character is so complex and ready to be built-upon that it wouldn’t make sense. Hope you enjoy all the same! <3

This is set only a little while before the show. I’m not entirely pleased with it, but I’ve been slow on writing this year so I’m hoping the lacklustre is temporary lol.

Title: The Prelude

Summary: Marc’s only constant in the past couple years has been an orphaned fourteen-year-old who lives in a London children’s home. And who keeps escaping. With Khonshu as his shadow and the barrier between himself and Steven breaking down, Marc is called to her once again at a time she needs him, and he needs her, most.

Words: 4544

She didn’t like hamburgers. Once, she’d seen a vegan TV advert play before a YouTube clip in pre-school, and she’d come home professing that she would never touch meat again. Her parents had listened intently and, as per her toddler-babbled instructions, hadn’t put ham in her sandwiches for the rest of the week. It was very probable that they’d secretly ascertained from the first moment that it wouldn’t stick for long.

True to her parents’ inclinations, she’d nonchalantly asked for one of her dad’s breakfast sausages a week later, as though her announcement and the week-long mission had been a farce. Not that any of this lived in the reason she hated hamburgers.

No. She hated them because they existed in the last meal she could remember enjoying. Hamburgers and French fries with ice-cream for dessert. A small, round table with paper plates and cutlery, housing the sound of laughter and the rattling of cheap board games for hours into the evening. Their rare Friday night treat when her dad didn’t have to work at the bar.

Now, as she took the burger from the vendor, the scent of the warm bread and meat fuelling the growling of her stomach, she tried to push past the hatred. Every street food vendor she’d passed before this one had been too much for the pitiful few coins in her pocket. It had only been her shit luck that the cheapest sold hamburgers. They didn’t even have fries.

She mumbled a thank you before reaching into her pocket with her free hand. She closed it around her coins and frowned when she felt fewer than she’d thought she had. Pulling them out, she wondered how long she’d last before the inevitable. Maybe she’d be resorted to begging. She could turn her hoodie over and find a tossed-out piece of cardboard, and possibly a pen…scribble the words “HOMELESS ORPHAN IN NEED OF MONEY” on the—

“On me.”

A tall figure suddenly stepped in front of her and handed a note to the vendor. “Two-fifty, right?” he asked. Though she could see little more than his back, her stomach swirled with both absolute joy and absolute bitterness at the familiarity of his voice.

“Three pounds if you get a drink too,” the vendor replied, his London accent a stark contrast to the other’s American lilt.

“I’ll grab a water then. Keep the change.”

The vendor gave him a bottle and took the money. The figure turned, unscrewing the cap while he fixed the girl with a steady, undefinable gaze. She, in an attempt to remain undeterred, though she was really anything but, took a bite of her burger. It tasted like regret.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Marc Spector said finally. Amusement was infused in his tone, but the girl felt anything but.

She squinted her eyes at him, attempting to look resolute. Though a part of her was undeniably happy to see him, she also knew that him being here meant unwanted consequences.

“I have money,” she told him, “I wasn’t gonna steal it.”

“Yeah?” Marc rose an eyebrow as he drank from the bottle. He handed it to her after, perhaps thinking she may not have drank anything recently. She hadn’t. “Didn’t say you would, kid.”

At his words, the girl’s questioning gaze immediately turned steely, and she ignored his hand and turned away from him. “I don’t like when you call me that,” she spoke stiffly as she walked in the opposite direction, her steps quick. Despite her gritty response, and the itch in the back of her mind which reminded her that if he was here, she wouldn’t be here much longer, she silently hoped she’d hear his footsteps coming after her.

Taking another bite of her burger—which was unappetisingly dry—she focused on the crowds of people she was skilfully weaving through, tugging her hood over her head. In half a moment, she heard him behind her, his voice accompanying those wished-for footsteps.

“Okay, I’m sorry—" Marc apologised, slowing down once he reached her side. “You’re right, Emory.”

Emory twisted her face in contemplation as she turned to stare up at him. There was a lot she wanted to say, “where have you been?” certainly not coming in last, but she knew her current situation prioritised anything else. With a deep breath, she faced ahead once more, choosing her words. “Did Jeremy call you?”

“Not yet, but we both know he will.” They were quiet for a moment, still in step with each other, the sound of the city easily filling the silence. Then, Marc turned to her again. “How long have you been gone this time?”

Emory rolled her eyes, hating that that even lived in the vicinity of plausible questions. “I left this morning, before the sun came up. Are you in London to see me?” She didn’t ask him with as much hopefulness as she perhaps felt, any inclination of such a feeling disguised only by another mouthful of dry burger, but she knew that any answer other than what she hoped for would spoil her already distasteful mood.

Marc took longer than he should have to respond, seeming to ponder over a question that should have been simple. Emory noticed. She was perceptive. “I…am,” Marc said, hesitantly yet definitively enough to drown the former out, “‘course I am.” He smiled then, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders, and pulling her against his side as they walked. “It’s been a few months, huh? I just...saw you at the burger stand on my way, thought to myself: ‘right, here we go again’, and—”

“Marc.” Emory slunk from his grasp, rolling her shoulders back. Despite the annoyance in her tone, there was a sliver of a smile on her lips, and Marc did not fail to clock it. He never did. He counted it as a small victory among multiple failures he’d been entirely responsible for over the two years he’d known Emory Sullivan.

“What? You know it’s true.” His smile softened as his eyes fell on her again, all too familiar with her body language. For a fourteen-year-old, she bore weights she should never have needed to lift. This time, as she walked with intent in her steps, she looked tired. It made his heart clench.

“How’re you doing, buddy?” he asked, gentler this time. He slowed his pace and she subconsciously matched it. For a moment, the buzz of midday London on a Saturday died down, and it was the two of them, walking synchronously in their own little world they’d created together some undetermined time ago. Emory stopped chewing, and her face paled slightly, wisps of hair escaping from under her hood. She reached up to rub at her eyes, and Marc opened his mouth to speak, perhaps an attempt at reassurance. She beat him to it.

“Well,” she started, clearing her throat, “considering I’m here…” She cautiously glanced up at him with a shrug and an inkling of a forced smile.

Marc pressed his lips together and nodded in understanding. “Not great,” he determined, speaking for himself as much as for her. He edged slightly closer to her, a comfort he hoped she’d appreciate. “What happened this time? You wanna tell me before Jeremy does?”

Emory sniffed and rubbed at her eyes again, but she wasn’t quick to respond. Marc had experienced many a moment like this, though usually he’d receive the phone call first. Something along the lines of: ‘Hi, Marc, it’s Jeremy again. Em’s gone AWOL. Again. I’m sorry to ask but do you think you can help?’ It didn’t matter where he was at the time. He’d been in Greece once, Australia another...but somehow, he always managed to get himself to London and to Emory. He could thank a particular entity for that.

The first time he’d received the call had been different, of course. He’d only met Emory twice: once in a dank alleyway behind an Italian restaurant, and the second at the children’s home, when he’d visited a day later to ensure she was okay. When Jeremy had called him a week after that, explaining that Emory had run from the home, Marc had had no reason to help him find her other than some self-inflicting urge in the pit of his stomach telling him to. So, he had. And the next time the call came through. And the next time. And the next. This time made six, if he was remembering correctly. All in the space of twenty months. And a half.

She was a spitfire for sure. Every time he’d find her—because he always knew where to find her—he’d spend some time with her before he took her back to the home. There was rarely a reason she left, other than for an escape, which he could understand completely. He knew she felt trapped in the home, like she didn’t belong, like she deserved to be somewhere entirely different…yeah. He understood well. This time, however, he knew there was something else banging around inside her little head. She’d taken more money this time, and a rucksack hung from one shoulder. She’d been planning an escape, alright.

He ducked his head a little in an attempt to catch her face and gauge some reaction. Emory turned her head away, and Marc frowned. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t help me first,” he reminded her.

Emory took a moment to respond, her tough exterior obviously warring with the inner ache for comfort. His comfort. Finally, after a great deal of chewed cheeks on her part, and an even greater deal of patience on Marc’s, she sighed in defeat, her entire body loosening. “Someone wants to adopt me,” she muttered, just loud enough above the noise of the city.

Marc’s brows shot up in what could only be shock and he turned his face away, his eyes latching onto a woman’s bobble hat in front of him. He sucked in a deep breath and breathed out, adding a: “Right” somewhere mixed in.

Emory picked at her bread, her steps slowing even more. “That wasn’t my reaction.”

A deep frown cloaked Marc’s visible surprise. It definitely hadn’t been what he’d expected. She’d fought with kids over a slice of pizza before, kicked a guy in the chest because he’d taken her book…those situations he could deal with. He was a mercenary. This he could not. And not simply because it had obviously been a shock to her system, but it was so very clear that it was a shock to his, too. Emory fought emotions. She’d told him the first time about her reasoning for leaving, about the unbearable feeling of being cooped up and controlled by people who weren’t her family. She’d even told him about her parents once, the car crash and the events which had followed. She was a tough kid—girl—and apart from the details of her escapades and the facts of her life before the home, she preferred to keep her feelings bottled up. He could understand that—he was it. He’d had to grow up quickly too. But that hadn’t helped him in the slightest.

As they passed a bench, he jumped to attention. “Hey, let’s sit down,” he called out. “Over here.” Emory stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Her brows drew together in clear aversion to his idea. He schooled his features and dipped his head, fostering a firmer gaze in the hope she’d listen to him. “C’mon, Em,” he encouraged gently, sitting down and patting the space next to him. “Just sit down. Please.”

She looked at him for a moment, sucking intently at her bottom lip, then relented with a long exhale. She took slow steps towards the bench and sat beside him, dropping her shabby rucksack to the floor and scooting back until her feet hovered above the ground. The bench overlooked the Thames, and Emory watched the water ripple below for a moment. Marc said nothing, either deciding on his next move or giving her space before she felt she could talk. Maybe both. Either way, she didn’t feel like she could talk at all, the burger all but crushed in her hand from how she’d grasped it tightly in her fist, the result of pent-up emotion. Eventually though, she began to feel the coldness of the afternoon breeze, and she sniffed, tugging the strings on her hoodie to tighten them.

“You haven’t been to see me in a while,” she mumbled, just loud enough for Marc to hear. She didn’t look at him.

He turned to her, studying her small form before looking back out across the water. “I know,” he said, putting his bottle in the space between them. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me if that’s what you are. It’s…I’ve been busy.”

The skeleton-bird-man-thing sat on the railing over the river scoffed at that. Marc expertly ignored it. He turned towards Emory, lifting a leg to tuck under the other. She looked disappointed at his words, which wasn’t honestly surprising. “But I’m here now, buddy,” he told her, “I’m here now. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.”

“You know what’s wrong, Marc.” She took his bottle and set it in her lap, tilting it so that the water sloshed about inside. Marc sat back, leaning his left forearm against the top of the bench. For a man with multiple identities, he was particularly patient. Perhaps it was Emory who’d aided in that particular attribute. Whatever it was, he used it now, gently pushing her to tell him. Yes, he knew what was wrong, but Emory needed to learn to use her words.

“I don’t…” He switched his full attention on as she finally started to speak. “I don’t want new parents. I don’t want people who’re gonna pretend to be my mum and dad. I only want—” She hesitated, then gave him a tentative sideways glance. “I only want you. You won’t try to be anyone. You’ll just be Marc,” she finished quietly, swinging her legs back and forth under the bench in the childish manner Marc often wished she’d exude more of.

Marc sucked in a slow deep breath, tugging at the neck of his shirt. He’d promised only after months of knowing her that he’d give her a home one day, when he could. Thinking back, it had been impulsive, a decision based on the part of him that sympathised with her and was willing to give her what he’d never received. But looking at it now, he knew he’d rather keep his word on that above anything else. He was far more than fond of Emory, and she deserved somewhere she could happily and safely call home. He didn’t have to be her father, brother…uncle. He’d be her guardian and protector, there when she needed him to be. Right now, though—Marc glanced at Khonshu again, surprisingly silent though still entirely too present—right now wasn’t a good time.

He shifted on the bench. “I know. But, Em, I—“

“You can’t yet. I understand.” She looked at him, her eyes wide and more innocent than he believed he’d ever seen them. He found himself staring into them, noting the pain and the suffering he couldn’t yet do anything about. It physically hurt him.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t think I was coming to see you today,” he said then, the words escaping him before he could think much about them. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m here on business, like always, I know. I thought about it, coming to see you, but then I thought better.”

Emory took a moment to process his words. “Why is coming to see me bad?”

Marc shook his head, reaching a hand out to place on her knee. “That’s not what I said. I just don’t want us to see each other when I’m on the verge or the aftermath of—of business. Our time’s too important for that.”

“You never say what your business is.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Marc glanced at the flattened burger. “Are you gonna eat that?”

She tossed it in the waste bin beside the bench. “I don’t like hamburgers.”

A short silence blanketed them. Marc cracked his knuckles. Khonshu had disappeared.

“So…” He flexed his fingers and sighed. “What’s this family like? Assuming you’ve met them?”

Emory had spent her entire orphaned life in the children’s home, refusing any kind of foster situation or house change. Marc figured the main reason for that was Jeremy and the consistency he gave her. Though there were constantly kids coming and going, Jeremy had always been there for Emory, no matter how many times she attempted to disprove that she neither cared nor appreciated him. But she’d never admit to realising such a thing. In her mind, not submitting to new housing situations kept the illusion alive, that one day she’d be with her parents again. She had no room for stand-ins, whether they were in her best interest or not. She would be going nowhere without her say-so.

She sniffed and banged her foot against the bottom of the bench. “Jeremy made me sit in a room with them,” she said quietly. “The lady smiles a lot and smells like roses. The man has curly hair.”

Marc rose his brows and reached across to ruffle her own hair. “Hey, I have curly hair. Maybe he won’t be so bad.”

Emory swatted his hand away, a little harsher than he’d expected. “They are not taking me, Marc. I won’t go. No matter how many times they say they can help me, or give me a home, I won’t. Go.”

He out his hands up in surrender, though his stomach dropped at the brittle words, knowing they’d backtracked a little. “Alright,” he agreed. “We’ll speak to Jeremy and—”

“I don’t wanna go back there either.”

A sigh wafted through his nose. “Buddy…”

“I’m just really tired, Marc.” Her sudden admittance had him shutting his mouth, his sharp eyes noting the glistening of tears on her wind-bitten cheeks. She wasn’t looking at him, she barely had since he’d paid for her food, simply staring ahead. Her hands fidgeted in her lap and she lifted her legs to cross in front of her. “I don’t want to be there in that stupid home with other orphans.” Her voice sounded painfully dejected. “I don’t wanna be an advertisement for people to come and view me before they take me home. I don’t wanna be an orphan. I want my mum, and I want my dad. That’s all. That’s it. I don’t want anything else.” She wiped at her eyes with small fists, still avoiding his gaze, still unwilling to show him her tears, and he was reminded not for the first time of the situation he’d found her in over two years ago.

She’d been only slightly less closed off than she was now, unwilling to share any information with him, the man who’d saved her from an untimely pummelling in a London alleyway. She still hadn’t spilled the exact reasoning behind being there. Something about a bedroll. Apparently, the homeless men hadn’t been interested in sharing with a twelve-year-old who’d run from a children’s home. Those small fists had certainly tried their best, but she was lucky Marc had walked past when he had. After returning her to the home, he’d found out from Jeremy that she’d been there a mere couple of months, and this had been her third escapade. He’d said he’d be back tomorrow, and gave Jeremy his number.

Emory had certainly dialled her fleeing down in the years he’d known her and continued to visit, but there was still the odd occasion he’d be on the job somewhere across the globe and receive a phone call from Jeremy. Today had been a first, though. Khonshu had taken them to London, and he’d just seen her there in her oversized hoodie, speaking to the vendor as she stood on her tiptoes to see the food on offer. He’d halted for a moment, checked his phone for any missed calls, and kept moving.

Funny that that was the problem. He kept moving. Too much for a kid. And though he’d promised, and he intended on keeping that promise, he didn’t know how long this Khonshu deal would continue to go on for.

With another deep sigh, Marc reached across the bench, wrapping his arm around Emory’s shoulders and pulling her gently towards him. She didn’t resist this time, shuffling across the bench after a couple seconds and fitting herself beside him. She turned her face into his coat and uncrossed her legs, letting one hang over his. The feeling of her little back heaving against his hand told him she was all but sobbing into him, but he wouldn’t comment on it. Not today. Probably never, if she had anything to say about it.

He leaned his head down, pressing his lips to the top of her head for a moment. “Sweetie,” he murmured, “I know I say this a lot, but it’s all going to be okay. You’re in a shitty situation, and you’re so, so brave. Always have been. And I know things aren’t great at the moment, and I know you want nothing to do with that home and the other kids. I know you want your parents, and I will never be sorrier that I can’t bring them back for you. But when I’m done…” He flicked his eyes up, searching for Khonshu. He wasn’t there. Still, he lowered his voice. “When I’m safe and I know you’ll be safe too, I’ll come to you, and I’ll bring you home with me. And I won’t be your dad, or your mom, or your aunt or your uncle or grandparents. I’ll be Marc. Just like you said. And I’ll keep you with me for as long as you’ll let me. You just gotta hold on a little longer for me. Hold onto that rope, and I promise you I’ll pull you up when I can.”

She might have said something before his phone started to buzz, but perhaps it was better that she didn’t. It gave her time to mull over his words, wrap them up and keep them safe in a corner of her mind that she could return to whenever she wished to remind herself of what was waiting for her.

Keeping one hand against Emory, Marc reached into his pocket, pulling it out and letting a breathy laugh escape him once he saw the caller ID. Reassuring the girl with a little pat on her back, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear.

“Jeremy, hi,” he said.

“Hey, Marc.” There was a short sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, but she’s gone again. Are you anywhere near—”

“Yeah, I’ve got her, don’t worry,” he interrupted the man before his obvious stress grew tenfold. He knew he cared about Emory. “She’s safe and fed, not a scratch on her.” Emory shifted against him but still kept her face hidden.

“Oh, wow. Thank God. One day she’s gonna disappear on us and give us both a real heart-attack, I know it.” He sounded like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He also sounded like he’d just woken up. “She told you about the couple that want to adopt her? I’m guessing that’s why she left.”

Emory’s hand was clutching his coat now. “Yeah…” He elongated the word. “It’s not gonna work. You know that, right?”

“I had a feeling. Look, Marc, I like you, and she likes you, and that’s more than any living being has been afforded the luxury of since she came to me.” Marc allowed himself a breath of amusement at that. “But she can’t stay here forever. She’s willing to wait for you as long as possible, but social services isn’t.”

“I know.” Marc lifted the hand from Emory’s back to push his hair from his forehead. “I’m—I’m working on it.”

“Good. Are you going to keep her with you for a while before you drop her back here?”

“I think that’s probably best.”

“See you later, Marc. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

He hung up, and Marc brought the phone down, sighing for what seemed like the umpteenth time in the half hour or so since he’d found Emory. He rubbed his free hand down his face, exhaustion and stress becoming all the more noticeable. He could feel a change approaching, something Emory wasn’t privy to just yet.

“You should take her for ice-cream.”

Marc visibly jumped at the sudden deep voice, turning a disgruntled glare on Khonshu, who seemed to have reappeared on the railing once more. After his surprise subsided, Marc registered the Ancient Egyptian god’s scarily human words, and bumped his brows, dipping his head to stare at him. “Did you seriously just suggest that? You?” he whispered.

Khonshu stood up. “You seem to forget I have known young Emory as long as you. She enjoys ice-cream.” He walked off then, and Marc scoffed.

“Who knew you were such a pushover?”

“Huh?”

He looked down as Emory spoke, her face turned just enough for him to see one puffy eye and a rosy cheek. He offered a smile, patting the leg draped across his lap. “Nothing. Do you want to get some ice-cream? Go see a movie? I’ll take you back this evening.”

She wiped at her nose and sniffled, then nodded once. “Can we sit here for a minute longer though?”

“‘Course we can, buddy. We’ve got all day.”

He settled against the back of the bench, pulling Emory’s hood tighter over her head to shield her from the cold. It was a nice reprieve, he thought to himself, to sit on a bench overlooking the Thames, free for a moment of the god that may as well be his shadow, holding one of the only people he’d ever had any semblance of a relationship with. It may not have been the healthiest relationships, or even the strongest, but in the time that they’d had together, he knew they’d have plenty of time to work on that. He just needed to sort everything out. Being Khonshu’s avatar, Layla, Steven…himself. He needed to be in the headspace she deserved, and though he was fine sitting here with her now, he knew the moment he let her go he would return to the mercenary mindset he just wanted to forget.

He needed time.

“Thank you, Marc.” He heard the quiet mumble and felt the cold air of her breath against his side.

Thank you, Emory, was what he wanted to say. As he sat there with the most fragile, yet the strongest human he’d ever met, her very heart in his hands, he couldn’t help but think that this was all something big. The prelude, perhaps, to the inevitable relief the future would bring.

“Hey, you know I love you, kid,” he said instead, meaning every word.

For once, she didn’t protest to the nickname. If anything, she hugged him tighter.

He knew she loved him, too.

Moon Knight Masterpost

329 notes · View notes

mariasabanahabanabana · 2 years

Text

A NORMAL DAY IN YOUR LIFE WITH:

Marc and Layla being parental to you.

Version: Moon Knight

Chars: Marc, Layla, Steven, Jake and Konshu

Pairing: Layla x Marc, Layla x LittleSister/Daughter!Reader, Marc x LittleSister/Daughter!Reader

Warnings: no one

Summary: And who stays with (Y/N)

Steven and Marc arguing about who should and would take control, Konshu calling Steven a “worm” and Steven replying by his now typical nickname of “pigeon” or " murder bird", Jake, well Jake being Jake, Layla investigating Harrow's whereabouts, and you're reading some Egyptian mythology book.

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

It was a typical cold morning in London, you could say it was more or less the same as always.

Like you said, a normal morning.

Layla: Gotcha!!!

*Marc/Steven/Jake/Konshu/(T/N): turns to look at her at the sound of her celebratory shout.*

Steven: It's about Harrow?

Marc: You found him?

Layla: That's right, I've successfully tracked his location.

Konshu: Wow, first time I've ever seen a human not fail.

Steven: You know, if it wasn't for us, you'd probably be locked up in that tiny statue, so a little kindness from you wouldn't kill you.

Marc: where is he?

Layla: Cairo, Egypt

*And for the first time in days there was silence, a bit unusual given their current situation…. Until it occurred to Konshu to speak, again.*

Konshu: hey, why the silence afterlife? I thought humans were talkative on an annoying level?

*Jake, gives him a nudge to look at (Y/N).*

Konshu: ou… that...

*(Y/N) With a raised eyebrow and sarcasm, responds*: sweet

Layla: well, someone will have to go while the other one stays, we can't leave (Y/N) alone.

(Y/N): Why not?

Konshu: yeah, why not?,

(Y/N): I'm older now, and you know I'm responsible. Also, you won't be there for me for the rest of my life.

Marc/Layla/Steven: don't joke about it, NEVER!!!

(Y/N): fine, I'm sorry…

Konshu: I insist, why not leave them alone?, like Marc with the worm's one-finned fish?

*Steven corrects him*: Again, my name is Steven with a v

Konshu: Same thing. And look at him, he's still alive.

Steven: for your information, murder bird, not anymore, cause MY GUS only had ONE, a single fin and not two. So I suspect it was replaced, cause I don't think it magically grew one… although given the circumstances it doesn't sound like such a crazy idea. *Whispers the last for himself.*

Marc: Besides, they're not a pet, they're a human.

(Y/N): I repeat… *make your way through them* What if you left me alone? I mean, what's the worst that can happen?

Jake: Considering Harrow has literally killed to get to where he is, maybe he'll send one of his followers, show up in the middle of the night, pick the lock, and murder you in blood while you're sleeping peacefully without even noticing it.

Everyone: ._.

Konshu: And the one who is the sadist is me.

Marc: As far as I knew, I had the title.

Layla: And you still have it, you both do, and that's exactly why one of us has to stay…

Jake: I know, what if they stay with me?

Steven: There's more than one reason why that's impossible.

Marc: Especially after that graphic possibility that sounds like a Tarantino movie, so forget about it…

(Y/N): Mmm, and what if it came with you? Last time, I helped out as much as Steven did.

Layla: As much as I would love to say yes to your idea, you deserve to have a fairly normal and ordinary life.

(Y/N): Ordinary sucks…

Layla/Steven/Marc/Jake/Konshu: Not in this family.

*(Y/N) sure that they won't leave you alone or let you go with them, you return your attention and time to that book of ancient Egyptian mythology and your marshmallows.*

Marc: Well, Layla, it looks like I won't be able to make it. I can't go. Stress is bad, for the baby.

Layla, looks at him seriously and then looks at (Y/N) reading a book on Egyptian mythology while eating marshmallows: You know what, It's fine with me. You're going on a mission anyway.

Marc: No, I meant me.

148 notes · View notes

illisius · 2 years

Photo

MIRROR, MIRROR | watt.

↳ description ; ( coming soon )

AYA SPECTOR IS DYING. From the time she was born, the thirteen year old has been battling death with both fists. Always teetering on that dangerous scale between life and death, Aya has spent her short life lying in hospitals and going on adventures. For as much of the world as she’d seen, Aya’s world is really quite small. With all the traveling and appointments, she doesn’t attend formal school and isn’t any less for it. She doesn’t bother with friends and she doesn’t have much family, all dead or distant. Aya has her father and she has her mother, and they are the only people in her world that matter.

But as she takes part in her parents’ cheeky antics, Aya is haunted by a constant countdown in her head: seventeen months, two weeks, and twenty—one days. Trying desperately to remain sane, she knows she must make peace with the world before she leaves it. The apple of her parents’ eye, the light of their lives, Aya will die two months after her fourteenth birthday.

And when her health takes a turn for the worst, her father is nowhere to be found.

Marc Spector went missing two months ago, and when they finally find him again, he no longer goes by that name. In a race against the clock, Aya is drawn into a deadly Egyptian mystery with her mother, Layla El—Faouly, and her father’s alter, Steven Grant. Accepting this reality, Aya knows she needs to tell him that she misses him, that he has to fix things with her mom, that she finally perfected that new punch he showed her.

But mostly she needs to tell him that she was dying.

Aya hopes Marc is still in there. She just has to stay alive long enough to find out.

47 notes · View notes

sweetly-yours-and-mine · 1 year

Note

“you have a daughter?” with single dad! marc pls🥺🥺

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 2k (we're off to a strong start lol)

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests!

Warnings: fluffy, a little angsty, marc is a bit of a nervous mess bless him

Marc, she’s come to find out, was the guy to take it slow.

He took his time with her, bought her flowers and pretty necklaces with jewelled pendants that he gave her when he took her out to dinner.

She’s never been charmed the way Marc has managed to charm her.

He walks her to her door after taking her out, kisses her cheek and then asks if she’d like it if he kissed her on her mouth.

The stories her grandmother told her of the dashing, charming men that wooed her off her feet when she was young finally start to ring true to her ears.

She feels that maybe, after years of looking, she’s managed to find a real treasure worth holding on to.

She feels that maybe all those ruined dates and talking phases and endless swipes on the dating apps were worth it, if it meant that one day Marc would stumble into her life like he always belonged there. She’d do it all over again, ten times over, to get to Marc.

Marc, she’s come to find out, is worth close to anything she’s able to give, and he always asks so little from her in return for all he does, as if she was worth all that he gives her and more.

He’s flurrying about his kitchen now, having banished her to the living room with a glass of wine and a quasi-demand to make herself at home, despite her insistence on helping. Dinner would be ready in just a couple of minutes, he said. He’d already set the table.

Marc, she’s come to find out, was the guy who liked having things done his way. Found it easier to take on the load himself than to let others help.

It’s the first time he’s invited her over to his place. The first time that he asked her to have a date night in, with soothing music and soft lights, just the two of them together.

Marc, she’s come to find out, was an utter, sappy romantic at heart.

She wonders if tonight will be the night he’ll take her to his bed, she wonders what the brown of his eyes will look like shrouded in desire and lust.

Her cheek is still tingling from where he’d kissed her, the small of her back warm from the heat of his palm. His cologne lingers in the air. There’s an anticipatory ache in her thighs and she tries to distract herself from it.

Her eyes are wandering, not looking for anything specific except for him, but because she’s scared that would be too weird, she looks out the window. She’s soaking in the view of the London skyline, dingy and dark from the near consistent rain they’ve had all week.

In Marc’s place, she barely feels a shred of the cold seep into her bones. There are only warm, yellow lights on, nothing too direct. She might as well be looking at a hyperrealistic painting.

She goes to set her glass down when her eyes fall on the picture frames, hung up beside the window. The wood is stained a deep brown that reminds her of Marc’s eyes, as all brown things usually do.

She hadn’t meant to pry, but now her curiosity has been stoked to life. The oven timer goes on and off, there’s a waft of something savoury as he opens and shuts the door.

The girl is too similar to Marc to be able to pass it off as a niece or a coincidence. The same head of dark curls, matching noses and bushy, unkempt eyebrows. She’s sure this is what Marc would have looked like, when he was a child, had he been a girl.

There’s a picture of her as an infant, still in the hospital and in a younger Marc’s arms, dark circles under his eyes and a nervous smile on his face. It’s the unmistakable traces of new fatherhood, she feels as if she’s seen thousands of pictures just like it, the same words, in different handwritings.

First day of school, mile-wide grin, heavy, sombre eyes from her father that were jarring against his smile. The girl’s pulled tight into his frame, Marc seems to be holding on to her as if she were a shadow.

Eyes flitting up and down, she takes in the rest of them. Days at the beach and nights at home. Milestones stacked on top of each other. Dance recitals, a small bouquet of roses clutched in her hands, held proudly in Marc’s arms.

They even grinned the same way.

Marc’s daughter was well-loved.

Happiness like that could never be faked.

She drifts back towards the kitchen. Marc’s curls, normally neat and tamed back are loose and carefree now.

He tugs on them when he’s nervous. Gives them two or three harsh pulls before drifting down to rub at the skin of his neck, exhales a nervous breath.

She’s underestimated the effect his presence can have on her. There are drawings on the fridge, drawings she hadn’t noticed, not until now.

She feels as if her lack of attention should be justified. Marc is pretty. Pretty in a way that makes her breath hitch, her head somersault on itself. She’s always a little tongue-tied during the first few minutes of their dates.

She knows now that it wasn’t just because of his little belly that tucked out comfortably when he sat down, or the crooked angles of his nose. Tenderness and patience radiates out from inside him, the kind people usually only get when raising children with love.

The thud of his knife against the cutting board, slicing through lettuce and cucumbers is comforting. Though she’d made him promise not to go all out, not to bother himself too much for the dinner, Marc has done exactly that.

“Hungry?”

“Hm?” There’s a dog in one of the drawings, a cat in the other.

“Just gotta finish the salad.”

She knows that it’ll be fruitless to offer to take anything to the table. She wants to ask him if he’d like some wine and is instead surprised by the words that flow out of her mouth. “You have a daughter?”

He freezes. A cucumber slides off his knife. It may have well been a scene out of a sitcom. She would have laughed, had it not been for the hold Marc already had on her heart.

She keeps her gaze steady on him, watches intently as he sets down his knife and looks at her.

There’s nothing she can tell from the expressions in his eyes, the hardened tilt of his mouth. She’s come to accept that it will take months before she’ll feel confident in reading the man in front of her, one who spoke so much with his body.

If she gets to take months to learn his language.

It’s an unpleasant little tumour of a thought. She swallows to apologise, to grab at whatever the string was that has managed to tie her tightly to Marc and make sure it stays there.

His throat bobs up and down. Marc speaks before she gets the chance to, “Yeah, I have a daughter.”

“What’s…” she wonders if it’s appropriate to ask, and the question dies on her lips.

“Maya. She’s seven now.”

Maya. She rolls the word around her head like a marble, tries to connect it to the photos and drawings hung up around the place. “She looks just like you.”

He laughs, an awkward, fumbling thing. It’s like a flat ball. “We get that a lot.”

“Well, it’s true,” she smiles and tentatively reaches for his hand. It’s a little rough, a little wet from the freshly-washed vegetables; she wonders if he would like it if she bought him some cream, something with glycerin. “And you’re both very beautiful.”

He pauses, emotions fighting on his face until he settles for steering the topic away from him, “You really don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, casts his eyes away from her. The pressure of his hand in hers fades ever so slightly and she stumbles forward to make sure it stays.

“I don’t mind,” she swallows, rounds over the counter so she comes to stand beside him and looks up at him. “I really don’t. And I’d love to meet her, whenever you think it’s time.”

There’s a familiar expression in his eyes, one that she’s able to figure just from the sheer amount of times he’s looked at her with it on.

“I don’t lie about these things, Marc.” She leans up and kisses his cheek, squeezes his hand at the same time. “And I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner.”

He pauses, mouth hardened into a firm little line, “You like kids?”

She nods. There’s the footprint of her lips on his cheek, a faint brush of rusty pink that plants a little seed of possession inside of her.

“Good.” His voice is gruff, serious like a boulder of sandstone.

“Sorry for springing it on you like that, I saw the photos and-”

He shakes his head, his free hand comes to rest on her waist. Water seeps into her clothes and onto her skin and she revels in the feeling of it, a physical trace of his touch on her.

It amazes her how quickly he can quiet the static inside her mind. “I meant to tell you tonight.” He sighs, his breath rolling over her face, a stitch forming on his forehead. “Forgot about the pictures.”

She presses away the stitch, smiles and delights when he smiles back, retracted and tight, the corners of his eyes wrinkling like well-loved and sunkissed linen.

His phone starts to ring, turns their soft bubble into shattered ice. The grimace returns to his face, “Sorry.”

The cadence of his voice is soft, soft in a way that’s never been directed at her, when he answers the call and goes into his room, “Hey baby…” It sounds like honey, syrupy and nutritious, she feels if she listens hard enough she can hear the gentle hum of bumblebees underneath. “I miss you too.”

She’s finishing the salad when he returns, cutting the rest of the vegetables the way he’d started and hoping that she’d done a good enough job.

His gaze falls back to her hands, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for,” she slides everything off the cutting board and into the bowl, sets everything aside and comes close to him. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah,” his fingers are tentative as they reach for her again. Her hands come on top of his and press down. A never ending cycle of reassurance. “She’s at my cousin’s. Told her to call before she goes to bed.”

The thought that he has the place to himself tonight makes her stomach flip-flop on itself.

She dares to cup his face between her hands. She’s never done it before and finds the feel of his clean-shaven skin addicting, “You’re a good father.” He stiffens in her arms but doesn’t move out of them. The picture of young Marc in the hospital with his daughter rises again in her mind, “Thank you for making me dinner.”

He frowns, eyebrows furrowing together like two fuzzy caterpillars, “You haven’t fuckin’ eaten it yet.”

It makes her laugh, and she lets him go, kisses him on his pouty mouth. The way he moves is like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.

He’s all business now, rushing about the kitchen to finish the food. Her eyes fall back to the drawings, flit over to the curly head of his hair, “Do you want some wine, Marc?”

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond to, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here, requests here.

#maria's requests #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector fluff #marc spector angst #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector imagine #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight fic #oscar isaac

649 notes · View notes

moon-rivr · 5 months

Note

Daya, I'm brining a thot to your yard- it's me.

I had an idea :

khonshu avatar !Miguel o'hara or Marc Spector × chubby Hathor avatar f!reader.

You know how Hathor and Khonshu are a thing and that's in conflict with Miguel or Marc x reader because they're not fans of each other at all, they're both grumpy x grumpy dripping with sarcasm.

They end up having to spend time together because of some mission and now they're trying not to jump each other whole time Khonshu and Hathor are just veeeery encouraging so they make a plan to make it happen.

Give them that good good nsfw 🖤

adieu.

hate to love you

pairing: moon knight miguel o’hara x chubby hathor fem reader

contents: ex-lovers-enemies-lovers (?), use of toy, mentions of blood, oral (f receiving), riding, slapping, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v, choking, and cowgirl

a/n: idk if i’m being too self-critical or if this is acc ass but i hope y’all enjoy 😭 sorry it took me so long btw

word count: 6k

A loud knock on your front door shook you from your thoughts while you were cleaning, wiping your hands on the apron that you were wearing before walking over to the door. You opened up the door just a crack, a loud groan erupting from your throat once you saw Miguel standing there with his hands in his pocket. Once many moons ago, his presence would've filled you up with joy but it now only brought feelings of sadness and anger. "Before you close the door, just hea-" you closed the door before he got the chance to finish speaking, unable to face him again.

The last time you'd seen Miguel was last year in your shared apartment in Cairo while you were breaking up with him. He left you after the passing of your daughter for five months, effectively ignoring your calls and messages. You'd even tried to track him down but every attempt that you made just felt like you were chasing after a ghost. Though you tried to convince yourself that he was mostly likely dead to justify his prolonged absence, you couldn't help but wonder if it was just that he didn't want to be with you. When he came back though, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head into your shoulder like he'd never left.

"I'm sorry that I left you for so long, I just couldn't fathom the loss of our daughter," he told you after he pulled away, his eyes scanning over your body like he was trying to make sure it was you. You took a couple seconds to let his words run through your mind, looking at him blankly. "You couldn't fathom the loss of Gabriella? What about me?! I needed you!" you yelled at him, your hands forming into fists while tears ran down your cheeks. “I know, I know. But at least I'm here now," he offered, extending his hands out to embrace you in a hug once more. You stepped back from him, a dry chuckle escaping from your lips.

"For how long, Miguel? It used to me and you fighting side by side, but now something's always gotta come up. First it was Khonshu’s demands and now it's the loss of our daughter. Dating you feels like I'm dating nobody," you responded bitterly, your eyes stinging from the tears you were holding back. "You know about my debt to Khonshu. You know I can't deny him anything," his response came out monotone, like a mantra he repeated to himself to justify his actions. "I don't wanna see you anymore. Get out," your voice cracked as you spoke, cursing yourself inside for showing him that vulnerability.

"You know I can't control her," you overheard Hathor speak, certainly talking to Khonshu. "Please mami, don't do this to me. I promise I'll stick around this time," he pleaded with you, getting down on his knees as he held your hands in his. Seeing him like this almost made you want to forgive him, almost. "You said that the last couple times. Get off me and get out," you tried to muster up the same nonchalant tone he used, your voice still wavering from the tears you were withholding. Miguel stood up to his feet, his hands still holding yours as he looked down at the floor. "Alright, I'm sorry."

You ended up moving out of the apartment, unable to face the memories that the four walls held. The first time you guys inaugurated every surface, the times that you two shared a meal together, and your whispered prayers for a hope that he would be okay. While you were cleaning up the apartment, you found a wedding ring in one of Miguel’s jackets. You held it close to your chest, allowing yourself to break down since he left. Though you didn't take much with you, you ended up taking the wedding ring with you to Nueva York.

Loud pounding on the door broke you out of the memories, the door's hinges seeming to loosen with every fist that he took to it. "I'm not leaving until we have a conversation. Please!" Miguel pleaded, his pounding stopping only so you'd hear his words. "I need you," his words came out more hushed this time, his hands going back to pounding on the door afterwards. You convinced yourself that you were only opening the door to avoid any noise complaints from your neighbors despite the certain pull that you felt towards him.

"What do you want?" Your tone came out brisk and cold, the door slightly ajar as you eyed him. It didn't help your resolve at seeing his painfully handsome physique, the time apart definitely doing him good. "I need your help with something urgent. Do you mind if I come in? It's not safe to talk about out here," he responded, stepping closer to the door. You opened up the door to let him in, making some distance between the two of you by going to check up on the pot in the oven. He slid off his shoes, sitting down at the dinner table.

You poured yourself a bowl of soup, sitting down across from him as you blew on it slightly to cool it down. "You're not gonna give me any?" He asked, the words seeming to die down in his throat once he spotted your glare. "As if I would waste leftovers on you. Now get to the point and talk," you told him, bringing the spoon up to your mouth. You heard the sound of a flute playing, soft melodies filling up the house only to spot Hathor sitting down on the couch with a smile on her face. "So basically I need your help getting this ancient scroll from this collector. He's having a ball later this week and I was wondering if you'd be my partner for the mission."

The spoonful of soup that you'd taken came out of your nose when he finished speaking, and you quickly rushed to wipe up the mess you made. Miguel rushed over to the kitchen, handing you a glass of water to ease with the coughing. Hour hands brushed up against his, the same spark that you'd felt before returning before you quickly snatched the cup away from him. "And why do you need me to help you? You're very insistent on handling things yourself," you responded, not missing the opportunity to land a dig on him. "Please. Khonshu’s not exactly friends with the other gods and you know I wouldn't be here if I didn't really need you," he told you, his eyes locking straight to yours.

A scoff escaped from your throat, glancing back over at him as you folded your arms. "So you're here because I'm a last resort? Great way to seal this deal," you retorted, going back to eating your soup. A loud groan came from his throat, his hands digging into his scalp as he looked down at his feet. "As much as I need your help, I'm not gonna beg for it. I hope you choke on that damn soup," he grumbled, standing up and tossing the chair to the side before he left. Hathor’s music ceased playing once he left, appearing in front of you with a condescending look on her face. "Absolutely not."

You'd thought that Hathor would leave you alone after the way you acted in front of Miguel, wishful thinking on your part really. "Just help him out, what do you have to lose?" She told you, waking you up at four in the morning. You grabbed the pillow underneath you, covering your ears with it despite the fact you knew it wouldn't work with her. "Pleaseee. Just do me this favor and I'll give you a shortened contract than the one we have right now," she spoke up once more, appearing in the corner of your room. You were aware of the fact that she could take over your body and treat you as her marionette, so you could appreciate that she was willing to bargain. "Fine. Now please let me sleep."

The day of when the party was supposed to be, you stumbled over a box in your front step while you were heading out to get the mail. You brought the box, taking caution on opening it just in case it was one of the artifacts that you'd bid on recently. Inside the box however, laid a green ball gown with a matching pair of lingerie, a note sticking to the side of the box. Miguel’s handwriting covered the sticky note, thanking you for agreeing to do it and telling you to wear the dress since it'd match his suit. You had half the mind to defy him and end up wearing something else, but you couldn't help but feel enchanted while you tried the dress on.

"Get your damn hand off me," you snapped at Miguel when he tried to help you out the car, his hand lingering on yours. "I would but what husband would I be if I didn't help you get out," he mused, seemingly more amused by the situation than you. He placed his hand on the small of your back to guide you into the house, the same way that he used to do when you two were dating. You pushed his hand away, deciding to do something safe and place your hand on his arm. Even just from the outside, you could tell that the estate was expensive by the way that the flowers were cut and arranged.

Miguel attempted to include the two of you in others' conversations so as to not appear out of place, but you could tell that the two of you stuck out like a sore thumb. "Maybe if you got rid of that scowl on your face people would be eager to talk to us," Miguel whispered in your ear once the two of you snuck out to get a glass of champagne. You could only glare at him in response, jolting upright as you felt a vibration in your core. Your eyes could practically shot daggers at Miguel as you watched the stupid smirk on his face. "Estate calmada and maybe I'll slow it down," he whispered, turning up the level before walking away. (stay calm)

You excused yourself to the bathroom after five minutes, needing a break from the vibrations in your core. Your panties were covered in your slick when you pulled them down, a sense of relief hitting you once you took them off. You were planning on camping out in the bathroom for a couple minutes, a buzzing sound coming from your phone interrupting your thoughts.

devil spawn: Don't think you're getting out of this so easily

Shocking bastard. You let out a small grumble, taking the opportunity to wipe down the slick dripping down from your thighs before putting the panties back on. The vibrations continued to hit your clit with every movement that you made, the low volume only getting you in a worse mood than you already were. You tried to calm your expression as you walked back over to Miguel, wrapping your hand around his arm to keep up the appearance. "I was starting to think you disappeared, mi amor," he spoke up, introducing you to one of the other collectors in the party.

The vibrations intensified when you stuck your hand out to introduce yourself to the man, your smile wavering by the second. You squeezed your thighs together to help satiate the need you had in between your legs, shaking the man's hand as if nothing was bothering you. He and Miguel got into a conversation about some antiques in Egypt, the man excluding you from the conversation completely. A moan escaped from your lips when you felt the vibrations intensify, quickly covered up with a cough when the man turned to look at you. He looked at you for a couple seconds before shrugging and going back to his conversation with Miguel.

"I'm about to stick this heel up your ass, I swear," you muttered just low enough for Miguel to hear. He rolled his eyes, excusing himself to the man before grabbing your arm and pulling you to the side. "Either we get killed or you just stand there like a good girl and take what I'm giving to you. It's not like you don't deserve it," he responded, raising his hand up with a smile to salute the man despite the bitter tone that he'd used with you. "You're the last person I want to be with right now, so cool it and I might consider stopping the vibrator, hm?" His whisper came out in the most condescending tone possible, taking your arm as he led the two of you back to the man.

A loud clink on a glass interrupted every conversation, silence filling up the room until footsteps were heard. Ammit's avatar presented themselves, thanking everybody for showing up to the event and started to speak about some of the artifacts that would be up for auction tonight. "I’m gonna go and look for the scroll. You're responsible for appearances," you craned your neck to speak up to him, his nod being the only confirmation. You stepped off to the side while everybody was looking away, walking up the white marble stairs as quietly as you could.

You snuck into a couple of the rooms upstairs, unable to find anything before stopping in front of the bookshelf of what you assumed was the master bedroom. You touched around, applying soft pressure to the books to see if there was a trap door behind. "Try Metamorphosis by Kafka," you heard behind you, only to be met with Miguel standing in the doorway. "Right, because you would know," you grumbled to yourself, pulling the book despite your protests. The bookshelf moved to one side, allowing entry to the hidden room behind it. "I'd say I would know," Miguel responded, a cocky grin on his face as he grabbed the book from you and placed it back on the shelf.

You spent the walk down the stairs fuming to yourself, Miguel’s chuckle interrupting you from your thoughts. "For the record, I only know that since he and I used to be friends," he told you as the two of you reached another door at the bottom of the stairs. You opened up the door, gold reflecting off the surfaces as you walked in. You and Miguel separated, deciding to take the room by small sections as the two of you sought out for the scroll. After a couple minutes of searching, Miguel called out to you to tell you that he'd found the scroll.

The two of you were about to walk out of the room and head back to the party when the sound of a walkie talkie came through. "Requesting backup in the master bedroom. There appears to be some intruders," a gruff, male voice spoke into it as he attempted his best to keep his voice hushed. You looked over at Miguel panicked, his eyes darting around the room to figure out an escape plan. He grabbed onto your wrist, pulling one of the artifacts on the shelf to open up a hidden closet in the walls. The two of you clamored inside, attempting to get comfortable in the confined space.

"You're stepping on my shoe," you complained to Miguel, your voice barely above a whisper as you did. "Shut up, you're gonna get us killed," he responded, moving a bit further away from you to get his foot off. The main door opened, loud bootsteps echoing as the men stepped inside. You tried to keep your movements to a minimum, but you couldn't help the fact that you were starting to feel claustrophobic in the space. "Stop moving so much, you're making me uncomfortable," Miguel muttered from behind you, keeping his voice as quiet as he could. "Shut up. You're stressing me out," you hissed back at him, trying to calm yourself down before you ended up getting a panic attack.

Miguel held your hand throughout the process, telling you that you wouldn't be in here for much longer. Your breathing slowed down at the calmness of his words, slowly returning back to normal as you opened and closed your hands. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his auburn ones to see a sense of longing burning inside of them. You leaned in, pressing your lips against his impulsively. You were expecting him to push you away after his initial reaction of shock, but he brought his hand to your waist as he pulled you closer to him. His hand came down to your breast, kneading it to the best of his ability as he continued to engulf your mouth with his.

You pulled away after a couple seconds, seemingly coming back to your senses after listening to the boot steps retreat. You wiped your mouth to try to erase the fact that you'd kissed the man you swore to hate, but the simple fact was that he'd engraved himself into your soul since the first time you met. Miguel pressed a button, the closet door opening to reveal the guards still standing there with their arms by their sides. "Summon the damn suit!" You snapped at him, summoning your own before they got the chance to raise their guns to shoot. The shields protecting your arms managed to cover you as you reached over for one of the guard's guns, hitting him in the head with it.

Your suit was meant more to protect you rather than attack so you were left up to your own devices and agility to defend yourself against the guards. Miguel tossed over one of the moons that rested on his chest to which you used to stab a guard in the neck. Miguel had taken care of most of the guards, leaving them with severe injuries and some dead. You handed the blood stained crescent moon to him, footsteps coming down the stairs as Ammit’s current avatar presented themselves to you two. "I'll distract them and you run," Miguel whispered in your ear, your brows furrowing as you looked at him. "And what about you?" You inquired, feeling slightly worried about how'd he manage. "I'll be fine. You just get out."

The avatar charged straight for you, aware of the fact that you couldn't do much to defend yourself but Miguel tackled them to the ground before they were able to get too close. You hesitated for a moment on leaving him alone before running off back up the stairs. The suit vanished and you were clad in the green dress once more, the blood from the guards dripping down the side of your face. You wiped it away in the spare bathroom, deciding to go back to your apartment before any of the guards caught on to who you were.

"What do you think about him going back to her place?" Hathor spoke up when Miguel finished the fight, glancing over at Khonshu. "Doesn't she hate him?" The bird responded, only making himself visible to the other deity as they plan out their matchmaking. "She only hates him because the thought of loving him is so painful," Hathor mused, watching Miguel get threatened by the avatar. "If you don't kill me, I'll make sure to make your little girlfriend's life a living hell," Ammit’s avatar told Miguel, a fire burning inside of Miguel’s eyes. The pair watched as Miguel practically tore apart the body, blood spilling throughout the marble floor.

"Seems like he's still in love too," Khonshu finally responded, watching as Miguel disposed of the other guards standing in place. "Is there any way for you to delay his healing abilities? Suggest that maybe he seeks her out as a nurse," Hathor suggested, glancing over at her ex lover. "His healing capability isn't at its max tonight. It's a crescent moon, but I'll try to slow down the rate he heals at," he told her, watching as Hathor faded away into nothing. Khonshu spent a couple seconds looking into the empty space where Hathor once was, feeling conflicted about his feelings towards her. "Why am I not healing?" Miguel’s voice broke him out of the trance, giving him the perfect opportunity to strike. "I know of a good makeshift nurse who's willing to help."

A loud knock on your door surprised you, your curiosity getting the better of you as you went to go open it. "I know I said that would be the last favor but I was wondering if you'd patch me up," Miguel spoke up, half of his face covered in blood as he staggered to your front step. You opened the door to let him in, his shoes dragging blood across the welcome mat. You helped Miguel take off the shoes, placing them on the mat before helping him sit down at the dinner table. After wetting a kitchen rag, you grabbed your first aid kit and walked back over to him.

"What happened to the avatar?" You asked him as you wiped down the blood on his face. "You sure you want to know?" He responded, seeming to avoid your gaze as you cleaned him up. "You already did kill those guards so I'm not sure why you're avoiding the topic," you pointed out, grabbing a cotton pad and dipping it in rubbing alcohol. You'd been aware for a while of the fact that Miguel had a kill if necessary rule placed among himself, the lines faltering every so often with Khonshu’s interference. "I guess they found out I had a.. weakness when it came to you and basically said that as long as they were alive, they'd never leave you alone," he finally responded, your eyes widening as you tried to process the information.

"What type of weakness are you referring to?" You finally asked him, bandaging up a cut on the side of his cheek. "You know. No te hagas la tonta," he responded, a small hissing escaping from his lips as he felt the rubbing alcohol seep into the cut. (don’t act stupid) "If I knew I wouldn't be asking," you told him, sitting back down across from him. "The weakness is that I'm still so in love with you that I'm willing to kill anyone that even utters your name in the wrong tone," his answer surprised you, but what surprised you even more is the fact that you didn't feel the supposed hatred you conditioned yourself to feel for him. All you felt was concern for his well-being and maybe, just maybe, a smidge of love for him as well.

"So now it's my turn to ask the questions. Why'd you kiss me back there?" He inquired, leaning over a bit on the table as he looked straight into your eyes. "Something I did out of the moment," you responded, avoiding his gaze as you cleared your throat. "So if I kissed you right now, would you push me away?" The question came out hushed, like he wanted to keep it just for your ears only. You nibbled down on your bottom lip, unwilling to answer him since you knew that you were already starting to feel the initial attraction that you once felt towards him.

He leaned in slowly, giving you the time to back out if you wanted. When he realized that you stayed sitting still, he tilted your chin up and pressed his lips against yours. He started the kiss off slow, sensual enough to get you used to the taste of him once more before his tongue dipped into your mouth. You dug your fingers into his hair, wanting to make up for the past year that he hadn't been around. "See, you say you hate me yet you kiss like you love me. What's up with that?" he mused, pulling away from the kiss as he looked at you. "You never do shut up, huh?"

You led him into your bedroom, guiding him into your bed as you took off the heels you'd worn for the evening. He helped you unzip the dress, the gown pooling down by your feet once he'd finished. "Lemme taste you. could practically smell you dripping back there," he spoke like it physically agonized him that his head wasn't buried between your legs at the moment. You got down on the bed, watching as he made his way down in between your legs. You couldn't help but hide your upper body with the way that he was looking at you, a carnal stare in his eyes. He pushed your hands away, exposing you to him and pinned them down to the bed.

He started off slow, delivering small kisses on your inner thighs before grabbing your panties with his front teeth. His fangs poked out as he pushed down the panties, sliding them off your ankles with his hands. Your arousal from throughout the night glistened on your cunt as you awaited for him to make the next move, your hand grabbing onto his wrist. "Please," you pleaded, his tongue prodding at your hole ever so slightly. "Please what?" He mused, his eyes meeting yours as his tongue collected the slick dripping on your inner thighs. "You know what!" You grumbled, starting to get frustrated from the lack of stimulation to your cunt. “I don't think I know. Think you'll have to tell me, chula."

You let out a small groan, looking down at him to see that he wasn't going to relent without you doing so first. "Please just eat me out already," you muttered, using the lightest tone of voice you could so as to not injure your pride even more. "I don't think I heard you right. Say that again for me, will you?" He responded, a cocky grin on his face as he looked at you. "Please just eat me out!" You exclaimed, his tongue going into your hole right after you finished speaking. He thrust his tongue in and out of your cunt, his nose rubbing up against your clit every time that he moved forward.

He pulled his tongue out of your hole, licking a stripe down from your clit to your folds. You tried to wiggle your hips upward, trying to get more of what he had to give but his hands held your arms in place in what appeared to be an iron grip. "You'll take what I give you and nothing more," he simply said, going back to slurping on your cunt like a starved man. Your ankles dug into the bed as he started thrusting into you faster, his tongue brushing up against your g-spot. "Fuckkk, right there. Keep going," you moaned out, struggling to stay still the longer he kept stimulating that spot.

One of his hands released your arm, drawing lazy circles on your clit as his mouth buried itself into your cunt. The sounds he was making were obscene, slurping you up like you were the finest beverage he could've been offered. Your free hand buried itself into his hair, pushing even further into your cunt as your thighs closed on either side of his head.A loud moan erupted from your throat when the circles on your clit started to get faster, more precise. You started to pull away from him, feeling too overwhelmed by the pleasure that you were receiving but he was quick to pull you back down into his mouth. "My mouth isn't leaving your pussy until you cum all over it, understood?"

All you could do is nod as your legs shook with every movement of his fingers, his head moving from side to side as he busied himself on slurping every drop of slick that you provided. You felt your orgasm approaching you quickly, your hands digging into his hair as a warning. He continued at the same pace he was going, thrusting into the spot that he knew would have you coming all over his mouth in seconds. Your release coated his mouth and chin as he pulled away, his tongue doing quick work not to let any go to waste. He got up and leaned over, pressing his lips against yours. The taste of you and him combined was enough to intoxicate you, a little slice of heaven.

"Get up. I wanna see you on top of me," he told you, your legs seeming to work on his command since you'd already finished standing up by the time he finished speaking. He got down on the bed, his back against the bedframe as he expected for you to come over. You got on the bed, your legs on either side of his as you jerked his cock off with your hand before the two of you got started. You lined up his cock with the entrance of your pussy, your previous orgasm making it much easier for you to sink down on him.

You spread your legs open, your hands pressed against his chest for balance as you forced yourself to go up his cock. While riding was something that you usually didn't mind when it came to him, his cock was too big to the point where you needed him to help you at the end. He took your breasts into his hand, kneading them before leaning in to suck on them. You brought your hand down to his hair, your fingers practically digging into his scalp as you sunk down on his cock once more. "Miguel it hurts. It's been too big," you whined, feeling that all too familiar sting in your thighs. "You can do it, mami. I have trust in you. I'll help you out if things get too hard, okay?"

You somewhat established a rhythm, putting all the force into your thighs as you sunk down to his cock and back up again. You came back down on his cock, the sting in your thighs becoming too prominent that you couldn't ignore it anymore. You buried your head into his shoulder, not willing to admit your defeat to him. "You need my help, chula?" He asked you, his hands coming down to your hips as his feet planted onto the bed. All you could do is simply nod, his hips snapping into yours as his cock pushed itself inside of you.

You were sitting upright as his cock molded itself to your cunt, your walls feeling the stretch with every thrust that he took. Your back arched as the ridges of his cock brushed up against your walls, your cunt squeezing his cock completely. Moans escaped from your mouth as he continued with the harsh pace he was going at, his thrusts deep and unrelenting. "Do you moan for everybody you hate or just me?" He mused, his fingers digging deeper into your hips. "J-just you!" you spoke out, your hands coming up to the headboard as you gripped on. His mouth came to your breasts again, swirling your nipple with his tongue and pulling it with his teeth just the slightest bit.

"For someone who says that they hate me so much, you sure are moaning like a little slut for me," he retorted, a stupid smirk on his face as he brought your chin to look at him. You couldn't help but want to wipe that stupid look of his face, your hand making contact with his cheek as you slapped him. You expected more of a reaction out of him, but all he could do was laugh as the mark of your palm lingered onto his skin. "You're gonna regret that, sweet girl," he whispered, his cock pushing deeper into you as his thrusts sped up. His hand came up to your throat, restricting your airflow just by the right amount.

Your hands came down to his hair, gripping at the strands as he continued to fuck into you. As he thrusted into you, you felt him brush up against your g-spot resulting in a choked up moan erupting from your throat. "Right there! Right there, please don't stop," you didn't know what exactly you were babbling for at this point, only planning to keep him at the angle that he was going for. He chuckled at seeing your fucked out state, his fingers sure to leave bruises on your hips by tomorrow as he tightened his grip on them. His hips snapped up against your ass with every thrust, the room filling up with the combined sounds of your moans and the skin clapping.

His mouth replaced the hand on your neck, kissing the side of it before sucking on the skin. He was planning on leaving you marked up, claiming you as his despite the fact he knew that this wouldn't fix your relationship completely. He let out a small groan as your fingers dig deeper into his scalp, relishing in the feeling of pain mixing with pleasure. "That's it, good girl. Practically milking my cock with the way you're gripping around me," he mused, his thrusts starting to get sloppy as the two of you neared your orgasm. One of his hands came down from your hip to your clit, stimulating the nub to your liking. He rolled his thumb around it, drawing small circles.

"Please let me cum!" you pleaded, his mouth forming into a sadistic smirk while his hand worked on your clit. "I don't think so, you're gonna hold it for that little stunt you pulled. If you cum before I give you permission, just know that there'll be even bigger consequences," he responded, the circles on your clit starting to speed up to match the rhythm he was currently abusing your cunt in. Tears rolled down from your cheeks as you struggled to maintain your composure, feeling like a porcelain doll about to break at any second now. He wiped your tears away with his other hand, sticking his thumb in his mouth while your salty tears coated his tongue.

"Beg me for it and I might consider letting you cum," he spoke, your eyes watering the more that kept teasing you. "Please! I'll be good for you, I promise! Just let me cum!" You sounded pathetic even to yourself, but you couldn't think of anything more than the release he was withholding from you. "Alright, cum for me," he responded, keeping the same pace he'd been going at. Your head arched back as your mouth opened into a 'o' shape, indicating that your orgasm would be any second now. You clamped around him tightly, his cock barely moving inside of you with how hard you had a grip on him. Your arousal coated his cock as you unclenched, your slick coating the insides of your thighs and his.

Ropes of cum shot up inside your cunt a few more thrusts later, your head falling down on his shoulder as you started to come down from the euphoria of his orgasm. You didn't allow yourself to think about the fact that you were supposed to be hating him, simply just thinking about how warm his body felt while it was pressed against yours. You brushed a couple of strands away from his forehead, his cock softening up inside of you. He removed his cock from you slowly, getting up to use the bathroom and get a rag for you.

"So I went to our place back in Cairo, looking for a ring. You don't know anything about that by any chance?" He asked you, putting his pants back on as he was getting ready to leave. "Well I just thought that it would be rude to let it stay there," you responded, reaching over to your nightstand to return it to him. You extended your hand out to him, the ring resting on your palm but he shook his head. "Keep it. There's no one that ring belongs to more than you. Nobody can stand to you. I'll see you next time we have to work together," he told you, leaning over to press his lips on your forehead. All you could do is sit up in your bed and watch as he left, his kiss mark imprinting itself into your mind.

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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

First

Summary: You fell in love first with Marc. It didn’t mean you loved him more than his other alters, but when you notice he’s hesitant to front after your daughter is born, you gently confront about it and assuage him.

Another fic set in THE SHAPE OF YOU verse

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, background Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Rating: M

CW/TW: Mentions of abuse, divorce and pregnancy, domesticity, sexual themes and content, angst, feels, fluff.

A/N: Sometimes you need to write the entire history of a relationship before you actually write the scene between two characters you’ve been thinking of! Tre fun!

I need everyone to know that I adore Layla and May Calamawy sooo much so that every OC I write must be intimidated and jealous of her because she is truly a goddess among us. That being said, I hardcore ship Layla and the Moon Boys in canon, wanted to make sure NO ONE thinks I’m a hater!

You met Marc first, through work of all places. Your company was doing a defense deal, and your superiors thought it prudent to hire a consultant to ensure no party was getting screwed over money or terms-wise. And it would have been, it would have been a perfectly prudent, responsible choice if your first thought upon meeting Marc Spector hadn’t been oh my God, why does the military consultant have such soulful eyes?

The attraction to him was instant. Suddenly you were berating yourself for not doing more with your hair that day, and of course you’d wore your least flattering skirt. The good news was that you were running point on this deal and would have more opportunities to dazzle the American in the coming months with your business acumen and your beauty.

Initially, you two were nothing but friendly professionals. You got along easily, which was imperative since you were liaising with the slow and infuriating bureaucracy of the Ministry of Defense. Marc made the painstaking work and negotiations your company had dispensed you two with tolerable, even enjoyable.

You did start making more of an effort in the office though. It was subtle, you didn’t want Marc to know you were trying, let alone trying for him, but your heart would sink a little every time he politely declined your team’s invite for a post-work pint when you’d gotten up extra early that morning to blow out your hair.

That all changed at a client dinner. Your bosses were attending as well as members of the Ministry of Defense, so Marc had to be there. The chance to interact with the elusive American outside of work was stupidly exciting to you. Even better, you were seated across from him at the table. You were damn good at your job, which meant you could multitask: you charmed the clients, laughing in all the right places during their boring and problematic anecdotes, and got as drunk off the sight of Marc in a suit and tie as you were on the expensive wine your boss ordered.

Up until that night, you had assumed that your interest in Marc was one-sided. Hell, you’d believed it all throughout dinner too. It wasn’t until after the meal, when everyone headed home for the evening, that Marc insisted you split a cab and the irrevocable shift took place.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you insisted as the taxi Marc hailed pulled over, “I’ve lived in London my entire adult life, I know how to get home in one piece.”

It was true, but the real reason you were protesting had more to do with the wine you’d consumed and the ensuing proximity to Marc than your personal safety. You couldn’t trust yourself not to do something horny and stupid.

“C’mon, it’s no trouble, besides we’re not far from each other. What kind of gentlemen would I be if I let you leave unaccompanied with all the crazy shit out there nowadays?” Marc opened the car door for you.

Your heart soared and your panties flooded. Trying to play it cool, you threw out one last protest as you got into the cab, “That’s not your job Marc, that’s why we have Thor and that white knight guy.”

Marc got in behind you and muttered, “You shouldn’t trust him.”

You weren't sure if he meant the god of thunder or the other vigilante, but frankly, you didn’t care because you were in the backseat with Marc. You couldn’t remember anything else you said after that, you knew that you apparently carried on a whole conversation while the cab ferried you across the Thames, but Marc’s lips so close, the scent of his aftershave, his hand resting on the seat millimeters from yours were the only things you could focus on.

The driver pulled to a stop and recited your address, shattering the warm, heady haze of desire you’d sunken into over the course of the ride.

“That’s me!” you called over the divider.

Marc told the driver to wait, that he’d walk you to your building’s door. Your throat was as dry as sandpaper but somehow you found the saliva to say “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

You opened your purse. “How much do I–”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay well, make sure you expense this then.”

“I’m really not worried about it.”

“Right. Good night, Marc.”

You’d said the words to him, but didn’t move. Those dark, expressive eyes had you pinned in place. After a beat, you decided you’d been imagining ‘a moment’ and began to retreat. That was when Marc, rather Marc’s body almost independent of him, lurched toward you, crashing your lips together.

Needless to say, it was a good kiss. The kind of kiss that makes your toes curl, that feels like you’re getting lost and coming home at the same time.

When you breathlessly broke apart, Marc had sucked any sense out of your brain, leaving nothing to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth “That was unprofessional.”

It wasn’t a judgment. Nor a condemnation. Just an observation. A statement of fact.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“But I think how much I enjoyed it is even more unprofessional.”

“Fuck,” Marc swore lowly before kissing you again. It was just as good as the first. No flukes here. The next time you both gasped for air, he reeled. “We can’t do this.”

“I know,” you conceded.

“Not while I’m working with you.”

“Okay.” It was all you could manage while your head swam. Then it occurred to you to follow up with, “After?”

“Yeah. After.” Marc nodded. You opened your building door, he jogged back to the taxi, and that was it.

The next morning at the office, you’d concluded that “After” from Marc meant he was letting you down easy. While you felt like you’d arrived at the office altered on a cellular level after acting on your feelings for him, Marc was reserved and distant in your meetings.

You cried on the Tube on the way home and ultimately absolved him. The two of you had been drinking last night, and Marc was a hot American guy in London. He was probably drowning in pussy, why would he wait for a woman who was off-limits for another six weeks? It was your fault for nursing a schoolgirl crush on him as a grown-ass woman.

His refusal to join the crew for drinks after the deal closed felt like the nail in the coffin. Marc didn’t want to pick things up despite his contract with your company being completed. You got absolutely shitfaced that night, so much so that it wasn’t until the next morning that you saw that he’d texted you.

From Marc Spector: now where were we?

You thrashed in your bed in delight, giggled, and then promptly shuffled to the bathroom to vomit.

***

You got dinner, just the two of you this time. Marc revealed that the reason he’d been so evasive had stemmed from the fact he was attracted to you too, but Marc was building his reputation as a consultant and wanted to maintain professionalism. He didn't want to compromise you and your job integrity either. All was forgiven over dinner while you got to know each other better.

You’d never tell Nyla this, but you jumped into bed with Marc sooner than you would with anyone else. It was not a feminist, nor a particularly romantic thing to say, but you considered your fate to be sealed after the first time you and Marc slept together. The way he bounced you on his cock, then maneuvered you onto all fours and pounded you from behind while growling “Yeah baby, work that ass back on this dick” swiftly and effectively ruined you for other men.

You found that dating Mark was like an archaeological dig. The closer you got, the deeper you dug, you unearthed a new revelation about the beautiful, but complex, man who would become your husband and the father of your child.

Revelation One: Marc had been married before. That one wasn’t much of a surprise, given his age and experience in the sack. With a face that handsome, a cock that fat, and ass and thighs that thick, it only made sense that someone would’ve tried to lock Marc down. He didn’t tell you many details about his ex-wife, only that they were married for a few years and that she lived abroad. You were privately pleased that she wasn’t in the British Isles, a childish possessiveness fueling a small pit of jealousy within you.

Revelation Two: Marc had been a mercenary. This didn’t really come as a shock either, you’d witnessed first-hand Marc’s extensive knowledge of the military and the black market, both of which were indispensable as you’d hammered out the deal at work. Perhaps it didn’t bother you as much to know that your boyfriend used to kill for a living when you could see how the vocation still haunted his features when he spoke about it, how earnestly he wanted to repent for his actions. It also helped that it was a nebulous concept to you, you’d never seen him act as the cold-blooded killer he professed he’d been, so it wasn’t quite “real” to you.

Revelation Three: Marc had suffered trauma and abuse. It helped explain Marc’s path to his former dark line of work, not to mention it broke your heart to learn that his own mother had beaten him, a horrendous misdirection of her grief over the death of his younger brother. She had died recently too, which triggered a whole mix of emotions that Marc was working through.

Revelation Four: Marc had Dissociative Identity Disorder as a result of the trauma and abuse. This one took some backup to wrap your mind around, yet it did explain why Marc never went out for drinks after work – Steven, one of his alters, had been TA’ing a class at University College London that met in the evenings as part of his Ph.D during Marc’s contract. It also provided the reason for why Marc had sort of lurched into the first kiss you shared. His second alter Jake had taken control and given Marc the push he felt the other needed.

You did your best to school your features to impassivity when he told you. Marc thought you’d break up with him then and there. You didn’t, but you told him you needed a minute to make sure you could process everything properly. So you reached out to a therapist you’d seen a few years ago after a bout of depression. It took a few sessions and research on your part, yet it wasn’t long until you felt comfortable enough to meet Steven and Jake.

It was weird, meeting Marc’s alters felt like a mix of going on a blind date and meeting your significant other’s family. The apprehension you initially harbored dissipated in the first five minutes you met Steven, however. You fell for his accent, his dorkiness, and the way he looked at you like you were a treasure from one of ancient civilizations he was an expert on. It also didn’t hurt that he would eat your pussy for hours and was obsessed with your tits.

You and Steven went on a few more dates just the two of you, then took a month for you to adjust to being present when he and Marc would switch and be co-conscious before meeting Jake. Your first date with him was at a salsa club, so wildly unlike Marc or Steven, and you had to pick your jaw up from the floor when your boyfriend greeted you with a Spanish term of endearment in a flat cap and leather gloves. Jake was less inhibited than Marc, a double edged sword in that he was quicker to anger and violence, but less guarded about his emotions and affection toward you. Plus, Jake gave you a reason to dust off your high-school Spanish.

It took a few months, but eventually you four settled into a routine and ease with each other. Your relationship was unconventional for sure, but it was also the happiest you’d ever been. You’d believed that you’d gotten through the most stunning revelations from Marc, that you’d hit his metaphorical core, and everything from here on out would be relatively smoothly sailing. You were so confident that you started dropping hints to each of the boys about engagement rings.

Turned out you still had more to learn.

Revelation Five: Marc and both his alters had a stint serving Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon. Superheroes and gods and aliens were a part of your life, part of everyone’s after The Snap, but you never thought that the man you slept next to would’ve been so directly involved in it.

“You were white knight guy!?!” you gaped when Marc told you.

“Yeah, Khonshu’s Moon Knight,” he clarified.

As bonkers as this information was, it was similar to when Marc had told you he was divorced or that he’d been a mercenary. While of course you believed him, you had never actually seen Marc’s mysterious ex-wife or watched Marc take down a target, the information had never been made tangible.

It was easy to accept when you learned that your boyfriend was Khonshu’s avatar, because you would never see him in the suit. Apparently, the Egyptian god was kind of an asshole, and the men had renounced their ties to him just before you and Marc began dating. It was why Marc had been so adamantly against an office romance, he was desperate to build a life without violence, outside of Khonshu after years of service to the deity.

Marc had tried to push you away, even revealing some of these facets of himself in an attempt to get you to leave him, but you stayed the course. You patiently held your ground and told Marc, each and every time, that he wasn’t getting rid of you that easily. You received every revelation with a measured countenance, well, until you discovered that Marc’s ex-wife was The Scarlet Scarab. That launched you two into a row for the ages.

“How do I compete with that?!’ you shrieked at him, “I can’t compete with that.”

“I don’t want you to! I want you because you’re you, you’re not like her, you’re—”

“Boring?” you supplied.

Marc’s frown deepened. “No, stop. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“So what am I to you? Your breather before you go back to her for superhero sex?”

“Ok, first of all I wasn’t a superhero–”

“Marc, you had a special suit, enhanced abilities and fought criminals. That’s a superhero.”

“You’re missing the point,” he argued. “Layla and I are through. She wanted to be a superhero and I’d had enough of Khonshu’s bullshit. I couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted the adventure and I wanted this, what we have. We made a good team when it was stealing artifacts and chasing madmen across the globe but we were shit at all the real stuff - well not that it wasn’t real - the relationship stuff.”

You studied Marc for a long moment. You wanted to keep your jealousy at bay, you really did. So you tried to play it off, scoffing “Ugh, you’re lucky you’re an animal in bed and that Steven’s the only one who will go to that impressionist exhibit with me later this month.”

“You’re being glib, which means you’re not mad?”

“No, I’m sad,” your face crumpled and a sob escaped your throat. You thought you and Marc had made it through the worst of it, the deepest, darkest parts of yourselves, but here you were, fighting over something that Marc had kept from you because you were envious. A nexus of both of your vices. “What are we doing here?”

Marc watched you cry, cold fear sluicing through his veins. He looked to his reflection in hopes that Steven or Jake would tap in, they were better at this stuff, but Steven denied him with a curt shake of his head.

Not a good idea, Steven relayed through the reflection of the microwave in the kitchen, You were married to Layla and well, she fell in love with you first. Don’t abandon her.

“Maybe I should,” Marc muttered.

You looked up from your hands that had been catching your tears, “What?”

“I should leave, I’m not the kind of guy who can do long-term–”

“STOP!” you wailed at him. “No! You don’t get to run away Marc, this is what a relationship is, it’s leaning into the hard times no matter how much they hurt and fucking working through it. I will not let you throw away the last two years of my life and my love for you, and Steven and Jake because of this. I’m angry about Layla so just comfort me God dammit! Or at the very least, call me out for being a jealous bitch.”

Your challenge sent a flare of anger through Marc, “Okay! You are being a jealous bitch! I’ve told you everything, everything about me and this is what you choose to get mad about?! It’s stupid, you should have run for the hills when I told you about the mercenary work, or the DID or fucking Khonshu, but you stayed.”

“Yeah so now give me a reason to,” you fired back. “Why should I believe you won’t go back to your hot, super-powered ex-wife?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T LOVE HER ANYMORE!” He roared. “I love YOU! I have been leaning into the hard shit. I've told you about my mom and my brother, I let you meet Jake and Steven because I want to be with you for the rest of my life! You were the reason I finally renounced Khonshu!!”

Marc collapsed onto one of the breakfast bar stools. You went to him, afraid he’d switch unintentionally or worse, hurt himself. To your surprise, he let you collect him in your arms.

When Marc spoke again, it was much softer, “What you call boring or ‘normal’ is what I’ve wanted ever since Randall died, but didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t want to be an avatar or a superhero or whatever, I wanted a steady job and a family, but the dishonorable discharge, the D.I.D, the fucking birdgod prevented me from having that, made me believe I couldn’t.’

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his hair. “I don’t want to lose you Marc, I love you so much. I guess…I got scared that I couldn’t measure up. I’m so afraid that you feel like you’re settling for me.”

“Baby, no,” Marc brought his face to yours. “I’m the one with D.I.D. and a fucked up past, you’re settling for me.”

You shook your head, dismissing the notion. “You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.”

Tears fell from your face again, but this time they were from happiness.

***

The engagement and wedding followed. It was a small ceremony, exactly what you two wanted, that observed the Jewish traditions important to Marc. The honeymoon passed by in a haze of sex and sweat in Greece. With three husbands eager to consummate their marriage, you joked to Steven that you could barely walk after the week you spent in Mykonos. To your horror, he took it literally and you were greeted at the airport in Athens by an attendant with a wheelchair. It was a sweet, albeit a little embarrassing, gesture.

Back home, you worked on getting your parents as comfortable with Marc, Steven, and Jake as you were. Jake started his own business since Steven’s schedule had stabilized now that he was teaching, and Marc had entered a phase of his career where he could pick and choose clients. You all had talked about kids but the concept was firmly filed into the ‘later on’ column of your marital priorities.

Nyla had other plans. Honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised that you’d conceived on your honeymoon, there were few surfaces on the Greek island you hadn’t fucked on. But even after the missed period and morning sickness, the positive pregnancy test shocked you. You and your husband were as elated as you were terrified.

***

You all still felt as if you were white-knuckling as parents, but Nyla embracing her sleep schedule and improving on latching allowed you and your husband to exhale some.

Your daughter had woken you up extra early this morning. The weather was nice, you were graced by a rare sunny morning in London, so you and Marc decided to take Nyla on a stroll in the park. Leaving the flat with a newborn was a tall order, one that demanded all the strategy and concentration of a military operation, Marc found. You both packed up all the necessities to fit in a single diaper bag while also keeping your daughter entertained.

Your little family made it out of the house in record time. It only took 34 minutes to pack everything to go down the street for a walk in the park.

You pushed Nyla’s stroller while Marc carried the bag. The movement had lulled Nyla back to sleep. You extended the stroller’s visor to shade her, but Marc insisted on having your baby wear the sun hat you’d packed for another layer of protection from the rays bathing Dulwich park in an early summer warmth.

You figured now was the best chance you’d ever have at talking to Marc about his reticence to front around Nyla. The subject had to be broached delicately, sneakily, or else you may not get another opportunity.

His insistence on getting Nyla’s hat gave you the perfect in. “You’re great with her.”

Marc shrugged off the praise as he dug for her hat. So you persisted, “And she loves you so much.”

“Yeah, because I look like Steven,” he groused.

“Hey, that’s not true,” you stopped his search with a hand on his arm. “You have these cute conversations with her, when you lay her back on the top of your thighs. She gets so enthralled when you two ‘talk’. You’re the only one who does that with her.”

Marc poured the ensuing emotion into his search for her hat. “She’s so tiny. Why didn’t the books say anything about how goddamn little she’d be?”

“Well, she was a few weeks early,” you reminded him. “I wanted her to get over 3 and a half kilos, but Nyla didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“Just like her mom,” Marc teased.

“And also much like her mom, she doesn’t want you to avoid her, since you make her feel so loved.”

It wasn’t that falling for Marc first meant you loved him more than his alters, but it did make you slightly more attuned to him. Your life had been made so much richer when Marc allowed Steven and Jake’s presences in your life, and you knew your daughter would only benefit from Marc fully allowing his presence in hers.

Besides you’d heard about the last time Marc had tried to leave things in solely Steven and Jake’s hands, and that had resulted in Steven getting sacked for destroying a bathroom at the British Museum, the two of them getting shot and taking a round trip to the Egyptian underworld, and an evil crocodile lady trying to take over the planet.

Your husband tensed, the tendon in his jaw working before he answered, “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, stopping the stroller for a moment. “Honey, I wouldn't have married you, let alone had a baby with you, if I thought any of you were capable of hurting me or our child. Believe me.”

“But what’s the point, Steven is such a natural–”

“Yeah, and he’s wonderful. But tell me if I'm wrong, he doesn't hold the memories of your childhood the same way you do. He may have seen them, but he didn't experience first-hand, right?”

Marc stayed silent, but didn’t correct you.

“He doesn’t carry the baggage quite like you do...which is nothing against either of you! And I know me and him have discovered, um…this new kink that we share, but that doesn’t mean I don't want you around. It doesn't mean you’re any less capable as a father than Steven or Jake. She needs all of her dads, Marc.”

Marc’s eyes drifted from yours to the sleeping infant in front of you.

“You each have your special little things you share with Nyla and it’s so beautiful to watch, babe,” Your eyes welled up with tears. Damn hormones, could you get through anything without crying? “I can't tell you how happy it makes me.”

“Baby,” he murmured.

You composed yourself, “All I’m saying is that you can trust yourself with her. And if you ever have a moment when you don’t trust yourself, know that I trust you with Nyla, and I'm her mother. What I say goes.”

“You’re the best mom, you know that right?” Marc questioned. It was your turn to downplay his compliment. “You take such good care of her. I know Nyla will never go through what I did because of you.”

“It’s easy,” you stopped yourself, “Well, it’s not easy, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but loving you and this little girl we made makes me happy to do it. So don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Deal,” Marc agreed.

“Good, because when my dad gets in tomorrow, he’s going to want someone to talk about sports with, and you know the other boys are shit at it,” you quipped.

Marc chuckled as he bent over the front of the stroller to put Nyla’s hat on her little head and tie the strings around her chin while she slept. He couldn’t hide the proud grin that brightened his face when he managed to secure it without waking Nyla.

“See what I mean?” you used his success to drive home his fatherly ability.

Marc returned to your side, draped an arm around you, and pressed a kiss just under your ear. “Thank you, honey.”

“I love you,” you whispered, resuming your walk.

Nyla was the combination of you and your husband, which meant she wasn’t going to let either of you get too cocky. The stroller had only made it another thousand meters before she began fussing, though this time, more hormonally-fueled tears threatened to pour from your eyes when Marc didn’t hesitate to tend to his daughter.

Read the next fic in the series: THE MAGIC TOUCH

A/N: Y’all I thought of this idea and then the dialogue confronting Marc when reader discivers his ex is ~Layla El-Faouly~ started writing itself and then four thousand more words poured out of me. Ooops.

I know I say this every time, but it’s true that everyone’s support and responses get me fired up and inspired to write!!!

Taglist: @twwcs @starfirette @toracainz

1K notes · View notes

book-place · 2 years

Text

To the Moon and Back

Part 2 -> Meet Fatherhood

Warnings: moon knight episode 5 and 6 spoilers!!!, cursing (?), character death, violence, implied child abandonment, weapons, adoption, all Arabic comes from google translate, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Marc Spector x daughter reader, Layla El Faouly x daughter reader, little bit of Steven Grant x reader platonic

Request: I got a platonic mk x reader request!!! How about Marc x avatar reader where the reader was like Marc and Layla's adopted kid from the Philippines where they met during one of Marc's mercenary missions. After Marc left to persue harrow the reader becomes mayari's avatar (goddess of the moon in the Philippines) and reunites with him after joining Layla to Egypt (after much persistince to go). Make it as angsty as you want or not....

(I hope this is what you were looking for! I changed it a bit- sorry. Also, I’m not familiar with Mayari so I did the best I could and did a little bit of research)

Request by: @queenotaku23

*not my gif*

Summary: For the longest time it had just been the three of you, your little family. But then one day changes that forever

A/N: Second Moon Knight request!! Hope you enjoy :)

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

As the shot rang out through the vast room, all you could do was stand frozen in shock and horror as your blood ran colder than the moon.

The sound was deafening, but you could still hear everything. The grunt of a man. The sound of splashing as a body hit the water. The sound of heavy breathing. But above all, your own heartbeat that rang above all the other sounds. Louder. Clearer.

You barely registered as your mothers sobbing form took you into her arms, pulling you to her chest so that she could try and comfort you.

But no tears fell out of your eyes, you couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Any of it.

Your father couldn’t be dead. Your strong, brave father, Marc Spector.

Or your other father, the kind and gentle one, Steven Grant. The one that you had only met a few days ago, but formed a deep attachment with nonetheless.

How had this happened? Just moments ago you were running through the halls of the tomb, more than certain that you and your family would beat Arthur Harrow to Ammit, then all of you could finally find peace.

Then the next thing you knew, you heard your mothers outraged screaming and then your fathers deep and calm-even in the middle of a crisis, but still partially desperate- voice trying to coax her away from the room.

Then you had run in, just in time for Marc to gently push you towards your mother, telling her to take care of you, barely having time to give you a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before ushering you and Layla out of sight.

He had been so prepared to fight to the death for the two of you. Make sure that you guys got out of there okay, and it ended up being the last thing he would ever do.

It was a battle that he had lost.

Marc had found you eleven years earlier on one of his mercenary missions and back then you were just a young, four year old, child who had no family and nobody to turn to for help.

Without knowing it, you immediately captured the normally cold man’s heart and he took you under his wing right away, giving you a place to stay and food to eat.

That was before Layla had come along, and when she did, you looked up to her almost right away and she quickly began loving you like a daughter.

It wasn’t perfect, but you guys were quick to make a small family of each other. A family that loved one another, no matter what.

It was as if you were watching from a far as Layla gently took you by the shoulders and kissed the crown of your head, trying to silence her soft sobs the best she could.

You just looked up at her with a pale face and wide eyes, mouth dropped slightly open.

Then without warning, or meaning to, you harshly pushed away from her and sprinted to where your father had been standing just a moment before.

Ignoring her whisper shouts for you to come back, you made a beeline to the water right behind the sarcophagus, and when you saw what was there, your knees gave out from underneath you in sheer horror.

Marc’s body lay there, half in, and half out of the water, his eyes closed, and half open mouth still. Not a muscle in his body moved.

A sob escaped your lips for the first time, now that you were looking at him, “Dad,” you shook him a little, as if trying to wake him up, “Come on, dad, please. Dad!”

Your mother quickly came up from behind you and caught you just before you collapsed again, and began shushing you even though she too was crying.

The salty tears streamed down your face, one after another, like an endless waterfall of sorrow.

After a moment, Layla gently tapped your shoulder to let you know that she was going to let go, and moved towards her husband with a shaky figure.

Once she took a long breath, she gently pushed Marc into the water, as if afraid he were made of glass.

Your sobbing continued, but did quiet down a bit when you came to your senses and realized that Harrow was still most likely in one of the mazes of halls somewhere and might still hear you.

You watched as Layla slowly stood up and then helped you up as well, “Come on,” she whispered tearfully, “We have to go.”

You couldn’t even give him a proper funeral.

With that you went back to your barely-registering-anything-state, and allowed your mother to lead you out of the tomb without complaint.

Not a word was passed between either of you as you got into a cab that brought you guys back to your hotel room.

It was only once you got into the room that she finally spoke up, “I’m going to go out for a while, sweetie. I need you to stay here.”

On a normal day, you would’ve fought against her and insisted that you go where she was going. Because on a normal day you would’ve known her, and you would’ve known where she was going. To face Arthur Harrow, alone.

But you didn’t have the energy to think or comprehend what she had said to you as you numbly nodded.

She quickly bent down to your height as you sat on the bed, staring at the floor, and she moved her face so that you were looking at her, “I need you to promise me that you will stay in this room. No matter what.”

Again you just nodded, but when she gave you a slightly stern look, you mumbled, “I promise.”

She seemed to visibly relax when hearing that, “Thank you, sweetie.”

Giving you a quick kiss on the forehead, and grabbing a couple of things, she scurried out of the room, making sure that the door locked behind her.

She was only okay with leaving you alone because she knew that Arthur and his followers would be somewhere looking for Ammit, meaning she could keep them as far away from you as possible.

That and there was plenty of food in the mini fridge for you to last a few days.

You sat in the same spot that she had left you for hours, staring blankly at the spot on the peeling beige colored wall.

Then suddenly, without warning, it was if a gust of wind had just blown through the room at full force and brought a huge dust patch with it, but the widows weren’t even open.

Your wide eyes traveled over to where Khonshu then stood in the place that the dust patch and been, and though you had never actually seen him, you knew enough Egyptology to know who he was.

“Little Spector.” The god greeted.

“What do you want?” Your voice came out hollow, as if you were done with everything and everyone.

“I need your help, you need to become my avatar.” The bird replied, his tone impatient and restless.

You scoffed, “And why would I ever do that?”

“Because the world is in danger.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I think enough Spectors have been taken from the world today because of you and your stupid war.” Anger suddenly replaced that emptiness that you had been feeling all afternoon.

“Your mother is in danger.”

This made you pause where you were, halfway standing up as you were ready to match over and yell at the skeleton looking bird.

He could see that he had gotten you to pause and took that to his advantage, “An avatar is needed so that Ammit and Harrow can be stopped.” He insisted.

“I will not be your avatar.” You made sure to make yourself clear as you made up your mind, “But I will be someone else’s avatar. Anybody else, I don’t care. As long as it’s not you.” You spat out the last word like venom.

Khonshu paused, studying you for a moment, “You are brave, Little Spector… I know the perfect goddess for you to host.”

With that the dust and wind appeared again but gone as soon as it came without a trace, leaving you to wonder if any of that had really just happened.

“Y/n Spector.” A smooth and melodic voice suddenly rang out in your head after a moment, “I am Mayari, goddess of the moon and ruler of the night.”

The name rang a bell to you, when your mother had taught you years ago about Philippine mythology. You were originally from the Philippines before Marc found you, and Layla found it very important to teach you about the culture of where you came from. And you had always really appreciated that.

“Khonshu has informed me of the situation,” she continued, “And if what he says is true, then I need your help just as much as you need mine. So, do you, Y/n Spector, swear to withhold the legacy of the moon, and promise to keep the stars shining bright?”

You hesitated, knowing what being an avatar had done to your father and Steven, but then their cold, dead body flashed through your mind, and your mothers sobbing face, and you hesitated no longer, “I do.”

With that, you felt a wind around you, not a harsh and cold one like when Khonshu had entered the room, but a slow and refreshing one.

It swept around you like you were at the center of a tornado, and when it stopped, you no longer stood in your busted up hiking boots and ratty old t-shirt and jeans.

You then stood in a flowing blue and purple one piece jumpsuit that had a golden sword sheathed at the side of your right leg.

The material against your skin was smooth and durable, which let you know that it would be easy to fight in.

How does it feel?

Mayari’s voice sung through your head, making you jump slightly.

“Uh-g-good… it feels good.” You quickly got over your initial shock when you remembered the reason you were there in the first place.

Good, now let’s not waste anymore time. Shall we?

“Shall we what-“ You cut yourself off with a small yelp as you felt your feet being lifted off the ground, “What the- Hey! What’s happening?” You fumbled around, trying to grab onto something while trying to stay balanced so you didn’t hit your head.

You heard her chuckle a little.

I’m a goddess, flying just so happens to be a perk.

You swallowed hard, “Right, yeah, of course.”

You heard her laugh again before you started moving forward while still in the air.

Now hang on.

-•-

Next thing you knew, you were zooming through the skys, over the city buildings of Cairo on your way to where you could only assume the fight was taking place.

In the distance you saw a very large crocodile and dead looking bird fighting near some pyramids, and you didn’t even have to think to know that it was Ammit and Khonshu, who must’ve tricked some other poor soul into being his avatar for him.

It looked weird enough to you, who knew about avatars and everything, so you could only imagine what it looked like to the rest of the world.

Are you ready for this?

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You mumbled, clearly unsure of yourself.

You’ll do great, and I’ll be here the whole time if you need anything.

You allowed her to bring you closer and closer to the ground until your feet hit the pavement, and you stumbled a little while trying to regain your balance.

Taking a moment, you took in your surroundings to see what you were dealing with.

People where running around in complete chaos, with windows broken, cars flipped, and buildings on fire.

You saw a flash of purple out of the corner of your eye and quickly whipped around to see Aurthur pointing his staff at a mother, father, and daughter who all sat huddled in a bunch.

The parents were obviously trying to shield the screaming child from whatever the strange man was about to do to them while gripping onto each other tightly for comfort.

It was as if your brain switched off and was replaced with that of a warrior, which you later knew you could thank Mayari for.

You quickly unsheathed your sword and sprinted over to the group as fast as your feet would carry you, before jumping right in front of them just in time for Harrow to shoot out a beam of violet light.

His eyes widened in surprise as your golden sword caught the blast midair and sent it right back at him, sending him flying backwards a few feet before his head hit the pavement.

Only partially listening to Mayari’s words of praise, you turned back to the family after reshething your sword, “هل أنتم بخير؟” You asked hurriedly.

(Are you all okay?)

“أنت بطل خارقة!”

(You’re a superhero)

The little girl gasped in awe, staring at you with wide and adoring eyes, and all you could do was smile at her softly.

You took the next moment to reassure the parents that everything was fine as they sobbed and thanked you over and over again.

Once you saw them hurry away, you turned back to the spot Harrow was in, only to find him and his staff gone.

You cursed quietly before running through the streets, helping people along the way, and listening to your goddesses advice whenever she had any words of wisdom.

Just as you were helping an old lady out of a car, you heard your name being called in disbelief above all the other noises that the city had to offer that night.

You whipped around and froze in your place, suddenly feeling like you were back in that tomb.

Marc Spector pushed his way through the crowds as he came running as fast as he could towards you.

I thought Khonshu said he was dead?

You ignored Mayari’s curious voice, unable to comprehend it or anything else other than your father at that moment.

“D-dad?” You whispered out in disbelief.

“Oh, honey.” You could hear the relief in his voice as he quickly pulled you into his chest.

You gripped the back of his suit tightly, as if afraid if you let go then he would disappear once again.

For a long moment, the two of you rocked back and forth, him comforting you lovingly as you sobbed into his chest.

“The bullets- I saw- you were-“ you couldn’t even form a proper sentence.

He shushed you once again, “It’s okay, I’ll explain everything later. I promise.”

You were grateful that Mayari gave you two a moment together without her interrupting you or your father.

Gently, he pulled away but still held onto your shoulders, keeping you at arms distance as he studied you and your outfit, “What is this?”

You could tell by the way his eyes flooded with panic and horror that he already knew the answer, though.

“Dad-“

“No, no, no.” Marc shook his head in disbelief, dropping it down in defeat, “First your mother, and now you.”

You felt your heart drop, “Mom?”

He nodded painfully, “Layla became an avatar for Taweret.”

Before you could question him further though, his suit quickly changed into a very different one. One that you knew to be Stevens outfit.

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you’re Mayari’s avatar!” He gushed, “That’s so bloody cool! Oh poor old Marc had no idea who’s avatar you were, but I could tell from one glance that-“

He was cut off by you throwing yourself into his arms, “I’m so glad you’re okay, too.” You whispered into his ear.

After a moment, the two of you pulled away at the sound of the screaming of your name from nearby.

You and Steven both turned to see Layla angrily stomping towards the two of you, wearing an outfit you can only assume Taweret gave her.

“Yeah, no thanks.” Steven said, “You can handle this one, mate.”

And with that, his suit disappeared and was quickly replaced by Marc’s, “What- no, Steven! Hey!” He stuttered out, quickly stopping at his wife’s deadly glare.

“What are you doing here?” She seethed, glaring down at you, “You promised to stay in the hotel room! And what are you wear-“

She cut herself off with wide eyes, realizing what was happening.

“Oh no, honey. Why would you do that?” Her voice had softened slightly and she was referring to you becoming an avatar.

“You needed help.” You mumbled, looking at the ground with slight guilt, “If it makes you feel any better, it’s the goddess-“

“Mayari.” She finished in awe, “The one I used to tell you stories about.”

Aww, you used to listen to stories about little old me?

Your goddess teased you playfully.

Marc on the other hand, huffed and crossed his arms, “Why did everybody know who it was right away, but me?”

Before any of you could respond, you were all cut off with a shout coming from a couple feet away from all of you.

You all whipped around to see one of Arthur's followers charging at you with a gun, and Layla immediately pushed you behind her and put her wrists up, deflecting all of the bullets with her cuffs.

Marc then took action and quickly ran out from behind her and kicked the man in the face, making him drop to the ground.

Then Ammit’s followers were all around you.

All three of you fought back, trying your best to defend one another while trying to stay alive.

You unsheathed your sword and quickly got to work fending off the woman nearest to you while Mayari gave you helpful tips.

You noticed with glee that your parents both glanced at you every now and then in pride at seeing you handle your own.

But there were only three of you. Avatars or not.

You were all quickly outnumbered, and next thing you knew you were backed up against a wall, fighting the best you still could in your situation.

You glanced to the side to see your mother pinned up against a side of a car while your father glanced worriedly at the two of you and Aurthur was shouting something you couldn’t hear at him.

You knew they could handle themselves so you focused back on your own fight and after a few minute struggle, they were all down and you were no longer surrounded.

Turning back to see if your parents needed help, your eyes widened in shock at what you saw.

There were bodies of Harrow and Ammits followers scattered all over the place, and your parents stood above them looking around in confusion.

“That wasn’t you, Steven?” You heard your father ask in slight horror, but you knew he didn’t even have to ask. Of course it wasn’t kind, lovable Steven.

“Dad?” You called out hesitantly.

He quickly turned to face you, scanning you for any injuries, “Yeah?”

“What the hell was that?” Layla voiced your thoughts.

“I-I don’t know.” He admitted, “I blacked out.” He glanced between the two of you, “Are you two okay?”

You both nodded and he sighed in relief. And though you were all in the middle of the biggest fight of your lives, you all couldn’t help but be grateful.

Because you had each other, your little family. Just like it always had been.

857 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1 Wolf

Chapter 1 of Moon Star

A/N- I finally finished the first chapter! I really hope you guys like it!!!

Warning- Violence, talks of blood and weapon, angst, surprise guest, swearing.

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader

Episode- 1x02

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“Y/N Spector!”

A crowd of students cheer, a small handful hollar from excitement while the crowd booms with clapter. It’s not everyday one graduates from High School after all. It’s a one time special event.

Which is why such an event should be celebrated, it’s meant to be a joyful filled moment; it is for some. It should be remembered. Especially by a father with only one child who he said he loved with every bit of his heart.

Shouldn’t he be here?

As your eyes searched every row of happy relatives, once, twice and three times while you walked down the runway, he wasn’t there. Layla, his wife is there with a smile on her face, your grandfather is there beside her clapping and grinning a happy toothy grin, but he isn’t.

When you take the diploma and begin heading down you double check, hope that you may have missed him in the sea of people. Sometimes he did like to lurk in the shadows. But….when you step down, reality sets, illusions fall. After all the promises, all the tender words, all the caring, it all amounts to nothing at this moment.

“Your father is ungrateful. He’s a bad man who does bad things. Wolfie, he doesn’t care, but I do. I love you.”

——

*SOME TIME LATER. NEW YORK*

A proud smirk tugs on your lips as you see the artifact in your hand gleam gold under the colorful lights flashing overhead.

Another successful grab.

“Item secured,” you talk through the mic hidden in your ear. “I’m on my way, start the car.” You shove the artifact in your bag and quicken your stride as you see the back door approaching.

You approach it and push the door open, but as the door gets thrown back you come face to face with four men dressed in fancy suits.

Fuck.

Just don’t panic. Smile and act normal.

“Pardon,” you mumble and try to walk past them, but one of them steps in your way and grabs your arm to yank you towards him. “Excuse—get your hands off me,” you sneer and knee his crotch before you use your bracelet to zap his neck.

The man lets you go right away and groans and grunts out in pain, letting you turn to return inside even as the three men chase after you.

“I’m…compromised,” you say in your mic between pants whilst you turn the hall and push past people. “Turn at 22nd ave.”

“Shit watch it!” Someone yells out.

You throw your hand out to apologize and don’t bother to look back as you turn a sharp right to head towards the elevators.

“Shit, y/n, what the hell happened?” Layla responds. “How many?”

You peer back and hear the commotion of hurried footsteps so you slam on the elevator button with desperation.

“Four. But I took one down, so three. I’ll lose them.” You assure her and keep slamming your fist on the button, but to no avail. “Fuck. Damn it. Damn it!”

What kind of fancy building doesn’t have working elevators!

You snap your head from side to side until you see emergency stairs at the end of the other hall. So you quickly proceed to break into a sprint, having to swerve to the side so as to miss hitting some passersby.

When you reach the stairs though, the three men catch up to you. One tries to pull you back, but you throw your elbow back and hit his nose, before pulling out a dagger hidden in your bracelet to stab another man's arm before throwing the door open and rushing up the stairs.

The three men keep following you nevertheless.

“Come here if you know what’s good for you, you little rat!” One of them yells from below the stairs.

You glance down and see the three down one flight of stairs. Damn.

“Y/N where are you now?” Layla comes in through the mic again. “If you don’t respond in thirty seconds I am going up there I don’t care what you want.”

You try to quicken your pace up the damn stairs and talk back between heavier pants. “Running up the stairs, thanking you for dragging me on morning jogs. I’ll be going radio silent until I reach the car. Bye.”

“No! Y/N! Wolf! Wolfie! Don’t you dare—!”

You lift your hand to your ear and turn off the mic in your ear even after Layla’s protest, ending up grinning as you reach the top of the stairs and see the exit.

Finally!

You shove the door open and in that instant see two more fucking men!

Yet you don’t let that bring you down, instead you slowly begin to grin at them. “Gentlemen,” you greet. “I was just coming out for a smoke in the silence.”

One of the men on the right scoffs and pierces his green eyes on you. “Hand it over gently and we won’t have to hurt you, girl,” he spats.

You blink repeatedly and touch your chest. “Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I came out here to smoke.” You step to the side and the men follow your step. “Now if you don’t mind please leave me alone.”

The second man to the left rolls his eyes in annoyance, and the three men who were chasing you finally catch up, all breathing very heavily.

“Her bag,” one of them groans. “It’s in her bag.”

You sigh and slowly lose your smile. The first man reaches over, but you grab his wrist in time and manage to just slightly turn him whilst you kick the second guy in the chest to knock the air out of him. You then lunge forward and proceed to use a small blade in your ring to swing it from the first man’s cheekbone to his eye, making him scream and stumble back.

The men behind you try to reach you, but you turn and slam the door shut on one man’s hand.

“Okay,” you whisper in panic and rummage through your bag until you pull out a small gadget that you stick on the knob that surrounds the metal in electricity so they wouldn’t touch it. “Perfect.” You smirk and turn to head towards the fire escape.

But of course just as you reach it the man who you knocked out at first is climbing up them. You turn to try and your luck back inside, but the men find a way through your gadget and begin to come at you with their guns now.

“Great,” you breathe out and stand in the middle. “Look,” you address all of them. “I promise I’m not worth all this trouble, I have nothing.”

“Why are you running then?” The man climbing out of the fire escape asks.

You peer over at him and acted frightened. “Because you’re after me. All of you, four scary man after me, a woman.” You feign a frown and force tears to your eyes. “I’m just scared.”

One of the men that comes from inside the building slowly begins to lower his gun. And you think it’s because somehow your shitty acting got to him, but when you hear a thud behind you, you look back and see…Spider-Man turning away from the man he just trapped on the floor with his web.

Spider-Man. Fucking Spider-man, it’s—he’s actually not so tall, he has more muscle than the pictures do justice—no, focus. Get out of here.

“Please—” however, before you can finish asking for help his arms suddenly wrap around you, and he rapidly swings you around to save you from the bullets.

“Oh my god,” you pant and grab onto his arms.

No matter how many dangerous situations you’ve been in, being shot at isn’t something you’ve gotten used to yet.

“Just hold on,” Spider-Man says in a very young voice, yet not so young to make you believe he’s a teen, he’s maybe a young adult. “Stay here, you’ll be okay,” he continues and slowly pulls away from you.

You meet his big white eyes and nod before you watch him turn and use his webs to pull one gun away from one man. He then uses that gun and swings it to hit the second man.

“Don’t you have something better than to pick on a girl half your size?”He says and you quietly take this time to turn around and head towards the fire escape.

As soon as you reach it you check back, and when you notice Spider-Man still fighting the men you quickly climb down.

“Layla,” you say after you turn on your mic.

“Y/N! Oh thank goodness! Where are you?!” Layla immediately responds.

To reach the ground quicker you instead you the ladders to slide down to the ground. “I’m on my way,” you let her know with a small smile.

Your feet touch the ground and just as you’re pulling away to finally leave the damned street, suddenly something sticky keeps your hand against the railing. When you look back you see a web.

“I can’t let you do that,” you hear Spider-Man say from behind you.

You let out a small sigh and look over your shoulder with a feigned hurt look. “Look, I’m not with them I promise. I just want to go home.”

Spider-Man begins to walk over to you, and you follow every step he takes. “That’s why they were chasing you with guns?” He retorts with a bit of snark in his tone.

You keep taking your innocence nevertheless. “Yeah, they wanted to hurt me. I managed to run away, but they kept chasing me.”

Spider-Man makes it in front of you and his white bug eyes narrow. “So if I check your bag now there would be nothing in there.”

You shrug. “Unless you’re, like, into pads and stuff like that then no.”

Spider-Man scoffs in amusement and takes a step toward you, and you tilt your head.

“Can I say,” you continue whilst you slowly smile. “I’m a big fan. I’ve been one since your early days when you’d wear….sweats.”

He huffs. “Look,” he says as he drops his head. “I’m going to make it simple since you look like a…nice girl.” He faces you again. “Give me what you stole and I will let you go. Simple.”

You narrow your glare and check him out, catching the gadget where his webs come out of, and meeting his eyes again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you continue to act dumb and watch him get very close. “Let me go, my mom is waiting for me, she'll begin to worry.” Layla wasn’t your real mother but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay,” he sighs and tilts his head just sligtly. “Show me that you don’t have what you stole and I’ll walk you to your mom.”

“Promise?” You ask sweetly and bat your eyelashes.

Spider-Man blinks and you see his Adam’s apple lift and slide back down. He then nods and pretends to reach for your bag, but you turn rapidly and use the blade in your ring and manage to cut the web to free your hand. Spider-man tries to retaliate by trapping you again, but as he throws out his hand to shoot his web, you throw your blade from your bracelet and just barely manage to hit his web gadget and disable it with electricity.

“What the…” Spider-Man gasps in disbelief and looks at you and his gadget with bewilderment.

You quickly rush him and try to kick his chest, but he manages to grab your foot. “Not so fast.”

You hold his gaze and smirk at him before you yank your foot back, and counterattack by kicking him back before you lunge forward and use a smoke gadget you had to paralyze him.

“Wow,” you say all giddy as you pick up your crescent snapped blade. “I took you down. That’s…” you sigh and turn to beam at him. “I, hm. Wow.”

Spider-Man coughs and his eyes widen. “No, yeah props to you, but you completely proved me right just now.”

You shrug sweetly. “Maybe I did,” you retort and begin to walk away. “Does that earn a name?”

Spider-Man tilts his head and shakes it. “No,” he says. “Beats the purpose of a secret identity.”

“Hm, worth the question,” you sigh and smirk at him. “One, the paralyzation will wear off in about ten minutes. Two, I don’t steal. They’ve already been stolen.” You scoff softly and pull out a piece of paper to jot down your number, as you walk to him you offer him a sweet smile before placing the paper on his hand he had stuck.

“Okay, thanks,” he whispers in disbelief. “That’s, uh, b-bold. What if I’m an old man?”

You shrug. “It’s okay, I’ll take the risk.” You wave at him and walk away from the alleyway. “Bye-bye now Spidey. Text me, maybe we can run into each other again someday.” You turn the corner and hear a distant response.

“Bye…I…bye.”

You grin slightly as you pull off the wig from your head and throw it aside, before you pull off your jacket and throw it in some trashcan as you stride down the street towards Layla.

Luckily you don’t get chased down by Spider-Man so you make it to the car safely. And once Layla sees you her eyes brighten and relief finally washes over her.

“Y/N, what the hell where have you been?” She asks as you open the car door.

You climb in and close the door before pulling the artifact out of your bag and showing it off to her with a very proud smile. “Got it, there were some snags along the way, like, Spider-Man, but I managed to take him down. Now drive before he finds us.”

Layla shifts to drive and blinks in disbelief before looking at you. “Excuse you did what?”

You meet her gaze and nod. “Yeah, no, I took down Spider-Man! With my paralyzation gas.” You show off.

Layla faces the street and hums. “That worked,” she mumbles in disbelief.

You nod and put the artifact back in your bag.

“Okay,” Layla sighs. “My turn.”

You blink and slightly narrow your gaze in confusion.

Layla glances at you before she hands you her phone. “Check the recently called list,” she says.

You carefully grab the phone and smile nervously before dropping your gaze to unlock the phone and checking what she said. The moment you see the recently called section your eyes widen, and a small gasp comes out of your lips.

“What,” you mumble. “This can’t be. He’s gone totally MIA. Are you sure?”

Layla nods. “No, yeah, I’m sure, it was him. His voice. He quickly hung up though. Can you maybe trace the call?”

You return your gaze to the phone and read the name again, Marc Spector.

Your dad. He called Layla his wife. After so long he finally called.

——

*LONDON*

“If I knew he was home we could’ve never left.” You mutter as you put your sunglasses on and hop on your scooter.

Layla puts on her helmet and adds, “we needed to go, I mean wasn’t it worth it? There’s only so much you can see of your campus online.”

You shrug. “I suppose but…” you start the engine. “You should’ve seen the virtual tour. It’s a lot better than they were six years ago. Besides,” you sigh. “Is it really smart to leave with my dad MIA?”

Layla looks over at you and shakes her head. “I told you when the time comes and if we still haven’t found your dad, he’s not yours to worry about.” She narrows her gaze and her serious demeanor doesn’t falter. “Do you understand y/n?”

No matter how much of a deadbeat he’s been, especially ever since you came back, he’s still your father, you’re still worried.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “I understand.”

Layla nods and looks ahead again. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushes back her kickstand and leads the way.

Fortunately there isn’t much traffic so you’re able to keep up without having to be cut off, or having to lose sight of her because people can’t respect those on motorcycles.

And futhermore, unlike New York, the sights you drive by are more enjoyable and more beautiful…

Then again maybe that’s just because you’re a bit bitter about leaving. Even if Layla and your grandfather say “it’s good for you wolf, you’re going to gain a lot of new experiences.”.

It’s whatever. The far more enjoyable experiences are made by Layla’s side going on adventures. The great experiences are—

Suddenly out of nowhere Layla comes to a sudden halt and you’re forced to turn to the side to break so you wouldn’t crash into her. However, as your use your feet to come to a skidding stop you see your…your dad on the ground.

“Marc?” Layla asks in disbelief. “Where have you been?”

Said man pulls his arm away from his face and looks over at her. “Ar-ar—Layla?” He asks.

You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward. “Dad?”

Immediately your dad snaps his eyes towards you and furrows his eyebrows even deeper. “I—you—who are you?”

You share a confused look with Layla and then narrow your gaze back on him. “What are you on about?” You question him almost offendedly.

Your dad slowly begins to push himself to his feet and shakes his head as he looks behind him. “Something is after me. It was just behind me.”

You glance at the building but just see casual passerbyers minding their own business. No one comes running out, nor is there any screams.

“What are you talking about, Marc?” Layla asks.

He scoffs. “Just please help me get out of here. Please take me home.”

Layla shares one last puzzled look with you before she addresses your dad. “Get on. Let’s go y/n.”

You put your sunglasses back on and follow after her through the streets of London. It seems that she and your dad are having a conversation but due to your helmet and the air that keeps hitting you as you drive, you can’t hear shit. And she keeps looking away from her mirrors so you can’t read her lips either. All you have is expressions and she keeps the same angry and annoyed one since you found him.

He however is different. He looks scared and confused. Something strange to see on a man you thought was incredibly fearless. It’s like he’s in a state of anxiety by the looks of his tensed shoulders and widened eyes. He almost seems like a different person. More so when you speak to him once you finally make it to some apartment complex not far from home.

“Where the hell have you been, dad? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Your dad looks back at you and swallows thickly before he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he stammers as he walks you two to the elevator shaft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clench your jaw and feel your eyes flicker away from him, whilst Layla shoots him a glare.

“Marc, what are you doing?” She scolds him.

Said man walks you inside and presses the button to his floor once you’re all inside. “Let’s just wait. Just wait,” he interjects nervously and stands at the far end of the elevator that's as far from both Layla and you.

He stands stiff, he just keeps stealing looks as if he’s actually confused. And you keep trying to avoid looking at him now so as to not get even more mad than you already were. It makes things awkward in the elevator and makes the ride quite uncomfortable and longer than it actually was.

Once the elevator comes to a halt it actually feels like you can breathe again. Yet your anger doesn’t subside. It only heightens as he walks you into an actual apartment that seems to have been occupied for quite some time, basing off all the damn clutter spread everywhere.

“Damn,” you mutter. “This place is a piece of junk.”

“Excuse me?” Your dad asks.

You scoff as you put your sunglasses away and look around at all the bookshelves, papers hung up against the wall, and finally land your eyes on a big fish tank that contains one single goldfish.

“Huh,” you interject beside Layla. “Cute.” You step back and continue to wander around, managing to catch your father muttering something.

“I just want my life back.”

You scoff in annoyance and just let Layla answer. “Yeah. I’m getting that.”

“No, no.” He interjects right away. “Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you, just talking to myself. Sort of.”

You come to a stop in front of a sand barrier that’s around the bed, and slowly look up and see chains and cuffs….

Disgusting.

“Wow,” you breathe out and squint your eyes to make sure those were actually cuffs. “Kinky are we?”

Footsteps approach, and as you glance back you see Layla and your father approaching—“uh, this is your flat, Marc?” She asks.

“Um, I’m Steven,” he corrects her, making you briefly narrow your eyes before you turn and catch Layla finally seeing the same thing you did.

“Are you living here with someone else?” She demands to know.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he quickly assures her. “No, um, this is my mum’s flat.”

You look over at your dad and part your lips out of shock. “Grandma has a flat in London?”

He meets your gaze and stays quiet as he looks away more confused now. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums after a while.

Huh, she never mentioned.

You hum in response and move away.

“But,” he adds. “My mum never mentioned you. At all.”

You scoff. “What are you talking about?” You snap in annoyance. “You left me with them. Or what?” You begin to walk over to him and shoot him a pointed glare. “Did you take advantage of the five years I disappeared to actually erase me from your life?”

He stays quiet and begins fiddling with his fingers.

You wait for a response, for something but he just shakes his head.

“Right,” you scoff and shake your head. “I get it, dad,” you sneer and turn away to walk off and snoop somewhere else

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?” Layla thankfully interjects the silence.

They bond over the poem, whilst you find French and Hieroglyphic books on his overpiled desk.

“So, you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” You ask as you pick up a book off the desk.

Layla walks over and overlooks the things you were looking at too.

“Yeah, well…that’s not that impressive, really. It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language,” your dad says as he walks over too. “It’s more like a…”

“Like an alphabet?” You finish saying for him as you put the book down. “Yeah. Layla told me.”

He glances at Layla behind you and then back at you to continue. “Yeah, and…well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

Yep learning that.

“Sure,” you scoff, and he doesn’t stop talking.

“For example, like this one here, right?” He points to an example.

You look over and recognize it thanks to Layla’s teachings. “Funeral rites,” you mention dryly.

“Well, someone knows their unilaterals. You.” He points, and you pass a weird look. “That’s amazing.” He says nervously.

You narrow your gaze and feel your lips flicker to weird frown, whilst Layla begins to chuckle.

“Sorry,” he immediately interjects as he looks over at Layla. “I don’t mean that in a creepy way to your daughter.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Layla says and meets his gaze. “I’m not buying this, Marc. Use whatever accent you want. Yeah. Come on, Wolf.” She begins to walk off, and you don’t hesitate to follow her without even as much considering your father—“let’s just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” She grabs her bag and pulls out the divorce papers.

“Did I?” Your dad stammers. “Uh…”

Layla hands him the papers and he begins to search for something in his jacket.

“This is what you wanted,” she says as he ends up pulling out glasses you’ve never seen him wear before.

“Let’s have a look here,” he mumbles.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on,” Layla continues. “But I'm not forgetting y/n. We can be whatever you want Marc, I don't care, but I'm still going to be in her life.”

You smile faintly and watch as your father reads the papers he had sent her. “All right. Divo…Divorce?”

You further narrow your gaze and keep watching him.

“Yeah,” Layla nods. “Are we doing this or not?”

“I would never divorce you.” He retorts and just adds more confusion.

“What are you doing?” Layla snaps.

“Look, you both seem absolutely lovely,” your dad says and looks between the both of you. “Even with the snappy attitude…”

You smirk faintly at his comment and move back to the door to fold your arms over your chest.

“…This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit, yeah?” He continues to say. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening. I don’t expect you to believe me. I honestly don’t really believe it myself, all I can do is try to…try to show you what I found.” He moves to the gym back on a small table. “I found this bag in the storage locker. And inside of it is all sorts…” he unzips the bag and begins to look through it. “…of things.”

You step closer and raise your head to look over his shoulder.

“Most interestingly…” he suddenly pauses and looks up and gets his eyes lost on nothing ahead of him.

“Most interestingly is what?” Layla queries.

You tilt your head and squint.

“Nothing,” he then deadpans.

“Nothing?” Layla retorts.

Once again your father faces her and repeats himself. “Nothing nevermind.”

Layla walks to him to press further. “What’s in there?”

You drop your arms and step forward.

“Nothing…wait—” he trails off as you shove him aside and rummage through the bag. Layla walks to your side and watches until you pull out a golden scarab.

“Is this?” You mumble and slowly face Layla. “Is this it?”

Layla’s eyes widen and she reaches over to grab it from your hand before glaring at your dad. “The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti? What we fought side by side for.”

“No,” he mumbles.

“This whole one-man show is just what?” Layla argues. “So that you can keep it for yourself?”

You look at him up and down in disappointment and some confusion, but keep quiet since you’ve only recently been told about their adventures, you’ve only recently been involved thanks to Layla.

“No, no. I swear…” he tries to say but gets cut off by Layla.

“Wow. After all that we’ve been through—no, no just stop! I’m supposed to believe anything you say with this shoved in wh-what, a gym bag?”

You look back down at said bag and continue to rummage through in hopes you’d find something valuable. But it’s not there. You do end up finding something else though, an invitation and a pass to your graduation ceremony.

The envelope seal is open, but the papers inside are still straight and clean. As if it was untouched. As if he never debated going.

And this is where he shoved it, in this damn bag.

“Take it,” your father says to Layla. “Take it, you can have it. Take it, take it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I swear. Have it.”

Layla shakes her head and stays quiet.

“I am not Marc Spector,” he keeps insisting. “I’m Steven Grant…”

That’s not what his actual passport says. Or his birth certificate, or your years of actually knowing him.

“I work in a gift shop. Well, I used to work in a gift shop,” he says almost as if wants to cry. “And I think I’m in real danger, and I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me….Please.”

You look up and keep staring at your father.

“You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this?” Layla asks, and your father shakes his head. “Our adventures. Or our life together?”

He shakes his head and mutters, “oh, God, I wish I could.”

He’s really committed to this Steven persona isn’t he?

Nevertheless, a knock raps on the door and a woman’s voice echoes from behind the door. “Steven Grant, can we have a word?”

Your fathers eyes widen out of panic. “See?” He points to the door. “Oh, God, they’ve come for me.”

You step towards the door and look over at him. “Why?” You ask.

“I vandalized a toilet.” He shares, and you snort quietly.

The knocking proceeds to continue and your father finally answers. “Yeah, just a minute!” He then begins slowly sneaking towards the door as the woman continues.

“Steven Grant?”

“Yeah?”

She hasn’t announced who she’s here in part of. No title, nothing.

“Wa—” you end up cutting yourself off as you feel Layla's hand on your arm to begin pulling you back.

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here.”

You look around the room and point to the window.

“Yeah, yeah, one second.”

Layla sneaks over there and tries to avoid dropping any books piled on the floor as she pulls open the window as quietly as she can.

When it is opened, she waves you to climb out to the roof first before she follows once you carefully step to the side. As you’re on the roof, you look down and see it’s quite a fall so you grip onto the ledge of the roof and slowly climb higher up so Layla can grab onto the ledge too.

The moment you hear footeapes approach from the inside she pushes you back, and proceeds to press her back against the wall until you hear those same footsteps recede.

“You’re in possession of a stolen item,” you hear a man’s voice from the inside. It’s distant and barely audible thanks to the damn outside noise.

“I can barely hear,” you complain.

Layla huffs and puts her hand out so you can wait there as she carefully steps closer to the window to listen for the both of you. You try to step forward but your foot slips and you claw your nails in the wall so you wouldn't fall and drag Layla down with you.

“What are they—”

You’re shused again but this time she only stays quiet for a few minutes before she looks back at you slightly panicked. “They’re taking him.”

You gasp softly. “What?”

Layla presses her ear close to the window and waves you over as she begins to slowly walk back to the window. You follow in tow and jump back inside, but accidently knock down a pile of your fathers many books.

“Oh, shit,” you sneer.

Layla walks to the door and assures you over her shoulder, “it’s okay they’re not here anymore. But we’ll lose them if we don’t follow.”

You nod and make it out of the house to return to your scooters.

“Do you believe him?” You ask Layla as you’re in the elevator.

Layla pulls out the scarab and sighs as she shrugs. “I don’t know what to believe. Part of me does because he actually sounds so convincing, but as I look at this I contradict that belief. You?” She asks as she glances at you.

You let out a deep breath and shrug. “I don’t know, really. I find his behavior weird but….he’s left me before, so it’s hard to believe him and not think of this as some sort of trick to push me away again. On the other hand I’m trying not to let my anger blind me, I’m trying not to let my grandma's voice get to me, I want to believe him, so I don’t know,” you scoff and drop your head.

Layla places her hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes it as the elevator doors open. “You have every right to be angry. We’ll try and figure him out after we help him.”

You nod and don’t add anything, you just walk out and catch a man and a woman walking your father out of the building. They get in some black four door car. You follow but make sure to keep your distance so they wouldn't see.

And while you drove you couldn’t help but think about Layla, how you used to be angry because you were afraid she’d steal your father away. You used to be jealous of her. You’d actively wish for their downfall, you were cruel, but….after coming back she was there and he wasn’t.

Every bit of life changed, it was overwhelming and he was never there, but she was, she was always there even if she had no actual reason to. So now you can’t imagine life without her. She’s like the mother you never got to have. So part of the reason why you’re actually in search of the deadbeat is because of her, because she gives you hope and tries to sway you to look at Marc differently, not in the way your grandmother tried to make you see him. It’s because of her that you’re now following his kidnappers to some far lively residential area.

“It’s very…” you comment as you look around at all the people, at the goat passing by. “Lively.”

Layla looks back and nods stiffly. “I’ll say.”

“Should we…” you look away from the goat and keep looking ahead. “Just go inside or something?”

“There,” Layla points. You follow her finger and see the man and the woman that had taken your father. “That’s them.” Confirming that they weren’t actually any kind of authority.

You scoff. “But…he’s not with them.” You look away and catch some people walking into some old brick building at the end of the pathway.

“What even is this place?” Layla mutters.

You shrug. “Who knows,” you sigh. “But look, there. People are going in there.”

“Let’s have a look.” She says and quickens her pace.

As you follow her inside you see more people inside, they’re all doing their own thing; watching things, eating, talking. It’s like a community, this whole place. It’s…cute. Yet you don’t see your father, nor do you take the obvious straight path further inside the rundown building, you follow Layla around the hall and listen to the distant voices that become less muffled the closer you get to the other side.

“…I kinda draw a line there, at child murder…”

Your eyes brighten at the sound of his voice. His new accent.

However, the voices turn quieter, muffled, and then louder again.

“I need to know, where is the scarab?”

Oh shit. That’s a new voice.

“Where is the scarab?” The manly voice asks again to who you most likely assume is your father.

Layla catches the sound of the demands and begins to quicken her pace. You follow and notice people in the hall the closer you get.

“Where is the scarab?”

“No.”

“Where is the scarab?” The mysterious man asks again.

As the archway comes to view, Layla rounds the corner and announces herself quickly. “I have it.”

When you round the corner, you see those same peaceful people gathered around your father, and see an older man with hair a bit above his shoulder and a cane in his hand in front of him.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding,” the man directs at Layla.

You clench your fists to be ready for anything, and meet your fathers gaze, noticing that he actually seems relieved to see you this time.

“Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe.” The man continues. And as you walk closer to your father people begin to crowd around you too.

“Summon the suit,” Layla instructs your father. And for the first time since you found out about this, time stealing god, you actually agree with Layla.

“S-sorry, what?” He queries.

Layla and you both look at him and she repeats herself. “Summon the suit.”

People begin to get closer and inch closer to Layla as you keep your eyes on the people.

“Summon the soup?” He asks in confusion. “What are you saying?”

Oh wow.

“The suit,” you sneer as you look back. “Your suit. Summon it!”

He meets your gaze with more confusion and shakes his head. “The suit?”

Layla presses the scarab against him and adds, “and keep this safe.” She turns and the man finally gives up.

“So be it,” he says, causing Layla to break into a run.

You quickly follow, and your father does but grabs onto her as if he’s scared.

Men try to stop her from taking your father but she shoves them away and leads the way up the stairs. She makes it to the runway, but you come to a quick halt as a man cuts off your fathers path. And rather than fighting him off, your dad grabs your arm and pulls you away.

“What are you doing?” You snap and let him pull you up some stairs.

He doesn’t answer though because you then reach the top of the stairs and see Layla fighting off some man before she throws him off the stairs. Your father looks down at the man as he crashes down a wooden surface, and follows your line of gaze over to the old man chanting something as he has his cane pressed against the ground, causing it to crack.

Layla proceeds to run over to grab your father to pull him with her.

“That was awesome,” he compliments her. You follow her up more stairs and run down messy halls until you all finally reach some kind of storage room.

“Here. Bold the door,” Layla instructs your dad, whilst you gasp as you see all the sarcophagus in the room.

“This is all a whole lot of bad luck,” you mumble as you proceed to look for a way out.

“Oh my god,” your dad gasps. “I’m going to die in an evil magicians man cave,” he panics, making Layla approach him, and for you to watch him with a puzzled look.

“No, no. Hey. Listen to me. Listen to me,” Layla tries to calm him down as she grabs his hands. “Your name is Marc. There’s a suit. I’ve seen you wear it. You bring it out.”

“No.” He shakes his head.

You scoff and roll your eyes before you step towards him to try and snap him out of this weird persona. “Dad, where are you? We need you to fight.”

He keeps shaking his head and sounds more distressed. “No, no. I can’t. Stop, please the three of you. Please, stop!”

You blink in disbelief, but fight off your confusion and slight fear of this new reaction of his and pull his arms towards you so he can look at you. “Listen to me. Your name is Marc Spector.”

He looks away but you grab his face and pull him back.

“Your name is Marc. You’re my dad, you’re Layla’s husband. You have a weird suit that I hate, but you need to bring it out! Dad!”

He keeps looking away, and more sweat gleams his face. Layla then joins in to try and get him to snap out of it too. “Where the hell are you? You need to fight!”

“Dad—”

“Stop, stop. leave me alone, the three of you! No.”

You kneel down and continue as you grab his arms.

“Hey, look at me you—”

“No,” he snaps at you. “No! Do you not understand I am not Marc! I’m not your dad! You’re wrong, you’re mistaken, I’m not your dad. You’re not my daughter!”

You go rigid and feel your breath catch as you blink in disbelief. He pushes your hands off him and drops his head again.

He’s been absent, you’ve been angry, but you still held onto hope. You foolishly still cherished your past memories even with all the stuff your grandmother would say, you never let her poison you. Even with all your anger you still did love him. More than anyone. But hearing him say those words now, hearing him yell them out begins to darken all that good stuff you still carried.

It’s like you could hear your heart cracking inside. Everything’s so quiet, so bleak.

“Y/N, listen to me he didn't mean it,” Layla tries to excuse him again. She always did that.

“I,” you breathe out and meet her gaze. “I don’t care,” you deadpan even if tears cloud your eyes, even if you feel like sobbing and screaming, even if you want to curl up in a ball.

You stand up and step away from the pair to look for a way out.

“You can do this, I promise!” Layla tries to comfort him now. Marc. Steven whoever the hell he goes by. “Steven…”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Of course he can’t. No surprise.

You scoff and turn away to run over and check the windows.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“It’s alright,” Layla continues to comfort him. “It’s all right. Okay. We’ll just find another way.”

Layla then joins you and tries to search with you. However he doesn’t follow, he stays and continues to panic, this time he spews out nonsense as the doors get barged open.

“Jackal. Jackal. Jackal!”

You look over but see nothing. “What jackal?” You ask and then look over at him as he steps back and keeps pointing at nothing.

“Jackal. Jackal…” he then trails off as he suddenly gets shoved out the window.

Without thinking you gasp and rush over to the broken window. “No,” you yell.

But once you look over you see him land perfectly, like, in a weird hero pose.

“Is he okay?” Layla asks.

You nod and sigh in relief. “Yep. He just…landed.” You remember your anger and betrayal and look away to continue finding a way out for yourself, not for him.

Thankfully, Layla finds a fire escape and you climb down on the side of the building. Now albeit, Layla wants to find Marc, so you stick with her.

And luckily as you were going to walk out of the alleyway, Marc comes crashing through another wall. This time he’s dressed differently though. You’ve seen his suit before, it’s quite cool if you should admit, but this one doesn’t have a cape, there’s no gold crescent moon on his chest, no hood. He’s just in a suit. A plain white suit.

Regardless, he quickly finds his footing and proceeds to tear a bumper off a car.

“You look different,” Layla stammers seconds before Marc gets pushed to the floor and then gets pulled back. You would’ve questioned it, the invisible jackal, but there's really no need. It all must be a part of how he has his powers. It’s inconvenient though, not being able to see whatever is attacking and shoving Marc to cars.

“Stay away from me!” Marc yells as Layla tries to approach him.

“Away from what?!” She exclaims before she gets shoved back to the ground.

“Layla!” You exclaim and run over to her.

Marc keeps getting attacked, he begins to get pulled off the ground and seems to be getting choked, not letting Layla accept your offer to help her off the ground because she quickly insists on grabbing a bottle by your feet to throw it at whatever has Marc held up against the car.

When the bottle crashes, the liquid within creates a silhouette of a jaw opening as the monster roars.

Layla proceeds to try and attack it, but it suddenly grabs her too and shoves her and Marc back.

“Fuck,” you murmur and pull your braclet apart to get ahold of your daggers. The monster seems to see your action as he lets the pair go because he growls your way; you feel it’s breath on your face, but don’t see it. So you don’t let it intimidate you. Instead you sprint towards it, but miss hitting anything, instead it continues to push Marc back again.

“Fuck you,” you grimace in annoyance before you pull your arm up and throw your hand down, managing to finally stab some flesh. However, the monster quickly retaliates and hits you back so hard you hit the ground.

You try to quickly push yourself to your feet, but suddenly something cold wraps around your ankles before it drags you back, making you scream.

“Y/N!” Layla yells and tries to fight it off, but it just shoves her back since she can’t see what his position is exactly.

“Get off!” You yell and twist around to begin kicking it. The monster then proceeds to pick you off the ground though and dangles you off the ground with ease. You try to continue kicking it, you try to reach for something in your pockets, but Marc then rushes over with something and hits it before Layla comes over too and stabs it with a dagger you dropped.

Just as it drops you though, it hits Marc and tries to hit Layla but she slides her feet back and dodges.

“Are you okay?” You mutter to Layla in between pants.

She nods and meets your gaze. “You?”

You nod and take back your daggers. “Yep, just trying to figure this invisible thing out.”

“I think I can. Get away from them, you,” Marc shouts, causing you to look over to see him prancing around and taunting it. “Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote. You’re in the wrongs ends, mate. You’re in my yard now.” He pulls his suit jacket off and throws it on the ground. “Yeah, come on. Come on. That’s right. Come on.”

You stand up to your feet and slightly narrow your gaze as you watch Marc slowly going back into the busy street.

“Ooh, lookie here. Lookie here. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a V. Oh, my God. Here you come, come on!” He shouts before he swings arm.

“Did he hit it?” You mumble and pat your pockets to try and find your gadgets.

Layla shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“Wagwan!” Marc exclaims. “I did it! You got planted!” He laughs as he points ahead of him. “Layla! Girls! Did you see that?”

You narrow your gaze and pull out a paralyzing agent. You don’t intend to answer, just smile awkwardly, but then Marc gets thrown back towards the street, causing traffic to stop, and people to finally gawk.

“I just need to see it,” you mumble and slowly begin to sneak forward towards the spot Marc got hit. “And I can hit.” Since this place is a residential area you don’t bother to get out any explosives as small as they are.

Then again if it gets in the right position you can throw it in his mouth, or Marc can since he sees it.

That’s a smart idea.

“Okay, Layla, let’s go towards it,” you say even if you don’t bother to stop and let her contradict.

She wasn’t of course, but you still gave her no time to argue before you quickened your pace to run to the street.

And just as you’re going to go near Marc as he keeps getting slammed against the bus, you stop as a car comes rushing forward. Marc steps back albeit and it’s possible that he pushes the monster in front of the car to get it run over. You can't really tell since he gets thrown back, but the car didn't seem like it hit him so he couldn’t have made such a big dent.

Regardless you still can’t help but be worried as he doesn’t move. “Hey,” you call out. “Are you—” you cut yourself as you see him beginning to push himself up, he then looks behind him and when you follow his line of gaze, you just see people getting pushed back. That’s it.

The corner of your lips tug to a slight before you break into a sprint towards it.

“Y/N, no, stop!” You hear Layla yell, but you ignore her.

Once you reach the spot people are getting pushed at by nothing, you activate the paralyzing agent and slam it against a big spot that’s between the people. And luckily the monster roars out, you can once again feel its breath and hear it in front of you, but it doesn’t move…

It doesn’t hit you, you don’t feel dry and cold skin slap across your face, or feel it grab your feet. It works again.

It works!

Before the paralyzing agent can wear off, you pull out your dagger and stab its flesh. It roars again so you pull out the small explosive and try to throw it towards where you feel its breath, and feel its spit come out as it roars. But before you can even activate the gadget something cold suddenly wraps around your throat. It lifts you off the ground and moves forwards to slam your back against a brick wall.

You groan and feel sharp pain radiate from your back and the back of your head. It continues to squeeze your throat, blocking out the air that came through, making you begin to gasp and hit at its arms, causing your eyesight to blur and the sounds around you to sound muffled with how fast your heart was racing.

Layla calls out for you, you can hear the muffled sound of your name, but you don’t see her or feel this thing let you go. You try to reach for something to hit it with in the meanwhile, but it slams you against the wall again.

Just as it seems like it might take you out, suddenly it roars before its grip slips off your throat and makes you hit the floor, letting you finally breathe in air again with every deep gasp.

“Hey, hey,” you hear clearer now and recognize that deep voice. “You’re okay. You’re good.”

You rub your throat and look up to see Marc in the old suit now.

“Wolf,” he says without an accent and makes you stare at him in confusion. “You’re okay. You did good.” He grabs your arm to try and help you up, but even if you can breathe again because of him, even if he calls you those names that have a way to reassure you, at the sound of his actual normal voice you grow angry again and rip your arm out of his grip to help yourself up.

Before he can say anything in the respect, the monster roars again.

“Get it out of here!” Layla instructs, and without a second of hesitation Marc runs away and you assume the monster does too, letting Layla and you return to your scooters.

Yet before you can even make it far on your scooters, both Layla and you stop as you see the same older gentleman from before talking to a man.

“I’m sorry, but that belongs to me.”

You can’t see what it is he wants from the man, but you assume it’s the scarab since he’s wasting his time trying to convince the man to hand it over.

“I can offer you food, clothing, but I am unable to offer you this. Thank you.” The older gentleman then grabs the man’s hand as he continues to speak. “I wish you could live to see the world we make.” Then the man's body gets pulled up for a few seconds before he just drops…

The older gentleman lifts the scarab you now see in his hand and looks at it for a few seconds, before he looks over and catches Layla and you staring.

And it’s at that moment that his eyes land on you that Layla drives off, and you follow her home since Marc handled the monster and Layla assumes he wouldn't go home since he knew that’s where you’d find him.

——

*LATER*

“…and if that man has the scarab that means he’s going to go to Ammit’s tomb,” Layla shares as she begins to pack a bag. “Khonshu doesn’t want that, he wants the scarab for himself too, so it means Marc is going there too. Which means we’re going there.”

You hum and stay quiet, you don’t agree or add anything on the matter, you stay sitting at the edge of her bed and just fiddle with your fingers.

Right away Layla notices your silence, she sees the way you’re sitting with your head down, and your back hunched and knows something is wrong.

“You should be packing,” she interjects.

You shake your head. “No,” you mumble. “I’m not going to Egypt with you. I’m going back home, back to Chicago. My grandpa is alone now, I’ll stay with him until I need to go to New York.” You sigh and lift your hand to pull off the gold crescent moon necklace that Marc had gifted you years ago.

“What, but I thought we were doing this together,” Layla argues, and you hear footsteps approaching. “I understand it might be dangerous, but you wanted to do this, don't let him stop you.”

You swallow thickly and sigh. “You heard him,” you mumble. “You heard what he said, I’m not going to go after someone who doesn’t care about me. If he doesn’t want to be a father anymore he doesn’t have to. I’m nineteen now, he has no legal obligation.” You stand up and try to storm off but Layla grabs your arm and turns you to face her.

“I don’t think it was him who said that,” she tries to argue in his defense. “I think that was someone else. Someone your dad didn’t talk to us about.”

You hold her gaze for a second all seriously before you chuckle and shake your head. “You expect me to believe that? He’s obviously lying, he’s making all that shit about being Steven Grant who doesn’t remember his past life, who has a completely new one to run from his old life. To run from me, from you.” You huff out of frustration and pull your arm away from her hand.

“So I’m done, I’m done trying to look for him, and trying to reconnect. He left me for a reason, Layla,” you mutter in a quivering voice. “I’ll respect it.” You turn to head to your room, but she stops you as you reach the door.

“For me then? Come to Egypt for me.” She continues to approach you, and you drop your head and groan. “I need your help. Your gadgets and your brains.”

She’s talking you up. Great.

“Egypt…” you pause and let out a deep breath. “Is a big place, how will you find him?”

Layla comes to a stop behind you, and you practically hear her smirk. “Maybe you have a way to find him?”

You do.

“I do,” you reveal with a slow cocky smirk tugging on your lips.

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