#hurt marc spector
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God Forbidden
Summary : Marc finds himself in his hotel room between the meeting with the Gods and his search for Senfu's sarcophagus. He takes a moment to let his thoughts deepen, darken.
Warnings: Marc's mental health, ableism, blood mentioned but no violence, self depreciating thoughts, suicidal thoughts, dark character study, ANGST
Marc doesn't remember returning to his hotel room. His feet find their way there, or maybe that's how the magic of the Great Pyramids works. Maybe a portal opened up to bring him here. He absently fumbles through pockets for the key, eyes trained on the dried streaks of blood all over his arm as he unlocks the door. To the mess he had left the night before.
Marc often fantasizes about coming back to a clean, safe, warm home after a long day of work. It's a luxury he has been privy to for only a short period and may just have gotten addicted to. Tt's gone back to the old ways ever since he parted ways with Layla.
Then again, he isn't sure what he did today counts as 'work'. He hadn't known he'll be thrust into a meeting with the literal Gods when he left this room earlier today. He drops onto the bed with a sigh, covering his eyes with an arm. His wrists throbbed, a phantom crawl of pulsating energy. He allows himself to scrunch his face, a whimper bubbling at the throat. He's trying not to think of what just happened, but his mind is being treacherous, rewarding him with vivid flashes of memory.
This is a man who does not know his own name.
This is a safe space to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu.
This is not about my feelings.
He has done no crime.
Marc should be used to it by now, but it somehow still hurts. So many times he thought he has done it, he's free from the grasp of his mental health. When he established himself as a capable marine, he'd thought he'd finally made it. Then the harsh cold reality hit him in the face, and he was left with the realization that it will never be enough. First putting his life on the line for his country and now for goodness knows who, he's still reduced to a broken mind. Nobody pauses to glance at what he has managed to achieve despite that. Even when he himself sets his feelings aside, it's still not enough, and people wonder why he doesn't open up more. It's not worth it.
There's an ache in his lower back, an annoying sting at his knees. That memory has him rolling aside and curling his legs to his core. Harrow towering over him, standing between his subdued form and the council of Gods. How easily Harrow had pretended to care for his well-being and used it as leverage against him. After all, who believes the words of someone who is unwell, needs help? Not even the Gods.
They weren't his Gods, but they were somebody's. And they had seen everything, done nothing. Deep embarrassment crawls through Marc's veins. He had just admitted to a room full of beings that he was in need of help...when has that ever gone well? Hasn't he learnt enough?
There's a residual burn in his throat, courtesy of Khonshu's shouting. He isn't suprised, but he lets himself be a little disappointed that Khonshu did not tell him he'd take over his body. That the God did not see the need to get his consent, hell even inform him. He does not understand, but again how can He?
Marc knows he should clean up soon, before the blood dries enough to need scraping off. But he lets himself slip into his thoughts for just a while. He wishes he could just slip away from all this, curled on soft covers in a nondescript hotel room. To not worry about the blood on his hands, the ache in his bones, the tears in his eyes. To give in to the exhaustion burrowed impossibly deep in his soul. He vaguely wonders if Steven ever feels like this. But no, Steven is too pure, too hopeful for such thoughts. This darkness is reserved just for him and whatever other monsters reside in his brain. Monsters whose begging whispers for help go unheard by a whole Council of Gods.
Maybe the only God who will regard him seriously is Ammit. She sounds like someone who could actually dish out what he deserves, and maybe even craves. At this moment obliteration doesn't seem too bad compared to what Khonshu puts him through...all to stop her. And for what?
He physically shakes off those thoughts, curls tangling even more at the movement. Clicks his tongue a few times to draw himself back to reality. There's a lot to do; find Senfu's sarcophagus, find Harrow, stop him. Swinging his legs off the bed, he sighs at the sight of the pyramids through the single window. A quick shower sounds good right now, a fresh shirt, a cap. Maybe it's not worth it, but he'll try. For Steven, for Layla, for whoever else who may die if Harrow succeeds. Or maybe, he'll die trying. Either way, that is worth it.
#moon knight#luke shares#marc spector#steven grant#marvel#ableism#mental health#marc spector needs a hug#hurt marc spector#suicidal thoughts#please read warnings#layla el faouly#marc x layla#marclayla#moonscarab#moon knight hc#character study#angst#moon knight angst#moon knight series#khonshu
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To Trust an Unknown Future (Part One - Three)
Summary: Steven and Marc attempt to adjust to their new life back in London, now that they don't have to deal with insane cultists, or ancient Egyptian Gods, nothing else could go wrong!
Right?
Pairing: Marc Spector/Steven Grant
Warnings: Canon typical depictions of angst and violence, hurt Marc Spector, mutual pining.
Length: 4K (Parts One-Three of Five, updating Weekly moving forward)
Marc opens his eyes to sunlight streaming across his bed. He breathes in deeply and shifts to his side, arching his back in a nearly feline stretch as he does so. His dark eyes fall on the figure asleep in the mirror beside him. Steven, his face is soft with sleep, curls draped over his forehead. Marc can’t help the smile that spreads over his lips at the sight.
Marc lifts himself up into a sitting position as Steven breathes deeply in, his chest rising - effectively pulling his loose t-shirt tight across his pectorals. Dark lashes sweep open to reveal soft eyes searching for his own.
Steven hums, “G’morning,” as he shifts to sit up in bed as well - one leg lifts to tuck up against his chest while the other remains on the bed.
“Morning,” Marc mumbles, trying his best not to stare at the tousled curls or Steven’s easy, open posture.
“Why don’t you let me front for a bit, yeah?” Steven says, a small yawn punctuating his words, “I’ll make us a lovely breakfast.”
Marc’s eyes trail over the other’s earnest face, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin, he nods and lets himself fall back as Steven takes over. The switches have become seamless, as easy as breathing. Marc settles on the periphery, the edge of their headspace, as Steven stands up and pads over into their kitchenette. He grabs the kettle and empties the previous day's leftover water in the sink. Marc had asked Steven about the habit once.
‘You can’t very well drink tea made with yesterday’s water, only an absolute madman would do so!’ He pauses before catching Marc’s eye in the reflection of the microwave, ‘do not tell me you’ve used this -’ he holds their kettle aloft, ‘without changing the water?!’
Marc holds up his hands, ‘Steven, buddy, I don’t even want to begin to tell you what we’ve had to drink to survive, trust me,’ Marc points to the kettle, ‘that is the least of your worries.’
Steven refused to speak to him for the rest of the day after that little admission.
Marc watches as Steven mills about their small kitchen, grabbing steel cut oats from the wire shelving beside the fridge. Books intermingle with the pantry staples, a dog eared copy of The Metamorphoses leans against the tinned beans while a collection of the works of Poe sits atop a box of dried pasta. Steven hums as he looks into the fridge, the inside light flickers before going out entirely.
“Another thing to add to the list I suppose,” Steven huffs out. They had gone through the apartment upon returning from Egypt, cataloging the things that needed to be fixed, or cleaned and organized if Marc had it his way, and bit by bit all of the secret compartments and hidey holes Marc had created without Steven’s knowledge were cleared out.
“Can’t say that one is my fault,” Marc grumbles from the periphery as Steven grabs the plastic basket of blueberries from the fridge shelf. He lifts the container and wrinkles his nose at the sight of a few berries - some beginning to shrivel, others sporting white spots. Steven picks out a few berries that still seem okay, the rest of the container is dropped into the bin under the sink.
“Suppose a trip to the shop wouldn’t be out of order,” Steven says, peeking at Marc’s reflection in the mirror on the counter. The number of mirrors around the apartment steadily grew over the weeks that they had been back in London. Anytime either of them spotted a new mirror that was a decent size or price it returned home with them and found a place among the towers of books and open shelving.
Marc shrugs, his hands slip into the pockets of his sleep pants to hide the nervous tremor that runs through them. Ever since their return, Marc has been somewhat hesitant to leave the flat. With the exception of necessary outings for Steven’s new job at the library or trips to the grocer, which if he was being honest did need to happen soon given the state of their pantry and fridge, Marc was otherwise content to remain inside among the cozy comforts of home.
“Yeah, if we want to eat for the rest of the week we better pick up a few things,” Marc says, “but we should head out soon, while it's still early…avoid the crowds”.
He can feel Steven’s gaze on him again. Neither man was really willing to bring up the mess with Khonshu or the fact that neither had heard from the God in weeks. Things were quiet in London, and that was how they liked it.
But…
Anytime Steven brought up an outing, whether it was wandering around the park or to check out the latest resto-cafe, or even to catch up with his old friend the living statue, Marc felt an icy panic grip his chest. It certainly didn’t help that the last few times they had been out and about, running errands or heading home from the library, Marc had felt eyes on him - not that he would tell Steven as such. How could he? Thoughts of Steven once again caught up in a mess of his own creation would swirl around his mind, the same fears he had felt regarding Layla’s safety - well perhaps not quite the same. Layla was a competent fighter and could certainly look after herself.
But Steven?
Marc meets the other’s eyes once again, Steven’s expression slowly pinches into a frown.
“Right, early’s good, early bird gets the worm an’ all that,” Steven mumbles, a half-hearted smile stretches over his lips up before he looks away. His face turns down towards the pot of water he set to boil on the hotplate for their oatmeal. If Marc is honest, he’s not all that hungry anymore.
Marc swallows roughly, “well, thanks for breakfast - that looks way healthier than anything I woulda made. But…I’m still a little tired, I think I’m going to rest for a bit.” He lets himself slip into their headspace, hating himself just a little more as Steven’s sad gaze seems to follow him down.
***
Marc lays down on the nearest soft surface, bringing his hands up to roughly drag over his face, “Fuck,” he hisses to an empty room, “FUCK!”
“Tarado,” a voice mutters just above his ear, Marc startles violently and nearly tumbles off the couch. He’s on his feet immediately, arms brought up in a defensive stance, his knees slightly bent - ready to pounce. His chest rises and falls rapidly as adrenaline spikes through him.
The room is empty, save for the couch and himself. The only sound is his own shaky breathing as he shifts and looks for the owner of the voice.
It’s deep, similar to his own but the cadence is rougher. Marc shakes his head and brings his fists up to press into his eyes until the pressure becomes too much.
“Are you another one?” Marc grounds out, not daring to remove the fists from his face just yet. The room suddenly feels unnaturally quiet and still, no longer the sanctuary that Marc and Steven were accustomed to.
“You really want to know?” the voice breathes again, this time from behind him. Marc twists around, his left fist jumps away from his face to swing out and catch the other person, his right fist lowers and readies for an uppercut.
No one is there.
Marc growls and moves backwards, scanning the area, “I’m not playing games asshole, show yourself!”
“Coulda fooled me Cabrón,” the voice laughs as a figure sidles up next to Marc, who does everything in his power to hold in the flinch that threatens to rattle his frame. Marc turns to face the other, eyes scanning across his face.
The man is his double, though that wouldn’t be quite right. In the same way that Steven’s face is softer than Marc’s own and in the evenings when the light dims he needs little round reading glasses; this man’s eyes are hardened, no deep circles from perpetual sleeplessness, and his sharp cheeks sport the beginnings of a beard. A gray flat cap sits atop his head, stray curls here and there peek out from beneath the brim.
“You’re the other, the one who killed those kids in Egypt.” Marc says, no room for rebuttal in his voice.
“Ding, ding, ding, you catch on quick,” the man says, voice dripping with sarcasm, one hand rises to ring an imaginary bell, “and here I thought your little man was the smart one.” He meanders towards the couch Marc had occupied earlier and drops heavily onto the cushions.
He gestures towards his chest with one hand, “Jake, Jake Lockley, the pleasure is all yours I’m sure.”
Marc breathes sharply through his nose but stays where he is, “what do you want? Why show yourself now?”
Jake smirks as he lays back on the couch, pulling both his feet up so he’s stretched all the way across -his leather boots kick at the cushions.
“I’m just doing my job,” he says lowly, “one of us needs to.” Jake cracks his knuckles, the joints pop loudly in the quiet of the room drawing attention to the black leather gloves adorning his large hands. Marc stares at the embroidered crescent moons that line the knuckles, dots of red staining the otherwise shiny white threads.
Marc’s gaze travels back to the other man's face, “one of us, huh.”
“Didn’t it seem strange at all how that bag of bones could give you up so easily?” Jake says, his hands splay out then come back to rest on his chest. The posture is relaxed but there is an undercurrent of tension running throughout his frame. Marc doesn’t lower his hands.
“So you’re still his fist of vengeance huh? Khonshu’s little errand boy?” Marc snarls, starting to pace back and forth while keeping the other man in front of him - a furious energy rolls through his body making it impossible to stay still any longer. The comment elicits the slightest flicker of irritation in the other man's eyes.
“I keep you two safe, just remember who you’re calling an errand boy-”
“You’re the reason why we’ve been followed the last three times we’ve been out,” Marc hisses, cutting off the other man, “I knew it, I knew I wasn’t being paranoid!” His feet carry him towards the couch in three long strides, Jake is quicker though - leaping to his feet and nearly colliding with Marc in the process. They tussle for a moment, Marc gripping the collar of Jake’s shirt while Jake brings an arm up to brace against Marc's chest. The arm is warm and solid but merely keeps a space between them. Marc glares at the man, “what are you holding back for?”
Jake scoffs and brings a gloved hand to Marc's cheek. Leather clad fingers cup his jaw, the gesture oddly reminiscent of when Steven held him the previous night, only to pat Marc’s face roughly, mockingly, before the arm braced against his chest shoves Marc away.
Marc stumbles slightly but remains upright, his right arm swings out to keep his balance as his left remains in front of him, hands balled into fists.
“Like I said, I’m here to protect you two,” Jake snips, “even if one of you is annoying.” He crosses his arms and stares Marc down, “and, in case I wasn’t clear, you’re the annoying one.”
Marc rolls his eyes and grimaces, “Wonderful,” he mutters before squaring his shoulders, “And just what are you protecting us all from?”
Jake grins and opens his mouth to respond when without warning his face goes blank and he freezes.
A terrified scream rips through the headspace, echoing around the room, before it abruptly stops.
Steven.
***
The body is unconscious.
“STEVEN!” Marc screams from the periphery but only darkness greets him, he can hear Jake behind him, opening doors that appear as he moves throughout the headspace.
“How is this even possible,” Marc says, a panicked edge to his voice, “if we’re unconscious then he should be here!”
Jake disappears through a door only to come out shortly after, he immediately tries another.
“He should be here…fuck, I shouldn’t have let him go alone - I--”
“How about,” Jake snarls from inside yet another room, just to the left of where Marc stands, “you get your head out of your ass and help me look.” Though his voice is sharp, it lacks the steadiness it held earlier. Marc takes a step towards the room Jake had entered, his eyebrows furrow in bewilderment.
“Where are these rooms coming from,” Marc mutters, “there are no doors here?”
Jake barrels past him from another small room, he mutters something Marc can’t hear under his breath. The room is filled to the brim with books and papers and little lamps casting a soft yellow glow, the door - if you could even call it that - closes behind him.
“Que idiota, are you new here?” Jake says, pausing before yet another doorway, “this,” he gestures with wide hands to the room around them, “is what we make of it.”
Marc flushes, the tips of his ears an angry pink colour, he hadn’t really given it that much thought until recently, the headspace was always just…here, and that was good enough for him.
“The worm has derailed our plans once more Jake Lockely,” a voice booms above Marc’s head, he ducks and nearly stumbles as he sweeps away from the sound. Marc hasn’t heard from the deity in weeks, as per their agreement; but…that wasn’t quite true now was it?
“Don’t call him that,” Jake snarls at the same time Marc spits, “You sonofabitch!”
Marc begins to move towards Khonshu but stops at the gloved hand on his shoulder.
“At least let ‘im talk before you try to punch him out, not that I’m not curious how that’ll go over - I’ve always wanted to see a grown man fight a dinosaur.” Jake says with a shark-like grin, his dark eyes trained challengingly on the God before them.
Marc shakes off the hand and crosses his arms with a scowl, “Talk,” he grounds out; a myriad of insults and profanity threaten to unleash themselves from behind his bared teeth. He manages to keep them in, just barely. Khonshu straightens himself up to his full height and stamps his scepter against the floor, cloth strands flutter and whirl around them with the force of the impact.
“Silence you little fools, do you not realize the gravity of this situation?” the God seethes, a harsh wind whips through the headspace, pushing Marc slightly backwards into Jake.
“What situation?” Marc shouts as Jake steadies him before shoving him away once more, “the one that you caused by fucking lying to us?” A strangled laugh escapes him as Marc scrubs a hand over his face, Jake’s eyes flick from Marc to Khonshu but he remains silent.
“I gave you everything!” Khonshu roars dowsing the room in darkness, Marc steps back once more into Jake who grabs onto his shoulders, his fingers firmly dig into the space above Marc’s collarbones, “I gave you your life and this is how you think you will repay me?”
“How is he even doing this?!” Marc hisses in pain, he jerks his shoulders to loosen Jakes tight grip, “Khonshu shouldn’t be able to control this place…” he whispers but the sound trails off as he thinks back to moment in the Great Pyramid of Giza when Khonshu took over, forcing him to speak, holding his body hostage. Marc swallows roughly.
“Don’t forget,” Khonshu says, the shadows that had covered the room suddenly disappear, revealing his sun bleached bone beak mere inches from Marc’s nose, “…I know who you really are, Marc Spector.”
Marc’s head whips back as though he’d been slapped, he breathes out harshly, “Don’t.”
Ghostly voices churn in his head, echoing the words, monster, murderer.
Marc’s jaw moves slightly to the side to offset the tremble in his lip, “you-you never intended to let me go,” he reaches up with both hands to press them into his eyes until sparks dance across his vision from the pressure, “ we will never be rid of you…no matter how many people we kill, will we?” Jakes hands squeeze once before they fall from his shoulders entirely, the warmth disappears with them and Marc shudders slightly at the loss.
Khonshu scoffs and moves away, “Those vermin are out there like a plague on the world, justice is paramount! Protecting the travelers of the night is paramount! One man does not matter in the grande cosmos,” he slams his staff into the floor as if to punctuate his point.
Marc drops his hands from his face and stalks towards the deity, without Jake to keep him pinned in one place, his anger propels him forward. “That one man is everything!” Marc shouts, “ Steven means everything to me, do you--”
“Can you two pendejos just shut the fuck up?” Jake snarls from the corner, Marc startles at the voice --nearly having forgot the other man’s presence, “Ammit’s followers are still running around out there and they have Steven, sounds to me like our goals are the same here.”
Marc’s jaw clicks shut, his shoulders drop as his posture seems to crumple in on itself. The wind in the headspace slowly dissipates as Khonshu brings his staff in front of him.
“Now,” Jake sighs, “what the hell happened out there?”
***
Steven sighed at his reflection, his own face stared back at him. He ran a frustrated hand roughly through his curls. Alone again, his lip curled down into a frown as he grabbed a bowl from the cupboard for his oatmeal.
“Well Gus,” Steven huffed as he leaned against the counter, his eyes trained on the aquarium, “I guess one of us needs to get off his arse and get to the shop, don’t ‘spose you’re up for a wander eh?”
Gus continued to swim, unencumbered by the question.
“No? Guess I’m going it alone.”
Steven sighed as he grabbed an old faded take-out menu and a pencil from the junk drawer, may as well make it a decent trip he mused to himself as he began to make a list.
***
Steven moved the wire basket from his hand to the crook of his left arm as he picked up an apple and held it up to his face to inspect it. He brushed water that had begun to drip into his eyes from his hairline, it had been absolutely pouring when he finally left the flat. He kept attempting to catch Marc in the passing shop windows, expecting the other alter’s dark gaze to meet his own. Steven’s reflection met him each time.
Steven shook his head and brought his attention back to the task at hand. The apple was perfect, there were no bruises or divots on the shiny green skin to be seen - this one was coming back with him. Steven hummed softly along with the lilting melody playing over the Tesco speakers. If he was going to do the shopping alone then he was going to grab as much fresh produce as his arms could carry. He smirked at the thought of what Marc would say when he returned home, ‘Steven you couldn’t grab any meat, not even the fake stuff? You want me to starve?’
“My list, my rules,” Steven muttered under his breath as he looked towards the next shelf, dark purple aubergines and zucchinis next to be checked off.
Steven flinched as a hand darted out beside him to snatch an apple from the shelf, he stepped to the side and turned his face toward the individual, an apology on his tongue when he saw it.
A set of scales, traced in black ink upon the man’s forearm.
Steven had seen that particular tattoo before, on Harrow, on the cops who showed up at his apartment, on the guard at his museum, on every single follower of Ammit.
Steven’s heart raced as he moved the wire basket from the crook of his arm back to his hand, he sniffed and moved away from the other man. Steven chanced a glance upwards and caught his reflection in crisper glass now across from him, “Marc? Marc, I think we’re in trouble --”
The stranger grabbed Steven’s shoulder, his fingers dug into the soft flesh, while another man emerged from behind a toilet tissue display to grab his arm. Steven struggled and proceeded to fling his basket around, catching the man from the produce aisle in the face; apples and lemons hit the floor as a small plastic container of strawberries exploded, sending berries all over the tiles. The thug grunted in pain, his grip on Steven’s shoulder loosened. The other man wrenched Steven’s arm behind his back and kicked his knee to the side, Steven cried out in pain and fell to the floor - his free hand still held the now empty metal basket which cracked against the tile. The man Steven managed to hit kicked the basket away from Steven’s hand, catching his fingers in the process - Steven hissed in pain.
“I-I think there must be some kind of mistake,” Steven gasped out as his arm was twisted harder behind his back with each word.
“No mistake Steven Grant,” a voice rumbled in his ear, “you are responsible for the death of Ammit and many many of her disciples.”
Steven’s eyes widened and darted around the shop, hoping to see another person - anyone that could help. “Lads, listen, I truly don’t know what you’re talking about, I think maybe we- OI! YOU! HELP, PLEASE HELP ME!” Steven screamed as a man with a badge and security printed on his vest turned into the produce aisle, he stopped at Steven’s words and hurried towards them. The security guard muttered something Steven couldn’t hear into a walkie talkie pinned to his vest, he stopped in front of Steven and leaned down to his level. A nervous laugh threatened to bubble up out of Steven’s throat before he swallowed it down.
“Praise Ammit,” the guard whispered with a sneer, before he placed his hand -no, there was something in his hand - against Steven’s chest.
Steven struggled, he felt the bones in his right arm and shoulder grind as the one thug continued to hold the appendage tightly behind his back. Steven’s voice jumped an octave, “Marc! MARC you have to take the body! Mar-”
Steven’s voice died as the three men began to chant, low and rhythmic, his breath caught in his chest as Steven found himself unable to move. His eyes began to water as he found he could no longer close them, tears pooled on his lashes. A suffocating pressure began to build in his head as the guard pressed the object harder into his chest, the chanting grew louder. Steven recognized a few words here and there, it was Coptic they were speaking. A scream filled the air, loud and lingering, it startled Steven to realize the scream was coming from himself.
“Goodbye Steven Grant.” The Guard said softly, switching to English while the other two continued the chant, Steven couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could no longer scream. Tears ran down his cheeks as he felt himself float away.
Steven’s vision tunneled, his mind wandered to his last night with Marc and how it felt to finally hold him.
He never got the chance to tell him…
Steven slipped into darkness, the body crumpled limply in the arms of Ammits followers.
***
Let me know what your thoughts are! Constructive criticism is welcome! I do not have DID so I do apologize for any mistakes.
Part 4 should be up next week!
Thank you very much!
Also available on A03To Trust an Unknown Future
#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight#steven grant#marc spector#marcsteven#marc x steven#fanfiction#marvel#mcu#hurt marc spector#khonshu#jake lockley#sassy jake lockley#chapters 1 - 3#disassociative identity disorder#DID
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Betrayal Tastes Bitter
Summary: He's been injured before, but this… this feels like dying. Marc has mixed feelings about dying.
(Or, the extended scene I sorely needed, about the mission in Egypt where everything went south, Raoul betrays Marc and leaves him for dead.)
Trigger Warnings: Racist Language and suicide baiting (because Raoul is a dipshit is all). self-deprecating and ableist thought. Vomiting Blood. Canonical character death.
Read on ao3
Under the glow of the silver crescent, the large team of archeologists, assistants, and diggers are hard at work. Marc is watching the parameter closely for any sudden raids from the Bedouin, but every once in a while he steals a glance at the uncovered trail and the archeologists' findings curiously. From the corner of his field of vision he notices his former CO, Raoul Bushman, signaling him with a slight flick of the head. Marc gives the parameter another cursory inspection before following Bushman toward the line of vehicles they arrived in.
Out of the people's sight, behind a van, Bushman steps close to Marc and speaks in a quiet but gruff voice. "I know I brought you in on this job, but I don't like this deal anymore, Spector."
"What? Why? They're making great progress. Have you seen the size of that tomb?"
"That's exactly my point. Our cut is too insignificant. This site could be worth billions."
The glint in Raoul's eyes isn't a reflection of the radiant moon. It's malice and greed. It's violence and evil intent. It's everything Marc didn't sign up for.
"We could talk to Dr. El-Fouly, negotia–"
Marc doesn't get to finish his idea when Raoul takes another step closer, baring his teeth as he interrupts him.
"How much more do you think he'd offer? He's not selling these! He's not doing this for the money! Everything he finds will have a home in some useless glass display."
Marc shakes his head and takes a small step backwards. Raoul doesn't notice Marc's disapproval, his eyes looking far away and calculating. "With the right connections, which I have, I could arrange for everything to be moved safely to a warehouse. Kill everyone here first. And in a month's time, we could be rich beyond imagination. Never work another shitty job in our lives. My contact in Madripoor can arrange an auction."
Raoul's palm crawls toward the strap of his firearm, and he salivates over what his sick mind pictures, and Marc is the mentally ill one. What should he do? Saying yes isn't even an option. Say no? Risk facing Raoul's violent side? But then if he says yes, then what? Deceive him until when? Marc can vividly imagine all the people in the dig site executed, Raoul standing above them with a hard on from all the violence, blood and the treasure trove that's all his.
Marc is lost in thought for one second too long, for Bushman has stopped daydreaming and is now staring suspiciously at him.
"Tell me you're on board."
"I… I can't. I–"
He doesn't see the swing coming. He should've. But he was clinging to the naive hope that he could talk it out with Raoul, somehow. His commanding officer of many tours, the man who treated him like a son, occasionally, and who took him under his wing and offered him a job. He should've realized Raoul's penchant for violence would tip the scales, but not in Marc's favor.
Marc doesn't see the swing coming, because Raoul uses Marc's distraction to unstrap the semi dangling from his shoulder, and hits Marc's temple with its butt. Marc falls to one knee, dazed, but he hops back up and draws his gun.
"Don't do this. Please, Raoul."
"You know how it goes, Spector. If you're not in, you're out."
Marc's aim is non-fatal. His strategy is to incapacitate Bushman, get the people to safety, and deal with Bushman's wrath later. Too generous, apparently, because Bushman doesn't have the same qualms as him. He dodges Marc's shot and advances like a raging bull. The way he towers over Marc, with an extra couple dozen pounds of muscle on him, Marc's chances in close contact are less favorable.
Still, he goes all in. Draws from everything he was taught. Lots of it from Bushman himself. He lands some kicks that don't significantly affect Raoul before he takes a particularly nasty punch to the head that drives him down into the sand. He gropes for his gun that fell in the scuffle. This time, he's going to make the bullet count.
Too hopeful. Just as he touches the metal, a kick sends it skittering away in a puff of sand and the same boot stomps on his palm. His bones' crunch reverberates through the length of his arm to his shoulder, and a helpless yell escapes his throat.
He kicks blindly and lands one in Raoul's groin, leaving him doubled over, while Marc twists to crawl to his weapon. The larger man recovers too fast and pins Marc with a foot on his back.
"Why are you making me do this, kid? I trusted you with this job. I don't want to have to kill you."
"Then don't. Let me go. Let these people go," Marc grinds the words out from behind clenched teeth. His chest is screaming in pain, his ribs are squeaking under the pressure.
"You're still adamant about this? Why care so much about a bunch of Arab morons."
"The Arab morons you're so thrilled at the thought of killing, are the ones who uncovered the tomb you're salivating over."
Raoul removes his leg off Marc's back. Marc rolls to find the gun in his face, a clear threat, while the man replies, unimpressed, "They're too dumb to appreciate its value. They'd leave it to collect dust sitting in a museum!"
"Dr. Abdallah El-Fouly was nothing but courteous towards us. I'm sure he would negotiate a nice compensation. Let me speak to him, please."
"Too late for that now, isn't it? They heard the shots, they know something is wrong."
"I can still get to him. I can even convince him to give you everything, just let them live."
"Because you're such good friends? You mean to tell me that everytime he went on in his historical babble shit, you actually listened? No wonder you're too soft for the guy. A blind fool."
Marc ignores the laced insults, and clings to the hope. "You'll let me negotiate?"
"No. I can't have any witnesses. I like clean jobs, with no loose threads. But since you're so fond of the head archeologist, I'll let you witness his last breath."
A bang disrupts the heavy silence, and a bullet wedges itself in Marc's thigh. His shout is cut short when Raoul clocks him with the pistol.
Marc wakes up alone in one of the vans, feeling like his insides are pouring outside. Blood seeping from his thigh, his head, his arm, cold sweat all over his skin. He shivers and his teeth chatter, but tries to direct his focus away from his body and listens. Someone is speaking–Bushman–too low a volume, or too far away to be discernible, but it doesn't sound good. It sounds like a drill sergeant giving off orders.
Marc struggles with his hands zip tied behind him. Clenching his jaw against the fire igniting his thigh injury, he bends and reaches for a small blade tucked in his boot. Finally enveloped in his hand, he uses it to cut the tie, and to manipulate the door lock after he springs to his feet. He hops to the ground and instantly regrets bearing weight on his leg. He whimpers, punches the metal of the van with his good hand. There's no time to lose. He's got to get going.
Marc tries hard to keep fronting, his mind fighting for reprieve. But this is his mess. These people are his responsibility. He has to save them. Just put one foot in front of the other. Just keep going.
He's too focused on the progress of his steps, on biting his tongue through the intensity of the pain, on not tripping and falling. Suddenly, there's a large hand on his throat, and an arm corded with muscles instantly goes around his neck.
"Will you look at that? I was just coming to get you, and here you are," Raoul growls in Marc's ear, having rounded the van from the other direction.
Marc uses the blade still enveloped safely and out of view in his palm, slashes Raoul's arm. When the man snaps backwards with a surprised yelp, Marc uses it to his advantage, and slashes him across the chest. Marc's own body is gushing with adrenaline, every fiber in his being enraged, he's seeing red. He needs a bigger blade… or his gun, to finish Bushman off . The man tries to tackle him but Marc evades and shoves him from his back forward. Raoul almost trips, but rights himself, and faces Marc with a growl.
Marc evades another tackling attempt and channels his anger into a violent kick to Bushman's chest, the man falls on his back, his skull slams on the ground—there's a crack of bones..or a rock—and his eyes flutter closed. Marc pats the unconscious man's tac vest and belt, more forceful than strictly necessary, finds his own gun and collects it.
Standing above Raoul, Marc aims. This time, fatally. His finger toys with the trigger, but distantly, voices register on his radar. Shouts from the archeologists team, carried by a gust of wind to his direction, calling his name. Another voice, more… internal, more distant, like a memory of a passing thought, tells him to leave the scumbag for now, go check on the civilians, get them to safety first, so he can properly settle things with Bushman later.
Coming to his senses, Marc realizes he can't just shoot his colleague, executing him in front of all these people. He makes sure Raoul is out by lightly slapping him, the divests him of the gun, and strides off to where Dr. El-Fouly has been waving and calling for him.
Riding the wave of adrenaline and rage, he helps Abdallah cut off the zipties that the team were ordered under gunpoint to put on each other. Some are hiding in the tents, unsure if the threat is over and Marc coaxes them out and toward their vehicles.
"Your leg is bleeding really bad… I'll patch you up in the car. You're a good man, Marc Spector. I don't know how to repay you," Abdallah says when he's near him, gathering some light equipment into his backpack. Marc purses his lips, not sure how to respond. Abdallah continues anyway, not waiting for a response, and murmurs almost to himself, "Thank God Layla wasn't here for this trip."
A car explodes behind them and Marc shoves Dr. El-Fouly behind some crates and takes off running. A pang of pain from his thigh forces him into a limping jog. The people who made it into the car that exploded are reduced to charred remains, the rest are running for their lives in a frenzy of screams and flailing limbs in every direction away from Raoul's bullets. He still manages to pick them off one by one.
Marc backtracks the trajectory of the shots, pinpoints the man's location, and empties a magazine at him. He reloads, runs in the open space as fast as his limping leg allows him, until he's taking cover in front of the same car Raoul's behind. He slowly rounds the vehicle, gun first, expecting to find Raoul sprawled in the sand.
A loud bang accompanies fire erupting in his stomach. The sound echoes endlessly in his head. Marc doesn't feel himself falling, he just feels when he's breathing sand. His head is too heavy to get his nose away from the desert floor, the sand gets inside his open mouth and he tries to spit it out but only manages to inhale some more.
Before he convinces his arms of moving, of flipping his body to his back, someone grabs his leg and pulls. Marc screams. His scream is unbridled. It's the leg with the bullet that now feels like it's scraping his bone and tearing off his muscle.
Raoul's bullets continue to spray moving targets while he drags Marc. Marc who's fighting off dissolving into the enticing blackness in his brain, with all his might. The chances he'll either faint or switch alters are fifty-fifty. He can't allow his alter to witness this. With his good leg, Marc kicks at Raoul. It doesn't accomplish much beyond angering the man enough to stop shooting people and to kick Marc back. Raoul's kick lands hard, too hard, Marc loses his breath.
By the time Marc is aware again, there are some of the archeologists team sitting on their haunches, hands tied behind their backs, Raoul is in the distance pushing someone ahead of him. Marc recognizes the scarlet scarf dangling from around the man's shoulders. Dr. El-Fouly. Raoul shoves him unceremoniously beside his colleagues, and Marc hears the distinct ziiiip of the tie being tightened.
Marc squirms in his slump. Even though he is crippled by pain, he can't just… sit still while everyone is being slaughtered. Raoul left him unrestrained, for whatever reason, and Marc has to make use of that. The other blade, usually hidden in his other boot, is gone. His tac vest is empty. Raoul is getting closer to him, so Marc crawls pathetically backwards. His body isn't being cooperative right now, and so Raoul easily catches up.
He squats in front of Marc and grabs him by the throat, cutting off his air, and raises him to a pseudo-sitting position so they're eye level. Raoul sneers. "Does it kill you? Knowing that you can’t do anything to stop me? Do you wish you'd have answered with an enthusiastic 'yes' to my earlier offer?"
"You can't get away with this," Marc chokes out.
"Watch me. Oh right, you won't be around to watch much of anything," Raoul says, then lets out a sick laugh. "I made you a promise, didn't I? Remember what it was?"
Marc tries to push off the hands holding him as effectively as an insect pinned to a board. "Don't do it. Don't do it, Raoul. Please don't."
Raoul chuckles as he adjusts his grip to stand behind Marc, still having him in an unrelenting hold. He hisses in Marc's ear, "let me remind you."
He marches Marc near the line of bound and crouching victims. Through their wailing, Raoul shoots one after the other, silencing them one at a time. Until only one is left, the head archeologist, who's crying near silently awaiting his fate.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Marc says, breathlessly. The fire in his belly creeps up his esophagus and floods his mouth. Painful cramps, ceaseless gags, and the blood only keeps coming, coating his throat and the inside of his mouth with the coppery taste.
"It's not your fault, Marc Spector. You're a good m–" a bullet cuts off Dr. El-Fouly, and he drops on his back, dead.
Raoul lets Marc go with a shove forward. The world greys out when he hits the sand. He can hear Raoul speaking, from far away, like a dream.
"Good luck fixing that in the middle of the desert."
The onslaught of blood reflux keeps Marc from entertaining the thought of replying. He just lays there helplessly trying to rid his mouth of it, just enough to at least breathe.
Something presses into Marc's limp fingers. Something cold, and familiar.
"Little advice? A bullet to the head will be an easier way out than the long agony ahead of you. You'll be doing me a favor too. 'Insane man shoots everyone then himself'. Sounds legit, considering your… history."
The chuckle that follows the little speech sounds farther and farther, until it's joined by an engine revving in the distance, their echoes resound in the crevices of Marc's mind and the hills of the desert, until they fade and not a sound accompanies his own stilted breathing, his hiccuping gags on blood that keeps dribbling on his cheek and his neck.
He's been injured before, but this… this feels like dying. Marc has mixed feelings about dying. The pain, for one, he wants it to end. He wants so much to crawl into his mental cave. Just… escape the pain consuming him. He can't willfully close his eyes and surrender, for fear that his alter takes over. He daren't put his alter through this. That innocent side of him is better off dead still innocent, unexposed to this level of pain, betrayal, and death. The reeking smell of death that is clogging up his nostrils is not for his alter to experience. Marc, though, deserves to swim in it. Deserves to choke on it.
He can't willfully close his eyes, but his body betrays him. He blacks out.
Marc comes to, only to find himself physically crawling. Crawling away from the scattering dead bodies. Away from the stench of blood. His head is buzzing, his thoughts are leaking, he can't recognize where his own thoughts end and his alter's begin.
The confusion serves him in that it distracts him from his physical agony. His body is on autopilot, with one purpose and one purpose only. Get away from the scent of death. And so he keeps crawling. He's on the trail to the uncovered temple.
Maybe he will find peace there.
Maybe he can die in peace there.
After I'd written more than 90% of that oneshot, I rewatched the scene where Marc says "the job was to raid an Egyptian tomb" ... Clearly, it was too late to change a lot of details, so, we'll roll with it XD
#moon knight#marc spector#raoul bushman#abdallah el fouly#moon knight fanfiction#missing scene#angst#whump#hurt marc spector#blood and injury#violence#oscar isaac#*
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Marc Spector x GN!reader
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Summary: Marc and you enjoy rough sex, but when Marc asks you to try something new, it quickly goes downhill.
Warnings and Content: reverences to BDSM, Dom/sub, whipping with a belt, Marc's abusive childhood, references to self-harm in the past, mention of self-harm scars, just.... a lot of talk about self-harm. Misuse of BDSM. Breach of trust in a D/s dynamic, miscommunication. This isn't meant to be a perfect or even good D/s relationship or relationship in general. this is a relationship that is struggling right now. Don't look to fanfiction for sex and relationship advice. Marc is self-destructing, reader isn't the best at handling it but the are trying. Lots of crying lmfao. If I miss anything LMK but really this is a proceed at your own caution situation as I've at least laid out the basic themes.
Immersability: Marc can pick up reader. I think that's it? I usually write Fem!reader but there really wasn't a reason to make this fem so I put GN!reader this time. If I accidentally fem coded something lmk.
*****************
“Are you ready to talk about it?”
Marc looked up from his food he had barely eaten. You’d made him his favorite: chicken strips and fries. Marc was a picky eater due to his sensory issues so you were happy to have simple little meals when Marc was fronting for dinner. He’d been absent for a few days, only fronting when Steven and Jake insisted. You’d been worried, after all. The last night you and Marc had together hadn’t ended well, and you wanted to talk to him.
*
“That’s it, I’m calling it.” You said, climbing off the back of Marc’s legs that you had been stradling and quickly pulled on your robe.
“I- what?” The panic in Marc’s voice was evident. You and Marc… liked things rough, but unlike you and Jake, it was you who was the dominant in this dynamic. You and Marc had been doing things like this for a while, clearly defined boundaries and safewords and communication had made a smooth going of things. Marc had been having a bit of a tough time lately so you had stuck to regular love-making, but tonight he had come to you with a request to try something new. He wanted you to use a belt on him.
“Something’s wrong, Marc.”
His face was still in the mattress, face down, but lift enough to speak without looking at you. “I didn’t use the safeword?” It was more a question than a statement.
“Well, I am. Red, on your behalf.” You weren’t super into the idea of using a belt on him, but you weren’t uncomfortable, and since it was something he wanted, you decided to give it a try. Pretty quickly, you didn’t think it was going to happen again but you intended on seeing it through. Marc usually whimpered and yelped during sex, but you could tell his pleasure even still… something told you this was different. This was wrong. He didn’t use his safe word, but he didn’t need to. You knew him.
“I’m fine-”
“Turn over” You instruct, and when he doesn’t you nudge him over gently. Your heart hurts at the tears in his eyes, but his boxer briefs tell you what you suspected. His erection was gone. “Marc…”
Immediately, his lip quivers, breath shaky and he sputters out apologies and you remember your job. It’s not to chastise him, not to question him. Not right now. Right now you need to take care of him.
First was reassurance. “Hey, hey baby,” You cup his face. “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Second was always his weighted blanket. He didn’t usually sleep with it, so you kept it under the bed for any time he needed the pressure.
Third depended. If he needed anything medical or was hurt, that was next, but you didn’t think what you had done was too bad (your hesitant actions didn’t lead to anything harsh and you had been researching and reaching out to others on how to do this correctly.). Right now, Marc needed to calm down. With tears wetting his cheeks and his anxiety over thinking he ruined the scene, he needed reassurance next.
“Can I lay with you?” You ask as you tuck the blanket over him the way he likes. When he nodded, you lie down beside him. “The usual?” He nodded again, and you place yourself how you usually did. You lay on his chest, arms holding him, right leg bent over his, adding to the weight of the blanket.
“You didn’t do a thing wrong, Marc. You were perfect, this is me, okay? My choice to end it.”
You stay like that for a while before asking to check his back when his breathing was normal. He nodded again and you knew he wasn’t going to be talking the rest of the night. That was okay, you knew how to communicate without words. Marc rolls over, and you see you were correct; not much as far as wounds. You ice him and gently rub aloe vera ointment over the small welts. Once that was done, you help him in dressing in his most comfortable pj’s and resume your previous position until he fell asleep.
You woke up to Steven that morning.
*
“Talk about what?” Marc tried to deflect, but you cocked your head to the side and raised your eyebrows.
“The other night, Marc. We need to talk about it.”
He avoided your eyes again and mumbled. “I wasn’t the one who safworded.”
You couldn’t help but sigh. “Marc, honey, please? I wanna talk about it so I know what I did wrong-”
His eyes flicked up, his tone harsher than you were used to. “Only thing you did wrong was safeword.”
Taken aback, you feel your chest tightening with anxiety at the argument bubbling. You want to dial it back, but the implication of his words hurt. “Marc… I’m allow to use the safe word too”
Immediately he looked regretful. “No- that’s not what I meant, fuck, sorry…” You gave him a second to regain his thoughts. “I just meant you shouldn’t have done it for me.”
You soften, understanding what he meant. “Baby, you were clearly uncomfortable, and that makes me uncomfortable.”
“I was fine!” He snapped, yelling at you and you see it right away when Jake takes over. “Lo siento, amor.”
“It’s okay, Jake.” But it was clear that his shouting hurt your feelings.
“He shouldn’t yell at you like that.” Jake began eating the chicken. One thing about Jake is he’s going to take care of Marc, and that includes eating when Marc won’t.
“We’ve been… going through a little bit of a rough patch…” You conceded, admitting it to yourself for the first time. The last month with Marc had been hard. He was drifting, and you couldn’t figure out how to stop it.
“It’s not you. He loves you very much.”
“I know he does, I love him.”
“I know.” Jake stuffed his mouth full of chicken. “I told him it wasn’t a good idea to reenact his moms abuse, but he never listens to me.”
That caught your attention. “Wait, what?” You weren’t stupid. You knew his enjoyment of rough sex probably had something to do with his childhood, but Marc didn’t divulge much other than his mom physically abused him.
“Oh great, Marc’s yelling at me now, I guess he never told you his mom whipped-” Marc took the body back. “SHUT UP!” He screamed with eyes pinched shut. You sat in silence until they opened again. When he saw you looking at him with wide eyes, he spoke quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t think… I didn’t realize I was in control again…”
“It’s okay…” You whisper. “Marc… what was Jake gonna say.”
Marc sighed, closing his eyes I think you know.
You did, but you wanted him to say it.
“Marc?” Your voice was shaking and seemed so distant from you as you slowly realized what happened, what he had done. What he had made you do.
“She whipped me with a belt.” Marc’s face was deadset, the look he gave when he was trying so hard not to show emotion, but the heavy rise and fall of his chest always gave it away.
You stand up suddenly. “Marc…” stepping backwards as Marc stands with you, you try to get distance from him, disgust with yourself permeating your bones.
“Marc…”
“Baby, it’s not what you think-” He held out his hand to calm you but your body began to curl in on itself, horrified as you wrap your arms around your waist.
“Were you using me to self harm?”
Horror washed over his face. “No! No that’s not it!”
“But you were! You were using me to hurt yourself, to punish yourself! That’s sick, Marc! Sick!” You couldn’t believe he’d made you an accomplice in his battle against himself.
“It’s not like that, I swear!”
“Making me into your mother, Marc? How could you use me like that?” The tears were welling in your eyes, hurt and self-loathing swelling your thoughts.
“Baby…” Marc looked like he was about to cry himself. “It’s not- it’s not that big a deal…” Marc always tried to down play, to refuse help, to refuse to admit when something he’d done hurt you. Not because he didn’t think he was wrong. Marc always thought he was in the wrong. No, it was because he didn’t think he was worth crying over.
“YES IT IS!” In a fit of frustration, you reach for the kitchen knife. Marc didn’t jump, didn’t startle. He knew whatever you were doing, you wouldn’t hurt him. You give him the handle and hold out your wrist. “Cut me.”
He looked as confused as he was horrified. “Wha-”
“Cut me!” A litany of scars riddles your wrist, he knew what asking him to add to it meant.
“No!” Marc set the knife down far away from you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into him in concern. “Baby, why would I do that?” He kissed the scars., speaking softly now as you cried freely. “C’mon, your scaring me… are you having urges to hurt yourself again?”
Classic Marc, always more worried about you. “N-o,” You stammer, crying hard as Marc pulls you into a hug. “That’s the point! You’-d-d-d never help me hurt myself, why would you ask me to hurt you like that?” You are crying, legs shaking and you don’t feel you can keep standing.
Marc sinks to the floor with you, holding you close and crying with you. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” He held you in his arms for a while until you started to calm down. When you were no longer shaking, Marc lifted you up, carrying you to your bedroom.
First, he reassured you. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby girl. It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”
Next was the weighted blanket. It was a gift from you to the boys, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t sleep under it sometimes.
“Can I lay with you?” He asked, and when you nodded, too tired to speak, he crawled under the blanket with you. “The usual?” You consented, and Marc wrapped you up tight in his arms, leg draped over yours in extra comfort.
Lastly, he whispered more assurances in your ear.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Rest, we’ll talk about it later.”
“Everything is going to be alright.”
And you knew it would be. It always would be between you four. Marc just needed help, and he needed to let you help.
Rough sex was out for now. If you couldn’t trust him to use the safe word, you wouldn’t be putting him or yourself in that position. Slowly, Marc opened up and let you, Steven and Jake in, and slowly things got better. It took time, to be sure, and a lot of work on both your parts to repair the trust that was broken, but you loved Marc and Marc loved you.
In the end, Marc was right. Everything was okay.
***************
angsty marc overwhelmingly won my poll. yall like to see a pretty boy cry, huh?
@moonknightly this is the fic i was brainstorming months ago that hurt you so bad lol
@whatthefishh @missdictatorme @ahookedheroespureheart @eyelessfaces @campingwiththecharmings @runa-falls @fandxmslxt69 @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @steven-grants-world @littlenosoul @mikaelak @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @boysddontcry
#marc spector#marc spector x reader#gn!reader#gender neutral reader#moon knight#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight angst#marc spector angst#marc spector hurt comfort#hurt comfort#angst#smut#marc spector x you#marc spector moon knight#jake lockley#moon knight x reader#tw self harm#tw sh#self destructive
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"Well, I...it's my reality, I don't really have a choice."
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“Contest of Chaos: Part Four,” Moon Knight Annual (Vol. 4/2023), #1.
Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Creees Lee; Colorist: Arif Prianto; Letterer: Cory Petit
#Marvel#Marvel comics#Marvel 616#Moon Knight Annual#Moon Knight Annual vol. 4#Moon Knight Annual 2023#Moon Knight comics#latest release#Moon Knight#Marc Spector#Taegukgi#Tae-Won#kudos to both Mr. MacKay and the author of this year’s Spider-Man annual for tidily side-stepping the question of#‘who’s stronger’ that plagues super hero comics by instead having one contestant scratch out of the contest#for reasons in line with their established character#so yeah good on Moon Knight for telling how it is (aka ayo forget all that noise)#and passing on some wisdom#although any reminder of Age of Khonshu and Diatrice Hurts#also insane to me that Marc talks about having the strength of will to relinquish the Phoenix Force while also considering this dude he jus#met to be better than him almost within the same breath#a self-image that is also aligned with his established character unfortunately
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Marc spector x gn!reader
Genre: angst, hurt comfort
Summary: Marc has a panic attack and some intrusive thoughts following a simple, innocent request from you.
Warnings: heavy angst and crying, suicidal ideation, mention of Nazis, panic attack, intrusive thoughts, extremely negative self talk.
Word count: 1186
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Marc and you were lying in bed, cuddling after a long day. You've been together a few years, and been through quite a lot, yet always on each other's side. You were surprised when you heard about his alters, Steven and Jake, but welcomed them into your heart. The three of them, in turn, filled every crack of your heart and mind with their unending love. All four of you became a whole.
Marc's arm was draped across your body, his hair tickling your skin pleasantly. You were pressed very close together. Usually, that would have been wonderful, not too warm or suffocating, but tonight:
"I need some space." You declared, thinking nothing of it. You draped the blanket away from yourself, and Marc scooted back, somewhat confused.
"Okay," he said, nodding lightly but concerned. "Whatever you need, babe." He rolled on his side turning his back to you, and lied down on the far edge of the bed. You were so tired, you didn't notice the shake in his voice, or how he inched farther and farther away from you, until his bent knees were hanging in the air.
"It's cold, here, now." He thought, and didn't understand why his throat was closing up. His body became stiff as the familiar record started to play in his mind. "Just until a moment ago, you were in the warm embrace of heaven. How did you fuck that up? You'll always be alone. Cold and alone. Even the stray dogs won't like you. You always ruin it for everyone. Steven deserves a life, goddamnit! You don't even deserve this bed."
You heard a sharp inhale as a chill went through his body and he shot out of bed. "Sorry." He managed to croak out, eyes filling with tears and he left the room.
Marc's legs carried him to the tiny guest bathroom, where he slid down the wall onto the floor, and closed the door behind him. He couldn't breathe, only in tiny little gasps and whimpers. He buried his head in his knees, trying to muffle his cries into his hand.
"No one will hold that hand again," a thought floated into his head. "You're pathetic. You're nothing. You don't deserve any of this. Look at yourself, disgusting! DISGUSTING!" The word echoed in his mother's voice, making him flinch from the belt that was no longer there.
Tears were now flowing from his tightly shut eyes. "Some space! You're so dramatic, you're such a burden, you're strangling, you're horrible, kill yourself! Give all the world some space from Marc Spector, smallest, shittiest and worst man on earth! You're thinking that, it makes you evil! You want to kill yourself, and you want to kill Steven and Jake too because you're trash! That's why there's Nazis! For you! SOME SPACE!!! THAT'S WHY YOU'RE NOT WANTED! YOU CAN'T EVEN GIVE YOUR ABSENCE!!!"
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You thought for a second that he just went for a wee, and closed your eyes. You just wanted a few minutes to breathe and cool down, and then you'll turn around and cuddle up to him. You love to press your face into his warm chest.
Wait.
He didn't go to the en-suite.
You opened your eyes, came back to your senses, and heard a muffled cry. Not 5 seconds after, you were banging on the bathroom door, your heart breaking at the uncontrollable sobs coming from inside.
Marc didn't open the door, and you decided it was enough. You warned him, and opened it yourself. Your boyfriend leaped away from you, hitting his head on the tile and squeezing himself to the best of his ability between the toilet and the wall.
"Marc, honey, hey-" you started, crouching down to him.
"That's where I belong." He hiccuped. "The piece of shit that I am." His voice wavered, he gasped sharply and sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He pleaded through the tears.
His face was red and wet with tear tracks. His eyes were completely bloodshot and mostly closed, and he was shaking all over. You kneeled in front of him, and took one of his hands in yours. Your other hand went to scratch his soft curls and rake them over. He did it a lot to sooth himself, and you figured it might help.
"I'm here, baby," you told him. "Everything's okay. I love you. I love you, Marc." You moved your hand to cup his cheek and caress it, and saw that he was continuously mouthing the words "I'm sorry" through his anguished expression.
"It's okay. It's okay, honey. I promise. It's alright." You reassured him, and pressed his hand to your lips for a quick kiss. That drew loud, ugly cry from him. "Try to breathe with me, hun." You said and moved his hand to your chest, to feel your deep breaths.
He tried, bless his soul he tried, and ended up coughing and choking on his own tears, causing him to sob even harder. "I- Ah- I'm sorrrryyyyy" he whimpered miserably, so deep in his self flagellation he couldn't stop apologizing. For crying. For making a fuss. For not giving you space. For not being able to give you space. For making excuses. For existing.
"Okay," you took a deep breath for yourself and sighed with determination. "Let's get you up." You said and grabbed your boyfriend from under his arms. He grasped onto your arms to steady and pull himself up, as much as he could on his shaky legs.
You kissed his forehead, and the spot of his head he accidentally hit. You kissed his knuckles, and where he bit down on his hands. You kissed his cheeks, and his nose. That made him smile. You kissed his lips, which induced a fresh wave of tears, and then you kissed those as well.
Eventually, you got the both of you safely to bed. Marc looked horrible. Well not that he could really, being Marc, but he certainly looked like he was feeling horrible. At least it seemed as if the journey across your home shook him up enough to get his bearings. He was starting to realize what was going on, that none of his terrifying, intrusive thoughts were real, and that he had his very loving and loved partner right next to him.
Marc was starting to calm down. Loud, painful sobs reduced into sniffles. He probably disassociated a bit, as managing these attacks was still hard for him. But he had you. You laid him in bed, covered his shaking body and helped him take his slightly sweaty shirt off. You gave him a box of tissues from your nightstand to wipe his runny nose and tear stained face with. You hugged him when he clung to you like his life depended on it. Maybe it really was. Damn. You really fucking love him. Through EVERYTHING. And he loves you so, so much too.
He was safe, loved, cared for, important, appreciated, and for the first time in his life, thought he might deserve to feel that way.
You were each others' safe spaces.
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MASTERLIST
Just tagging some mutuals, no pressure!
@ivystoryweaver @writingforcurrentobsessions2 @romanarose @my-secret-shame @luke-o-lophus @spider-starry @eyelessfaces
#moon knight#my post#angst#fanfic#moon knight fanfic#hurt/comfort#marc spector#marc spector x reader#marc spector x male reader#marc spector x gn reader#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight angst
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An Eye For An Eye
Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader, Steven Grant x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader
Warnings/Tags: Kidnapping, graphic descriptions of violence, death threats/thoughts of dying, mentions of body mutilation [doesn’t happen though], using a gun for self-defense, character death [murder], mentions of blood, dark undertones, hurt/comfort, angst, vulgar language, some references to Moon Knight comics, Marc is very sad, loads of crying, somewhat of a fluffy ending
Word Count: 13K [oops..]
Summary: Raul Bushman has a personal grudge against Marc Spector and he takes it out on you. When he kidnaps you, he taunts Marc by sending a video of you as his hostage. With the help of Khonshu, the Moon boys come to your rescue - which is unfortunate for Raul. Once you’re safe again, Marc can’t bring himself to face you because of the guilt so Steven and Jake take care of you.
A/N: Ok I realize it’s a bit bloody and teary but I had to get this out of my head. I hope you enjoy it! <3
DISCLAIMER! Please do not proceed to read this if the mentioned warnings and tags include topics that could possibly trigger or harm you. Take care of yourself.
“Darling, I’m home!” Steven’s cheerful voice replaced the silence of your shared flat as he finally came back home from work. The new museum he worked at was wonderful and his first week of being a tour guide had just come to an end. Steven was over the moon and knowing he was coming home to you only made him feel even better, as if he was literally walking on sunshine.
For once in his life, all seemed to be going so well. Steven felt invincible in a way. Little did he know of the drastic turn that would take place much sooner than anticipated.
When all he was met with was silence, Steven began to worry. Since you had told them you’d be home before them, it was odd that you weren’t there. Refusing to jump to conclusions, Steven pulled out his phone from his pocket and searched for you name in his contacts, calling you as he made his way further inside the apartment to inspect everything. The only sound he heard was the beeping dial tone.
You’d pick up and have an explanation. Everything was fine.
Steven turned the lights on and looked around the place. Your phone or wallet weren’t anywhere to be seen and the note he had left for you on the kitchen counter had been completely untouched. That was definitely odd. Usually you left a note for him too, especially if you were going somewhere. The bright, little notes were some of Steven’s favourite things.
“She’s not answering,” Steven said out loud, staring at the phone screen that let him know you hadn’t picked up the call. Marc and Jake were aware of what was going on, both of their minds racing to different places. Neither of those places were good.
Call her again, Marc demanded, trying hard not to let his fear get the best of him. Then again, Marc knew you. He knew that you would let them know if you wouldn’t show up when agreed. Perhaps for an ordinary couple, this wasn’t a big deal but Marc had enemies. Jake had enemies. Steven had them too, now. It was one of their greatest fears that one day those enemies would find you.
As Steven walked around the flat frantically, his heart began to beat harder all the way in his throat, it felt like. The dial tone was taunting him, making seconds feel like minutes as it kept on ringing.
“Pick up, pick up...please,” Steven made his way to the window, looking down at the London street that was illuminated by the yellow street lights. Darkness had swallowed the blue sky and you were somewhere out there, not picking up the phone. This was so unlike you and it gnawed at Steven’s heart. He didn’t even wish to imagine you in any sort of danger.
Shouldn’t have let her walk home at this hour alone! Jake had jumped to the worst conclusions. Steven looked at the man whose reflection showed up in the nearby mirror. Jake looked like he was about to explode from worry and anger, barely containing such intense feelings.
“Don’t say that!” Steven couldn’t bear it. There was no way he would let them assume the worst so soon. “Maybe she’s staying late. Let’s meet her half way, yeah? Come on, out we go!”
Steven was glad he hadn’t taken off his shoes yet as he rushed back outside, making sure he had his keys after the fact he had closed the front door and he was already in the elevator. The mirrors in the small space made it easy to see all the alters, yet somehow it wasn’t very comforting. Not when all of them were so clearly concerned over your safety. It was almost as if they just knew you weren’t staying late. This was much worse than that. There was a sick feeling in Steven’s gut as he stood there, waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor.
The feeling was growing worse by the second, spreading like fire and tugging at his guts until he felt nauseous. What if Jake was right? What if you were hurt? Lying in a ditch somewhere, cold and beaten, all alone.
The notification sound of his phone snapped Steven out of his thoughts. He ripped the phone out of his pocket and felt a wave of relief crashing against him when he saw your name on the screen.
“Oh thank heavens,” Steven almost felt like laughing as he thought about how worried he felt. Overreacting never did any good for anyone. There he was now, unlocking his phone and waiting to see your message. In all honesty, Steven expected something short and simple, just letting him know you’d be able to call him soon. When he saw a video file with a pitch black background and no other message, the relief was stolen from him just as quickly as it had arrived.
Steven knew he had to open it but every cell in his body told him not to click it. He froze, brown eyes glued at the screen in terror as he anticipated what would happen next.
It was Marc who fronted next, taking control of the body as Steven took too long to think about his next actions. Marc pressed the play button and then took a deep breath, but nothing could’ve possibly prepared him for what they were all about to see.
The video began and immediately chains were more easily visible, leading up to you. There you were, chained to what looked like a bed in a dark room. The volume was on full but no sounds were heard. Whoever had filmed the video zoomed in on your face, eyelashes resting against your bloodied cheeks. To believe you were just asleep would've been foolish. Someone must've knocked you out one way or another, a realization that made Marc sick to his stomach. Blood was boiling in his body, so much so he could hear it in his ears and feel how his skin was set on fire with rage. Whoever did that to you would pay for it with their life. That was certain.
Suddenly, the person who was filming it flipped the camera and revealed his face. The man was smiling cruelly since he knew exactly who was watching the clip and how he was reacting. Marc recognized that evil gleam from anywhere since he knew this man extremely well. That was Raul Bushman. A mercenary, just like Marc used to be although these days Raul Bushman was better known as a fucking terrorist. Marc had hoped the past would stay in the past but evidently, it had not. Life wasn't ever that simple. Now Raul was there, in the present with you as his hostage. Knowing how wicked Raul was terrified Marc because he couldn't be sure he would find you in time.
Don't go there, you have to focus! Jake was already in action mode, planning on how they would track this man down and bring you back home safely. If they let panic overtake them then it could cost you your life. There was no way any of them could let that happen. Steven was dead silent for once, not finding a single thing to say at that moment. Fear had completely enveloped him, but not fear for his own sake. Steven was scared he'd never see you again and for what? Because a sick man wanted to hurt you? How was that fair?
"Marc Spector," Raul addressed Marc in the video, simultaneously letting Steven know that this was personal. Jake had recognized that tattooed face as well. Steven hadn't as Marc's memories of his mercenary past weren't something he could personally recall.
Marc was thinking about ripping Raul's face off as he anticipated what he was going to say next. Did he want money? That didn't seem likely. Whatever he wanted, Marc was willing to give it if he could get you back. The killing could happen afterwards.
"I've got your girl," Raul chuckled, enjoying this for some sick and twisted reason. "She's not very chatty anymore. You should've heard her earlier! Did you teach her to speak like that or did you find yourself a sailor? Very vulgar, Spector. So naughty."
Marc who is that? Steven's voice barely carried above a whisper as he stared at Marc from the reflection of the elevator mirror. The elevator had reached the first floor but they had no intentions of leaving just yet. Running around in circles with no leads would be a waste of time.
Marc ignored Steven and forced himself to keep watching the video, his grip on the phone so strong it was a miracle it hadn't snapped in half yet. That's when Jake began to explain things to Steven in the background, their words turning into a haze as Marc stood there, in utter shock and disbelief at it all. He could only watch as Raul flipped the camera over to you once again and that's when the tears threatened to spill. How could he have let something like this happen to you? The love of his life, the sweetest and most wonderful person that had ever walked the earth. Marc felt so guilty. If you were to die now he would never forgive himself. Not in a million years and more.
"I'm sure you'd love to hear some conditions or whatever but the truth is," Raul sighed dramatically as he caressed your cheek, wiping away the blood, "I have none. The only reason I'm doing this is because of you. I'm curious to know what made you so soft and pathetic. What a waste of a man you are."
Just like that, the video ended. Raul's words echoed in Marc's head loudly, drumming into his skull and every beat made him feel worse. Marc could hear Steven and Jake yelling but none of their words made sense. The overwhelming worry and anger were over-spilling and Marc couldn't take it. He turned on his heel and punched the mirror as hard as he could, letting out a pained and frustrated shout and most likely alarming everyone else in the building but he couldn't have cared less. The smashed mirror showed Marc thousands of small reflections as glass fell on the floor. Crimson red was running down his knuckles angrily, most likely dripping on the floor. Marc didn't care. He only cared about finding you.
So did Jake who took control, needing to work on his plan immediately and not let Marc or Steven waste any more time. Jake pressed the elevator button back to their floor, leaving blood on the buttons. Whoever walked into the elevator next would have a surprise awaiting them. Raul Bushman, on the other hand, had something much worse awaiting him. If he thought for one second that he was more powerful than them, he was wrong and Jake was going to hunt him down no matter what it took. Touching you was the biggest mistake the poor excuse of a man had ever made.
The first thing you noticed as consciousness was coming back to you was the dreadful headache you had. It made you whine in pain as you tried to roll over, only to realize you were unable to move your arms. Horror spread throughout you as you remembered what had happened, eyes popping open as you took in the dark surroundings. The room was dim and quite small too, with only a bed and a dresser. It didn't have a window so it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. As creepy as it was, it didn't smell bad. You had expected the thick copper scent of blood to linger in the air or of something foul and rotting. Perhaps the cleanliness meant you weren't in a creepy dungeon but instead in a preoccupied building? Was that a good thing or not? You didn't know.
Stay calm, you repeated that to yourself as you took a few deep breaths. Freaking out wouldn't do you any good but it wasn't easy to steady your breaths either. As the memories came back to you, you could feel yourself slipping onto a world of doubt and worry. The man who had found you was absolutely terrifying. Not only was he tall enough to tower over you with ease, but his teeth also looked sharp and metallic. The man had scars all over his body and a look in his brown eyes that had told you he wasn't merciful at all. Years of hardships decorated every inch of his skin but he didn't seem to let that drag him down. He used it as armour, which made him evermore dangerous.
Just as you had feared, the door opened, allowing artificial light to pour inside for only a moment as he walked in. The door shut loudly and with a click, which meant it was locked. The tall man turned on the ceiling light, the single bulb hanging from the ceiling allowing you to see better, only to realize his cold eyes were glued to you. When he made his way further inside the small room, you could hardly hear his footsteps as your heart was thudding so loudly against your rib cage. How were you supposed to remain calm when a scary man had you chained down like an animal? What was he going to do? What did he want from you?
"You're awake sooner than expected," He finally spoke, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. “Thought you’d be weaker.”
"What do you want from me?"
The man didn't reply instantly but judging by the stern look on his face, he had clearly heard you. For whatever reason he actually took his sweet time thinking about his reply as he circled the bed, never tearing his eyes off of you. As he reached the wooden dresser, he dragged a gun out of a holster and placed it on the surface with a loud thud, making sure it was pointed directly at you so even when the gun was untouched and simply resting on the dresser, it kept you on edge.
"What do I want from you? That's a silly question," He finally spoke, much more relaxed now that you were chained down and silent. "Nothing really. You're here because of Marc Spector," your lover's name was spoken as if it was poison on his tongue, every syllable tasting rancid.
"Why?" You decided it was better to talk to this man instead of being tortured. The more time you wasted like this, the better were your chances of survival. Surely, they were coming for you. The moment you thought about them, you felt a pang of guilt in your gut. Marc was probably freaking out by now. Steven must've been so scared. Jake? Oh Jake, he wouldn’t show it but you knew the protective man was ridden with anxiety. You didn't even want to imagine how stressed they must've been. Did they know you were there? Or did they think you had abandoned them?
The tall man pulled an old wooden chair next to the bed and sat down, being so close to you now that it made you worry. What was he going to do?
"Long ago, Marc and I used to be pals, if you will. He was a great mercenary. Unstoppable, quick, someone that a man like me could respect. Then something changed and he turned on us. Marc became soft, that rat," He spat angrily, slamming his large fist against the wall so hard you flinched, half expecting him to hit you instead. Your heart leapt to your throat and your eyes squeezed shut which you instantly regretted.
"Are you scared, love?" He mocked you, leaning closer to you so his foul breath landed on your skin, causing your hairs to stand on end. Stay calm.
“Anyway, I wanted to know what changed him and all leads came back to you. Funny how the same thing that made him soft is the same thing that makes him hard,” he laughed at his own wordplay, his belittling words making you feel dirty. What he was talking about was none of his business and you wanted to let him hear your thoughts, but decided to bite your tongue for now.
"W-What's your name?" You ignored him, focusing on your one and only task right now. Keep him talking. Nothing else mattered.
"You can call me Raul," He introduced himself while caressing your cheek. That's when you noticed it, his left hand only had three fingers. Raul caught you staring.
"Wanna know who did this to me?" Raul grabbed your jaw forcefully and made you face him. There was no warmth in his eyes, only deep and dark coldness that sent shivers down your spine. His touch was rough and it stung but you assumed it was better than whatever else it was he was capable of doing. Without knowing what else to do, you simply nodded, encouraging him to go on. By now, you felt your body betraying you as your limbs quivered underneath his touch. That's how easy it was for him to terrify you. At that moment, you wished you had abilities such as Khonshu had granted your lovers. You wished you could've broken free from these chains and returned home safely but alas, you couldn't. There you were, forced to look at this man and hear his stories, not knowing what was true and what wasn't.
"Marc did this," Raul revealed eventually, something about it making your gut twist in horror. Picturing Marc severing a man's fingers off was sickening. If it were true, you had to believe there was a good reason behind it. Khonshu only made him punish people who had already done evil things. This man was no exception.
"Tell me, sweetheart," Raul tilted his head slightly, "have you heard of the phrase 'an eye for an eye'?"
Who hadn't? You thought but kept that to yourself as you didn't wish to set him off. Somehow, it seemed like nothing was truly needed to set this man off as your silence alone was enough to push him into action.
Everything that happened next was surreal. You could only watch as Raul reached for something in his pocket, something that turned out to be a knife. It reflected the yellow ceiling light and you noticed just how sharp it was. There was a carved symbol on the blade which you didn't recognize but it didn't seem to matter when he grabbed your left hand that was still chained to the headboard.
"No! No, please! Please don't do this!" You screamed in shock when he pressed the sharp knife against the base of your index and middle fingers, not enough to cut your fingers off but your skin broke under the edge. "Please don't!" Panicked tears rolled down your face as you tried to wiggle free. It was of no use though and you both knew it.
"If you stop moving it'll be over sooner!" Raul yelled at you and then had the audacity to smile. The curve of his lips was sadistic, something straight out of nightmares. He enjoyed this.
Just as blood began to trickle down your palm, the hot liquid reminding you of how doomed you were, a phone rang in his pocket. That was your phone.
"Fucking hell!" Raul sighed, annoyed by the interruption but you were forever grateful because he stepped away and put the knife on the table next to the gun. So far, your digits were still intact but the ghastliness of what had almost happened shook you to the core, making you feel nauseous. The cut at the base of your fingers stung. Even without seeing it, you knew it'd leave a scar. A scar that would be much better than losing your fingers. As you were still recovering from the shock of what Raul nearly succeeded with, you didn't even realize what was happening.
Raul had answered the video call because Marc's face had shown up on the screen. He had anticipated a call again. As he picked up, he instantly turned the camera to you, letting Marc see what was happening.
"You have perfect timing, Spector. I was just about to cut her pretty little fingers off," Raul revealed casually as if he had no care in the world. He wanted to piss off Marc and it didn't seem like it frightened him at all. Either he was a fool or extremely powerful.
"Don't you fucking dare touch her!" Marc growled with wrath in his voice. You realized you had never heard him so angry ever before. His voice was alien, but at the same time, you found comfort in it. Was he going to find you? If so, would he be there in time? Would you see him again?
"If I do, what are you gonna do about it? There's not much you can do to stop me," Raul laughed again, grabbing the bloody knife and waving it around as he spoke. "I'm here, she's here and you're god-knows-where! Even if you do find us, you'll be too late! I will make you watch as I kill her, that I promise you!"
This couldn't be happening. This had to be a nightmare. If you had been able to, you would've pinched yourself. You felt so helpless as tears streamed down your face and you struggled against the cold chains that were wrapped so tightly around you that the skin beneath the metal was bruising at an alarming rate. Staying calm after hearing his morbid threats seemed like an impossible task.
If he was truly going to kill you, this could've been your last chance to speak to any of them. As much as the realization terrified you, you had to find the courage to speak again.
"I love you, baby, I'm so sorry," You sniffled, trying to see the screen but Raul didn't grant you the satisfaction of seeing Marc. "I'm sorry!" The apology poured from your lips quietly as the guilt was eating you alive. The violent sobs caused your lungs to feel like they were on fire and burning you up from within. Had you been more careful, this would've never happened. You were sure of it. If this twisted man took your life tonight, the happy future you had dreamt of would be ripped away from not only you but from them as well. It wasn't fair in any way.
"Don't interrupt me!" Raul shrieked all of a sudden, angered by your attitude. As he leapt toward you, phone in hand, Marc yelled something that got lost as you let out a startled scream. The next thing you knew, Raul hovered above you with the knife dangerously close to your neck. "Shut up! I don't want to hear this lovey-dovey shit, okay? Just be quiet!"
Beep beep beep
The call ended. Whether Raul accidentally ended it or Marc, it didn't matter. The line was lost and you feared that just like that, you would never hear from him ever again. Not another 'I love you' from Steven that he would tell you first thing in the morning. No more endearments from Jake in Spanish that always made your heart flutter with joy. No more vulnerable love confessions from Marc he would whisper to you when no one else was around.
For once, Khonshu was being useful. It was actually the Egyptian god who helped locate you. There wasn't anything that could happen at night that went by his sight. When even Jake was going bollocks over worry he felt for you, the god couldn't just let them run in circles and desperately try to find you. Raul Bushman was smart, unfortunately, and he made it near impossible to find him. Tracing the calls hadn’t worked and studying the background of the video revealed nothing.
Raul Bushman was well prepared, but Raul didn't have Khonshu. When the bird-headed god told Jake how to find you, he wasted no time getting a move on. After the video call where Raul revealed what he was about to do to you, it was urgent they got these as quickly as possible.
Khonshu wasn't too fond of you - or so he made it appear - but he was even less fond of Raul Bushman. There was no way he would let a worm like that kill you and also make his avatar distraught. The god knew that the loss of you would be detrimental. It would destroy his Moon Knight for good.
The Moon Knight suit came in handy as Marc soared across the starry sky, past the tall buildings in the city with one destination in mind. It wasn't the time to think about anything else than his next few moves. One wrong thought and his demeanour would falter. Your life was on the line here and he wasn't going to mess up now. And to think Raul Bushman had come back to haunt him and he didn't even bother to hide further away than the other side of London. The man was confident he could overpower Marc but that was a grave mistake. Marc would stop at nothing to make sure nothing like this would ever happen again. Had he been wiser, he would've killed Raul all those years ago during their run together in Cairo.
The location turned out to be a townhouse in the fancier parts of London, a mighty building that had stood there for hundreds of years. To people looking from the outside, it was beautiful and nothing about it really screamed that it was used by criminals. Marc's gut twisted painfully when he remembered you were in there, most likely scared for your very life. The way you had apologized to him over the phone as if any of this was your fault had killed a part of him inside. If anything, Marc felt as if this was his fault. You had done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing at all.
Getting into the place wasn't hard at all. Instead, the trickier part was to be quiet. Marc wasn't going to risk your life by being loud and giving Raul a chance to finish things off before it was too late. The lights were all turned off, which led Marc to believe no one else was there but you and Raul. The people who owned the place rarely used it as it turned out the house was used for criminal gatherings every once in a while. No one lived there. As a hideout, it would've been wonderful if it was only used for hiding from regular people. Hiding from gods and their avatars on the other hand was much trickier.
By now, blood was boiling in Marc's veins. He felt like an enraged animal that was hunting for prey, following its bloody trail with a deep hunger. Nothing could possibly get in his way now. He squeezed the golden crescent moon darts tighter in a desperate attempt to remain calm, steering away the dark thundering clouds in his head that carried with them his deepest fears. With somewhat of a clear mind, silent for once as none of the alters dared to make a peep, Marc navigated down the stairs and toward where he believed you were. His pounding heart was the only sound he could hear, for now, the muscle convulsing dangerously and so hard it wouldn't have been too much of a surprise if Raul could hear it.
"Nooo!" You let out a deep cry, riddled with pain caused by the weapon that had just made contact with your temple. Between all the threats Raul directed at you and your own fears, you felt lost. You didn't know what you were begging of or asking him not to do. There wasn't time for you to gather your thoughts as this scary man was losing his patience with you and with Marc who still hadn't shown up. Despite his claims of not using you as bait to lure him here, you didn't believe him. Raul was looking for revenge and he was willing to kill two birds with one stone.
Knowing you were used as bait to lure your lover into doom only strengthened the guilt. Somehow that hurt more than the physical pain he had brought upon you. No amount of blood or bruises could amount to the realization of how sick and twisted this was and what part you played in it all.
The most recent blow he had delivered to you had been worse than the others, causing your vision to blur and you to feel ill. Your stomach was bubbling in a nauseating way and you weren't sure if you would be able to keep your lunch down for much longer. The throbbing headache was only getting worse and you noticed that you couldn't focus your vision on anything anymore. Was your body giving up this easily or was it trying to defend you from what was to come by numbing everything out quicker? At this point, thinking felt too difficult of a task. Raul was pacing around the room in his rage, probably filming you still but you didn't make any sense of it anymore.
Blood coated your tongue and that was what you focused on as you rested against the thin pillow, wishing you were at home instead. At home, in your bed, next to the man you loved. Instead of tasting the iron in your mouth, you wished you had a cup of hot chocolate that Jake was surprisingly good at making. He usually added a pinch of chili to the sweet drink and it tasted divine. You wished you were in a warm bath with Marc, getting your back rubbed by his loving touch after a long day. You wanted to listen to Steven's voice as he read you to sleep. Who was the god he was reading to you about last night? Taweret? That must've been it. The goddess of fertility and childbirth. Thinking of that in such a dark moment was oddly comforting, bringing you the tiniest amount of peace in the midst of fear you had never felt before, fear that made your bones shake and your heart heavy with sorrow.
Little did you know your last act of consciousness had alerted Marc of your whereabouts. Just as you slipped into unconsciousness, your exhausted body unable to take any more of the pain, you caught a glimpse of a pair of white, glowing eyes. He had found you.
Raul hadn't heard Marc arriving and none of the alarms in the building had alerted him. However, when the man wrapped in mummy bindings and with bright, glowing eyes attacked Raul, he could only feel excitement. This was his chance to defeat Marc once and for all, make him suffer like how Marc had made him suffer. An eye for an eye. Raul took that very seriously.
Marc grabbed Raul by his torso and launched him against the wall so hard it sent the man right into the next room. Dust from within the walls exploded into the air, making it hard to see into the other room for a moment but that didn't stop Marc who followed Raul without any hesitation.
"Took you long enough!" Raul got up from the floor just in time, spitting blood on the floor as he braced himself for Marc's next move.
Marc clenched his jaw together and threw both darts at his former acquaintance, not surprised when all they did was scratch the surface. Marc grabbed more darts from his chest, glad he wasn't going to run out of them anytime soon as they magically reappeared thanks to Khonshu's powers.
As Marc leapt at Raul again, the taller man grabbed him and rolled both of them around. When Marc fell to the ground with Raul, he rolled over and lunged the sharp moon dart right into his chest, ripping a string of curses from his enemy's mouth.
"You're gonna regret ever laying a finger on her," Marc growled eerily, twisting the sharp dart that had sunk into Raul's flesh, feeling how the man's blood soaked his white glove. Having mercy was the last thing on Marc's mind now. He was going to make Raul pay for his mistake.
Meanwhile, you were slipping in and out of consciousness, unable to stay in the dark when you heard crashing and screaming nearby. As you opened your eyes and blinked a few times, you realized what was going on and it sent a rush of adrenaline through you. Marc was there for you but you were still chained to the bed. Trying to free yourself hadn't worked earlier but now that your hands were covered in sweat and blood, you decided to give it another try. Desperately, you tried to wiggle and pull your hands free, biting your tongue when the action hurt. The chains were pressing against your thumbs painfully but you knew you would be able to pull yourself free if you just tugged a little harder.
"Fuck..." You cursed under your breath and then yanked your hands toward your chest. To your surprise, your hands slipped out of the chains. The adrenaline that coursed throughout your body concealed just how much it had hurt. With all the strength you had left and with worry for your loved one who was fighting this monster all alone, you limped to the dresser where the gun was. Bloody fingers wrapped around the weapon and you were surprised by how heavy it felt in your shaking hands. There was a hole in the wall and as you narrowed your eyes looking through it, you saw... Steven? Yes. Steven was definitely the one in the suit, giving Raul a piece of his mind with the help of his truncheons.
"You messed up big time, mate," Steven's choice of words didn't match the hatred in the tone of his voice. He didn't sound much like himself as he was blinded by rage, acting the opposite of the sweet and loving man you knew. As Mr Knight, he used all his strength to deliver a blow against Raul's gut, not finding an ounce of pity as the grown man cried out in pain. The sight was surreal but you couldn't look away. Whether this was a dream or not, you were glad to see it. Perhaps it was wrong, you just didn't care. Your moral compass had been shattered by the hands of the man who had hurt you the same way just moments before.
In the blink of an eye, you found yourself now looking at Jake who didn't let Raul fall on the floor. Instead, he held him by his crimson covered shirt and pressed his fingers into the deep wound Marc had made with his dart earlier, feeling how the blood oozed out of it. "That is for just thinking about her!" He pushed Raul against a bookshelf, the impact knocking the books all over the floor and the shelves snapping in half.
"And this is for hurting her."
When Jake proceeded to attack him again, you had to look away. Part of it was because you felt lightheaded and standing on your own proved to be much more difficult than it should've been. The other part was that Jake's violent ways were not for the faint-hearted to see. As you stumbled on the floor, it alarmed both of the men. For a split second, Jake was distracted as he hadn't noticed you getting up and Raul used that to his advantage.
As Raul tried to bite Jake with his sharp, metal teeth, something within you snapped. You pointed his own gun at him and pulled the trigger, shooting him in the leg before you even knew what you were doing. The loud bang made your ears ring and you dropped the gun, stunned when you watched Raul freeze on the spot. The bullet had pierced him and stopped him from going absolutely feral, yet it didn't seem to put an end to his wrath. Raul turned on his heel and tried to run toward you despite his injuries, seeing red now that you had shot him. Before he could take one too many steps, Marc stopped him.
All you could do was watch from the cold floor as Marc did his job. You had just shot someone. The gun was laying on the floor and you stared at it in disbelief, replaying the moment in your head like a broken record. All your pain was gone and you felt numb. When you looked at your hands, your own blood no longer felt like it belonged to you. Sure, you had shot a horrible man who was about to possibly hurt Jake but it still felt repulsive. A sickening feeling poured all over like thick goo you that you couldn’t shake off. It was useless trying to focus on the fight that was taking place right in front of your nose. The sounds of furniture breaking and bones cracking were completely shut out of your head.
Everything that had happened in just one night was too much for you to handle. There was only so much you could process at once. You had never hurt anyone before. Not like that. This was never supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.
When suddenly Marc was kneeling on the floor in front of you, you finally snapped out of it. The passage of time confused you as you didn't know if ten seconds had passed or ten minutes. Marc looked at you with nothing but concern all over his face, every trace of anger far gone. Had he been talking to you?
"Oh baby thank god you're alive," Marc wanted to hold you but he was terrified of hurting you. He viewed you like an ancient artefact that could turn to dust with one touch. Seeing the evidence of Raul's abuse against you was tearing his heart apart in his chest and he felt each and every tear on a molecular level. You looked so out of it as if your mind was far away although your eyes gazed right into his. The innocent gleam had been chased away from your soul. Marc noticed it immediately and that was crushing. His sweet angel was hurt and he could only blame himself for it.
"Is he...?" Dead was the word you were looking for but couldn't say out loud. Would you be responsible for a man's death? Had the bullet torn apart important veins and caused him to bleed out?
"No," Marc shook his head. Not yet. Raul wasn't far away from it though but Marc was more worried about you than the man who was surely taking his last breaths anyway. The moment he had a chance to see how you were doing, he had taken it. What Marc hadn't expected was how bad everything was. Had it been wishful thinking to imagine he would've made it in time before Raul had hurt you? How foolish had it been of him to imagine Raul fucking Bushman would wait to hurt someone? Marc knew better than anyone what that man was capable of.
"Can you walk?" Marc inquired, not sure if he really wanted to hear your answer though. He wanted to make sure you weren't there to see what he was about to do in a hopeless attempt to grasp onto the remaining purity of your heart and soul. Besides he knew seeing death changed a person in more ways than you'd think. The last thing he wanted was for you to have to witness that.
As you remained quiet, now staring at your trembling hands, Marc knew he wasn't going to get through to you. As gently as he could, he wrapped his strong arms around you and helped you to your feet. Marc saw the gun on the floor next to a phone that was still recording everything, only now facing the floor so it only recorded sound. It was your phone and it was gnarly to think Raul had recorded everything with the ambition in mind to send it all to Marc. Ever so carefully, Marc guided you out of the room that would surely be in many nightmares to come and into the dark hallway. No one else had joined the party as far as he and Khonshu were aware so Marc felt it was safe enough to leave you alone for just a few more seconds.
There was a leather armchair in the hallway and Marc made you sit down on it, which you didn't mind. Everything happened in a blur and it was difficult to focus on anything in that state. He began ripping his Moon Knight costume, the magic bindings reappearing seemingly out of nowhere as he used it to wrap the deepest wounds he could see on you. At that point, Marc had to fight hard against his own body to hold back his tears, trying to stay strong for just a little longer. It was really difficult though when he was wrapping your fingers together to stop the bleeding of a wound that resembled something he had inflicted upon someone else years ago. Marc thought he had seen enough shit for one lifetime but this? This was crushing him in every possible way.
Unbeknownst to you, Khonshu was looming over Marc's shoulder and keeping guard - not that the god would say that out loud. It wasn't that big of a deal for him to make sure his avatar didn't get ambushed, right?
"He is still breathing," Khonshu broke the heavy silence in the townhouse that allowed Marc's thoughts to spiral into a dark place. Khonshu wanted Raul to pay the ultimate price for his actions and waiting patiently for Marc to get a move on was boring. The sooner they got it over with, the better.
Marc nodded to himself and then tightened the material in hopes it would stop the bleeding. "I'll be right back, I promise," He assured you softly. Marc didn't need to say what he was about to do for you weren't stupid. All you could do was nod, feeling nothing at all as Marc stood up and retraced his steps back to the room in which Raul was bleeding out. Not even fear as you sat alone in the dark hallway as your own thoughts drowned out the world around you.
Raul had severely underestimated Marc Spector, not knowing to expect the full wrath of a man enhanced by the powers of an ancient god. Not only that, he had enraged Marc and the two alters who all fronted to show him their rage. In his final moment on the cold, dirty floor, he was staring down into the barrel of the gun and then the man holding it, unsure exactly who he was looking at. Perhaps in some way, all three of them were holding that gun, all three men wanting the same thing - to end this man's life. Raul would never know who truly pulled that trigger.
The very last thing he ever heard was the scolding words of a man who took vengeance very seriously, especially when it came to injustices against the woman he loved;
"You fucked up the moment you decided to go after her and I'm not letting you make that mistake ever again."
Getting home and the entire process of getting washed and your wounds patched up had passed you near completely as you zoned out. It wasn't until Steven was putting one of his t-shirts on you that you really seemed to grasp where you were. Sure, you remembered glimpses of Marc getting you out of that building. He had insisted on taking you to a hospital as he seemed to have lost all care for himself, not giving a damn if the staff would've called the police on him and found out why he was covered in blood. But you didn't want that to happen. You didn't want to see any more people. All you wanted was to go home and be sheltered away from the rest of the world.
Jake was the one who cleaned your wounds. Luckily, they weren't too bad, nothing that would hold you back forever. What had hurt you the most was the mental toll of what had happened. Healing within would take so much longer and Jake was going to stay by your side the entire time. After he had cleaned your wounds, stitched you up and given you a bath, he wasn't sure what to do. It was late, the clock nearing the morning by now but neither of you felt like going to bed.
Steven was fronting at that point and he was worried sick about you because you barely spoke. Not that he was surprised or that he wanted to push the words out of your mouth, he was simply concerned. No one could blame him. The love of his life, the human version of an actual ray of sunshine who was never supposed to get hurt, was scarred so deeply. If he could turn back time, he would've done it in a heartbeat.
"Darling," Steven slipped the shirt over your head gently, making sure to stretch the fabric in order to avoid touching the deep, purple bruises and stitched up wounds. You barely lifted your arms to make an effort to ease the job. You didn't mean to be difficult or distant, it just happened. Every time you tried to focus on the present, a wave of utter pain threatened to crash against you and you didn't want that to happen, so you pushed it away. Prolonging it was most likely only making it worse but you were so scared of embracing what had happened. When you blinked, you could see the man's dead body on the floor, a picture your brain cruelly created to taunt you. Marc hadn’t let you see Raul’s corpse, but your mind was creative enough to give you a front row seat one way or another.
Although Raul had hurt you and stated he wanted to kill Marc, knowing he was dead made you feel strange. That man had been a monster yet you felt shaken by his death somehow. How much part did you have in it? Would they find his body and throw you in a cell? Would his friends come after you? After Marc?
"Hey," Steven could feel his heart continuing to break as he watched that empty look on your face, "talk to me, love. Please. Just please don't bottle this up, I'm here for you." Steven knew that if you kept all of these thoughts to yourself, that eventually it would break you furthermore. It wasn't healthy and yet at the same time, he was aware of the fact talking about it was possibly just as difficult but in the end, it would mean so much.
"He wanted to kill you," You finally managed to say something more than just a word or two. Raul had kidnapped you because he wanted to kill the man you loved that badly. Trying to accept that was hard as you couldn't picture hating Marc so much. Marc was wonderful. One had to be a true monster to find him so despicable.
"But he didn't," Steven reminded you, taking a hold of your right hand and he gave you a gentle squeeze as he intertwined your fingers. You could only watch as Steven brought your knuckles to his lips and he placed a soft kiss on your skin. The tender touch went straight to your heart, pulling at the strings that made you tear up. God you loved him so much and it pained you deeply to shut off like this. If only you knew how, you'd let him back in instantly.
Steven noticed the glistening tears in your weary eyes. "Oh love," it was difficult to keep his own tears at bay once he saw you like that. When you leaned against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, it took the man by surprise. Steven hadn't anticipated that but he was happy to hold you too, knowing you were finally letting your emotions out. Determined as hell, Steven was going to be your rock. In his mind, it was the least he could do.
When you felt his hand between your shoulderblades, caressing you gently and lovingly, you felt yourself relaxing against him. Tears kept spilling from your eyes and you were coughing in-between sobs, but letting it out felt kind of good as well. The tangled web within your soul was unraveling with every tear and every caring touch patched a crack in your heart. You were safe and nothing could happen to you now. They made sure of it.
As you thought of what they had done for you, an enormous amount of gratitude surged from within. You held Steven even tighter, wanting to thank him but you couldn't get the words out of your mouth, lips quivering as you wept. They hadn't only come to rescue you but they made sure Raul would never hurt you or anyone for that matter again. Having only shot him, you felt horrible. No matter how well Jake washed your hands, you couldn't shake off the sticky feeling that coated your skin. It seemed impossible to imagine how taking a life must've been like yet they had done it. For you.
Steven's cologne filled your lungs as you pressed your tear-stained face against his chest, probably leaving marks on the fabric but neither of you really cared. The familiar, clean scent was oddly calming and eventually, the rough and painful sobs calmed down. Your fingers clung onto his back tightly because you longed to stay close to him. His tender embrace and familiar scent was grounding you and every once in a while, Steven would whisper reassuring things to you. Being loved by him made you feel so lucky.
"Thank you," You managed after a while, barely finding your voice after screaming and crying so much in just one day. Your throat felt as dry as the desert but it seemed to be the least of your worries.
"You don't need to thank me, love. Not at all," Steven was genuinely surprised to hear that. He was shocked that you weren't running away from them actually. Why you decided to stay when their presence attracted such horrible people was beyond him but there you were. But you were together, even if you were to leave Steven was terrified more mysterious boogeymen from the past would come after you. Just thinking about it gave him an even worse headache than he already had. All he knew was that he couldn't make you thank them because truth be told, Marc wasn't the only one who felt guilty.
"You saved me," You looked up to him with red and puffy eyes, feeling sick of crying at that point. If only making it stop was that easy.
"You shouldn't have needed saving in the first place," Steven acknowledged, the words feeling like a punch in the gut. He hated that it was true.
They were all blaming themselves and you hated it. Sure, you had blamed yourself for this too but at the end of the day, Raul Bushman had been the one to initiate everything for his own selfish desires. There was one person to blame for this and that person was dead.
Steven felt a tear rolling down his cheek which he didn't even bother to wipe away as he looked at you with such deep love and compassion on his face it was almost overwhelming. What he seemed to tell you with his eyes did more justice than what a thousand words ever could've.
"Steven, my love,," You took a deep shaky breath and then lifted your arm to wipe his stray tear away, noticing how Steven leaned ever so softly against your touch. Hours earlier he had feared he would never be able to do that again. "Don't blame yourself. None of you should."
Steven didn't say it, but he instantly thought of Marc who had completely shut himself off. Not even Jake could reach him. Marc was loathing in guilt and no one knew when he would front again as he had made it very clear he felt as if he was a curse upon you. A wretched old affliction that was destined to continue causing you harm no matter what he attempted to do to stop it.
Steven blinked as the tears just kept coming. He felt awful because he thought he was supposed to be the strong one to be there for you but as time passed, he too began to process everything that happened. Had they been late, you would've been long gone by now. Tonight had been too dangerous, the worst possible scenario had been too close to coming true.
As you felt Steven shaking underneath your touch, you swore you wanted to bring Raul back from the dead just to kill him again. Seeing the kind man that you loved so much being in so much pain over worry he felt for you was like walking on burning shards of glass. You were just both two people who had been terrified of losing one another and you both carried guilt that you absolutely shouldn't have.
You cupped Steven's face, pulling him toward you as he willingly let you do so just to press a kiss on the bridge of his nose. Then you guided him to the crook of your neck, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and allowing Steven to pull you closer by the waist. The two of you held onto each other as if you were scared of letting of. The only comfort in the world you could find was in each other's arms. Steven inhaled your scent, convinced he could find paradise in the soapy fragrance. It was safe because it was you. You were alright.
Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you leaned against Steven, not sure if you were about to yawn or sob as your lips parted. A yawn ripped from you and you somehow relaxed even more, unaware of how tense you had actually been. If Steven had let you, you would've fallen asleep just like that, in his arms where you felt separated you from everything else, the rotten outside world. The bubble he created for you was soothing, a place where one could stay forever and feel okay.
The last thing you remembered before passing out from pure exhaustion was Steven ever so carefully guiding you toward the pillows and tucking you in. Whether he kissed your forehead or you just dreamt it, you didn't know but it didn't really matter. After that, everything was filmy. Pitch black unconsciousness swallowed you whole and for a moment, the misery that had soaked into your every cell was far away.
Jake couldn't sleep. Steven had dosed off into broken sleep but it was Jake who woke up and stayed awake afterwards. It wasn't a difficult task for him to keep his eyes open as the sun began to rise outside. He had made sure the front door was locked and that no shady people were around the apartment complex. Jake had even gone out of his way to make sure their tracks were covered. All seemed well, at least on paper. No one could prove what they had done and no one was coming for you. All seemed well yet you were far from well as far as Jake was concerned.
He sat down on the bed eventually and tried to relax, making sure he didn't disturb your much needed rest. Jake knew the danger had been dealt with but part of him couldn't relax. Something cruel within told him people were out there, waiting for the first chance they'd get to harm you. So there he was, guarding you and at the very least giving you a chance to rest. As Jake's dark brown eyes focused on the steady rise and fall of your chest, he felt how deep, sharp claws sunk into his heart. Anger bubbled within him but to his surprise, that wasn't strong enough to push away the sorrow he harboured. Someone had hurt you and Jake couldn't comprehend it.
As you looked at your sleeping figure, studying the way your lashes touched your cheeks and how your lips parted a little bit when your cheek squished against the soft pillow, he struggled to comprehend how anyone was capable of harming you. Dark eyes roamed down your body, scarring every little bruise and cut on your exposed skin. Eventually, Jake looked at your fingers that clutched onto the blanket. He remembered when Marc had taken Raul's fingers as a wicked warning to keep his hands off of people. It had been a mistake to simply warn a man like that. They should've gotten rid of him then and there.
Raul hadn't just hurt you. All those years ago, while on a mission in Cairo they had come across surprise witnesses. People who weren't supposed to be there. People that the higher ups who paid them wanted to get rid of. Marc hadn't had it in him to kill a child but Raul almost did that. Almost, as Marc had stopped him just in time. That's why Marc had done what he did, hoping it would keep Raul from ever even thinking about hurting kids. Surely there had to be a line drawn somewhere, right? Not for Raul. Raul didn't care about who he had to get rid of in order to succeed with his ambitions. At least, he would never get another chance to do anything ever again.
When you yelped, breaking the silence that had lingered in the flat, Jake nearly jumped to his feet. He had been deep in thought that he hadn't heard you waking up so afraid. For a moment, you felt panicked and you had to pull your hands to your chest to make sure you weren't chained to a bedframe. Being able to move freely was so relieving but it didn't last long when you noticed the dull ache in your every bone and muscle.
Jake took a hold of your hand, wanting to comfort you in any way he could as you woke up to a new day. "You're safe, mi vida. I've got you."
Hearing Jake's voice made you feel so much lighter instantly. Although you had been able to sleep for a few hours, you somehow felt more tired now than you did before falling asleep. But it didn't matter. You enjoyed the fact that you were safe, just as Jake promised. Being home and completely shielded from any danger was a wonderful feeling and you focused on that instead of the sense of impending doom that was trying to shake you off balance. Nothing bad would happen now.
"Have you slept at all?" You mumbled tiredly as you sat up, trying to rub the weariness from your eyes. It felt like your body was on fire, not in a good way. Last night, the adrenaline had managed to dull most of the pain but now that you knew you were safe and had been able to relax, the discomfort seemed to have intensified.
"A little," Jake shrugged as he stood up. He could tell by the way you were moving that you were hurting so he decided to grab painkillers and a glass of water. As he returned from the kitchen with them, he gave you the pill and made sure you drank enough water. Jake knew how to be caring and attentive too, he just wasn't too verbal about it. Words didn't come easily to him, or when they did the timing wasn't the best either. Actions spoke louder than words anyway, he thought.
That day you didn't manage to get much done, not the next few days either for that matter. As the shock from the horrendous night still rattled you all, you could only stay inside. As the third day came around the corner, you were still mostly in bed or on the couch, unable to pull your head out of the dreadful place it found itself in. Jake and Steven had both fronted many times but it was mostly Steven who kept you company and tried to cheer you up. Marc hadn't shown up not even once after he had brought you back home. He hadn't come back as he promised. Not even when you were asleep.
Steven had gotten out of bed for the day, leaving you to slumber in hopes you were able to relax at least in your rest. You fell asleep again several times, only sleeping for a few minutes at a time when sudden fear woke you up again. It always seemed to come out of the blue and it passed just as quickly. The more it kept happening, the worse it felt. Around the time the sun was setting again and you still hadn't gotten out of bed, your anxiety was threatening to get the best of you.
Steven was in the kitchen, making something for you to eat since you hadn't eaten much at all yet. He wanted to take care of you and covering the basics such as making sure you ate was the least he felt he could do. As he stirred the pasta sauce, Steven had to really keep fight to keep his negative thoughts away. He hadn't slept well, obviously, and it seemed to take a toll on him now. He had almost lost you. No matter how many times he reminded himself that you were alright, he felt rotten to the core. What had he done if Raul had actually succeeded in his plan? Steven couldn't even imagine the scenario. That was too sinister.
The next time your anxiety awoke you, it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing at your throat. You sat up in bed and could physically feel your stomach turning upside down in distress. You bent over and dug your nails into your thighs, trying to drown your whimpers by biting your lips together. Only one thing repeated itself in your mind like a chant, you shot someone. You almost died and you shot someone. You did that.
As a sick feeling within you only grew worse, you forced yourself out of bed and to the bathroom. Unsure whether you'd get sick or not, you decided to sit down on the cold tile floor near the toilet just in case. That's when the tears got to you again and it was frustrating, making you entangle your fingers in your hair and scratch at your scalp. Why couldn't you stay calm? Why couldn't you accept that it was over? What happened had happened and now everything was fine. Why was it so damn hard to stay calm?
Marc. You missed Marc. He had shut off completely and it was devastating. Was he angry at you? Could it be? Raul had done this to anger Marc specifically. Did Marc blame you in some way? As wrong as it seemed, you weren't sure if anything could surprise you anymore. The longer he stayed hidden, the longer you were left to make your own conclusions.
"Love? Are you in here? I've made dinner," Steven's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Hearing him was like music to your ears. He was like a warm blanket that chased away the coldness that threatened to turn you to ice. Your heart swelled in your chest with love for him because you were sure you'd be a wreck without the sweet man.
"Yeah," After taking a few deep breaths, you felt somewhat better and got up from the floor. As long as you tried getting out of your head, you were sure you'd feel better. So you walked out of the bathroom and let Steven serve you a plate of pasta although you were certain you could've helped yourself too. Steven was going out of his way to be thoughtful and as nice as it was, it made you fear he was doing so out of guilt. How long would this last? How long would you all be broken because of one man?
The two of you sat on the couch as you ate, mindlessly watching the TV that filled in the silent gaps. Usually, you and Steven would be talking nonstop and probably pissing off the neighbours too. Now conversation was hard. Just existing felt like a chore but at least every day that passed made it a little bit less awful.
"Steven?" You were nervous about what you wanted to say so you avoided facing him, instead focusing on the pasta that swirled around your fork.
"Yes?"
By now, you could feel the familiar heavy thud of your heart. "Have you heard from Marc?"
Steven wasn't a fool. He knew you noticed Marc's absence as well as he and Jake did too, if not even better. Until now, neither of you had mentioned it though. Steven didn't want to upset you any more than people already had. For a split second, he thought of brushing it off with a somewhat cheerful statement, but discarded that quickly. You didn't deserve that. You were hurt, not stupid. Treating you like a child and walking on eggshells around you couldn't possibly do any more good than it would do harm.
With a sigh, Steven put his plate down on the coffeetable right next to a book he hadn't touched in days now.
"No, not really," Steven admitted and dared to glance your way. "I'm sorry."
“‘s not your fault.”
“Well I’m still sorry, love.”
"Is he mad?" You mimicked Steven by placing your plate on the coffeetable, too agitated to focus on eating the rest of your food. The queasy feeling from earlier was creeping right back to you at an alarming rate. To say you were discouraged was an understatement, going through a cycle of sickness and dread ten times an hour.
Steven couldn't believe you honestly thought so. "Mad?" He had to be sure he heard right. When he saw the fearful look on your face, he knew he had. "No, not at all. He's just... well, if he's mad at anyone it's at himself."
"He can't blame himself for what happened!" You hoped that somehow, someway, Marc could hear you. "Gosh he's so stubborn sometimes," You didn't mean it in a malicious way, not at all. You loved Marc and you wished you could just speak to him and convince him he wasn't blameworthy of anything.
"Yeah," Steven pulled his lips into a thin line, side-glancing at the reflection in Gus' tank. Marc was there but he certainly wasn't saying anything. The man seemed out of it, his usual demeanour completely shattered. Jake was trying to convince Marc to just talk to you. Steven wished you could hear and see what he was seeing sometimes.
In an attempt to ease your mind, Steven moved closer to you on the couch and invited you into a hug. The people on the television were overly cheerful and giddy considering the gloomy atmosphere in the flat as bright colours flashed from the screen, painting the otherwise dark room in pinks and yellows. You leaned against Steven's welcoming frame and tried to stay calm, knowing Marc was in there somewhere. He'd have to show up sooner or later, right? He couldn't hide from you forever.
For once, it was you who was awake and Steven was asleep. Or at least you had been cuddling with Steven just moments earlier. It was a dead giveaway he was finally sleeping when you heard a light snore every once in a while between the deep and calm breaths. For a moment, you focused on that alone, letting the simple sounds of his breaths and heartbeat chase away the rest of the world. To you, sleep didn't come easy that night and neither were you sleepy. Just tired in every other possible way.
"I wish you weren't so hard on yourself, Marc," The words left your mouth as hardly louder than a whisper, as you did not wish to wake him up. The longer Marc stayed hidden, either too ashamed to face you or too heartbroken to front, you felt so sorry for him. It was killing you to know Marc couldn't bring himself to talk to you.
Fingers carefully traced the blanket that weighed over his waist. You rested your palm against his chest, needing to feel the subtle movement that kept you grounded to this moment. Slowly you got closer so that you could pepper kisses along his shoulder, inhaling his scent and enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Even if you couldn't sleep, being close like this brought you some sort of relaxation and peace.
"I love you." Perhaps it was foolish, perhaps it was exactly what you needed, you closed your eyes and held onto him tighter, picturing a night from many weeks ago that reminded you of Marc. In your mind, it was that night and nothing horrible had happened yet. You were just close to each other, just two lovers enjoying the calm night after a lovely day together. There was no pain or guilt to be seen or felt.
The next morning, it was Marc that awoke to a new day. It was still early, way too early to actually get out of bed but he quickly knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. Your body was pressed against his and Marc felt his heart sinking to the very bottom of his stomach. He hadn't been able to speak to you or even really look at you since that night. Now there he was, with an arm wrapped around you and panic stirring within him. Although part of him longed to hold you and make sure you were alright, it almost physically pained him to be there. He saw the healing bruises on your skin, now tinted in a yellowish hue. They were scattered all over you, each small and bigger bruise making Marc enraged. How had he let this happen?
Gently, Marc pulled the blanket aside more, revealing your thighs and seeing the damage all the way down your legs. He saw the cut Jake had stitched in the bathroom that night. Marc traced his fingers over your skin so softly he wasn't even sure he was really touching you. Memories of that night came back to him, visions he had been stuck thinking of for a week straight with seemingly no break. He remembered how scared he felt when he first saw you chained to that bed. Marc had been terrified when he learned it was Raul who held you captive. That night was easily the worst of his life that was full of horrible days and nights. That night he almost lost you, the light of his dark and gloomy life.
"Marc?" You hadn't been in deep sleep so when you sensed shifting next to you, it was easy to tell you weren't the only one awake. It had been wishful thinking to picture it was Marc but sometimes wishful thinking turned out to be correct.
You saw it in his eyes. There was a familiar look in those brown irises, a light that only shone for him. Then you saw it in the way he carried himself. There were small things that gave the truth away. It really was Marc. Instantly, you felt wide awake as you faced your lover, nearly afraid to blink in case he would disappear again. "Marc..."
"I didn't mean to wake you," Marc failed to meet your gaze, holding himself together by a thread that was just about to snap. He thought about how he had carried you, how your blood had stained his clothes and how he was convinced you would see him as the monster he thought he was after everything that happened. You were all he had and despite being right next to you, Marc felt as if he had lost you already. After everything that happened, he knew nothing would ever be the same and he blamed himself for it all.
As he moved away from you, throwing his legs off the edge of the bed so he was sitting with his back facing you, it was clear he wanted to be anywhere but there. The bed felt colder and despite being so close to Marc, it felt like there were worlds between you.
Quietly, you got out of bed, the white t-shirt being the only fabric that covered you from the night. Carefully, you sat down on the edge of the bed next to Marc, relief washing over you when he didn’t get up and leave. Instead, Marc sighed deeply and turned to face you, now with tears in his eyes. Tears. As if you all hadn’t gotten sick and tired of those by now. The fact you hadn’t drowned in them yet was a miracle.
“Marc,” You searched for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his for the first time in what felt like a small eternity. “I missed you.”
The words affected him more than you’d ever know. Marc could still not believe you weren’t angry at him. Knowing you wanted to be by his side after everything was simply mind boggling.
“I missed you too, baby,” Marc admitted, finally beginning to speak about what had happened. Perhaps it was the closeness that made him feel like it was time or the fact that keeping everything bottled up was slowly killing him, either way Marc was encouraged to go on. “Fuck, I...I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe you’re still here. I thought I’d lose you.”
“Marc-”
“What happened was never supposed to happen. I should’ve made sure of that long ago!”
“Marc!” You couldn’t let him sit there and keep blaming himself. Eventually the load he was carrying would break him and that would break you too.
He looked at you wide eyed, resembling a lost puppy. Seeing Marc like this was so unusual, he looked at you for guidance and forgiveness although forgiveness was something he never needed to ask for. It wasn’t needed in the first place but even if it were, you knew in your heart you’d forgive him a million times.
“What happened was not your fault,” Each word you said was clear and loud so that he couldn’t possibly mishear you. “The only person to blame for it is now dead and gone. Raul chose to do this. Not you, not me. He is the only one who should feel guilty.”
“You could’ve died,” Marc still didn’t budge, holding your hand a little tighter as he stated that. There was a deep desire within him that made him long to feel you even closer just as a reminder that you were alive.
“But I didn’t. I’m here thanks to you,” There were two sides two every situation. Marc could only see what almost happened and you were there to remind him of what actually happened, something he didn’t seem to consider at all.
“I could walk into traffic and get run over by a car tomorrow. I could get targeted by a random robber in a sketchy alleyway. Bad things happen and we can’t predict that. No one knows how much time we have but I know that no matter what, Raul’s actions weren’t your fault,” You didn’t mean to sound cruel but your words carried truth in them. No one could blame themselves for the unseen actions of the future. No one.
Like magic, something finally seemed to click in Marc’s mind. His shoulders relaxed and you could feel the tension melting from his muscles. When he let go of your hand just so he could envelope you in a hug, you wanted to thank whatever deity or god that must’ve given you this miracle.
Soon you found yourself on Marc’s lap, breathing in the subtle hints of his cologne as you rested your face against his shoulder. Marc held you tightly, but he was aware of your injuries so the man was mindful, not aiming to hurt you. His rough hand - now ever so gentle - was caressing the back of your head as his arm wrapped around you, keeping you close. Then at last, Marc let his tears rain down his face. The lid of the bottle was opened and you had knocked it over, letting it all spill out.
“I love you so much,” You whispered to him, repeating the confession a few times between soft kisses against his warm skin. You comforted Marc to the best of your abilities, playing with the dark curls at the nape of his neck and ever so often wiping away the tears that were running down his throat.
“I love you too,” Marc had to return those words, his heart set aflame from love and passion that he felt for you. It was a fire no one could ever put out.
Marc held onto you for dear life, wanting to feel your heartbeat against his, to feel your chest expanding with air. Your scent calmed him as he let his sorrow out. Although only a few days had passed since you two last spoke, to him it felt like months. Looking back at how scared he had felt made him feel sick. It worsened when he couldn’t shake away the image of you in that fucking room. That was something no amount of words could ever clean from his memory.
But there you were. Not in a creepy room at the mercy of one of the most dangerous people Marc knew of. No. You were in his arms, in your bed and no one else could possibly bother you right now.
To Marc, this was all that mattered.
You were safe.
A/N: Okay so I definitely didn’t intend for this to be this long but here we are. I hope you liked it! :)
#Moon Knight fanfiction#marc spector x you#marc spector x y/n#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#steven grant x you#jake lockley x you#Jake Lockley x Reader#moon knight#jake lockley#marc spector#steven grant#angst#hurt/comfort#raul bushman
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He Won’t Have You | Marc Spector x Male Reader | 18+
Fandom: MCU
Genre: Hurt Comfort, Smut
Paring: Sub-Top!Marc Spector x Power Bottom!Male Reader
Warnings: Anal sex (Reader receiving), Blowjob (Reader receiving), Light teasing, Rimming (Reader receiving), Strong language, Unprotected sex
Word Count: 1,002
~ Requests are open
~ Taglist is open
!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!
The crest of the night began to show with the moon above casting its pale light into the bedroom where you lay reading. Marc left as the evening had just begun to settle and you knew he wouldn’t be home until late into the night, so you kept yourself occupied with the time you had.
You were fairly engrossed with your book, the bedside lamp emitting its warm glow when the window opened letting in a cool draft. It was Marc, still clad in his Moon Knight suit, eyes glowing their signature shade of silver. “Someone’s home late.” Your tone was flat but still held an air of playfulness and sarcasm as you closed your book. “I know. Sorry honey.” Marc sighed as the bandaging around his body receded, planting a kiss on your forehead before walking into the bathroom to discard his clothes.
After exiting the bathroom in only his briefs, Marc sat on his side of the bed with a deep exhale. You could tell something was eating away at him, so you decided to walk to him. “Hey, what’s going on?” You carded your fingers through his curls as you stood in front of him. Marc could only lean into your chest as his arms made their way around your waist, prompting you to wrap your arms around him and place a kiss on the crown of his head.
After a few minutes of comforting silence, Marc lifted his head and you sat beside him, still keeping an arm around his shoulders. “It’s just,” Marc sighed and shook his head as his mind started racing. “When Konshu’s done with me, I... I don’t want him goin’ after you.” Marc looked into your eyes after he spoke with a look crossed between protective and desperation. “Oh, baby,” You placed a hand on his cheek, causing him to lean into it. “Hey, no matter what happens, I’ll always be right here beside you, and we’ll get through it together.” You reassured him before tenderly kissing his lips.
The passion began to slowly rise as Marc snaked his arms around your hips, slowly guiding you to the mattress while kissing you. While you were under him, his tongue made its way into your mouth to dance with yours. You were both left panting for air as Marc broke the kiss. “He won’t have you. I won’t let him.” Marc’s words were breathy as he spoke, making a vow to both you and himself. “Oh yeah?” A light smirk pulled at your lips as you hooked a finger around the dog tags that hung from his neck. Marc hummed a response that indirectly came through as a whimper before you pulled him into another heated kiss.
Marc’s lips eventually left yours and kissed their way down to your jawline, then your neck, to your chest and stomach before stopping above the waistband of your underwear. He looked into your eyes, silently asking for permission. “Go ahead.” With that, Marc’s fingers found themselves underneath your underwear, pulling them down to reveal your semi-hard cock. He placed more kisses on your inner thighs before licking the shaft of your dick to take it in his mouth. “Fuuuuck” You moaned out in ecstasy as Marc took all of you into the warmth of his mouth. Your hands placed themselves in Marc’s hair yet again as his head went up and down forcing you to lean your head back in pleasure.
Feeling yourself getting close to your limit, you lightly pulled Marc off of your cock by his hair, leaving him breathing heavily. “Good boy.” You breathily praised Marc as he made his way further down to your hole, lifting your legs over his broad shoulders in the process. He kissed the tight muscle before fully licking it, releasing moans as hums against your skin. “Oh fuck, just like that. Get me ready for you.” More moans fell from your mouth as Marc continued eating out your hole, slipping his tongue inside and licking your inner walls.
As soon as you both felt your hole was ready, Marc lifted himself to his knees, pulled your legs around his waist, aligned his hard dick with your hole, and pulled a deep moan from both of you as he slowly pushed inside you. “Oh my god baby.” Marc groaned into your ear as he bottomed out against your ass, leaning above you to rest from the overwhelming pleasure. “Does that feel good?” Your question elicited another whimper from Marc, so deep in euphoria that he couldn’t respond in another way.
After a few moments of regaining himself, Marc began to thrust inside you filling the room with the sounds of moans and his skin against yours. Your moans grew louder as his cock began hitting your sweet spot. “Fuck Marc, right there. Don’t stop.” You had to separate each phrase because of the intense waves of pleasure surging through your body.
Marc was close to his breaking point shown by his moans sounding increasingly closer to pleas for release. “Fuck, please honey I’m so close.” “Yeah? Me too, keep going, baby.” The need for relief became too much to bear as Marc continued and with a final thrust, you both shot your loads of warm, sticky cum, his inside your hole and yours on your torso. Marc almost collapsed, stopping himself with his arms just above you.
Both of you were a panting mess as you came down from your high, letting out a light chuckle as you gently placed a hand on his cheek. Marc placed a loving kiss on the base of your palm before resting his forehead against yours with a calm smile on his face. “I’m gonna go take another shower. And you’re coming with me.” A playful smirk adorned your face as Marc placed another loving kiss on your lips.
After getting up, Marc followed you to the bathroom knowing that you’ll never leave him and he won’t let Konshu come anywhere near you.
- End -
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Taglist: @houndsoforion, @jinniemyl0ve, @odetodilfs, @zoloft3
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A/N: I’ve added three new writers to my fanfic recs, so feel free to check them out.
#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#hurt/comfort#x reader#x male reader#marvel#mcu#marvel x reader#marvel x male reader#mcu x reader#mcu x male reader#marc spector#moon knight#marc spector x reader#marc spector x male reader#moon knight x reader#moon knight x male reader#oscar isaac
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Read Me to Sleep
Summary: Marc has issues falling asleep, so he listens to you read whatever book you're reading because it lulls him to sleep. But some nights, it's for something more than just sleeping problems.
Warnings: Hurt-comfort. Marc being vulnerable. We let our man be soft and fragile in this house. He deserves to be held like a little sad kicked puppy.
I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.
Word Count: 361 (it's small, but its something)
It was a habit that formed. It wasn't nightly it was an occasional thing for when Marc couldn't sleep because his sleep pattern was irregular.
You had a habit of reading, similar to Steven, and would often read in bed. So one night Marc put some things together in his head. Your voice helped him relax, you had something that would keep your voice a constant sound for him to hear, and he couldn't get himself to fall asleep. And that's how reading him to sleep became a thing.
It was actually very nice, for both of you. You got this sense of peace yourself from doing this. With Marc cuddling up next to you and being in range for you to use one of your hands to run your fingers through his hair and hear his breathing start to become slow and even. For all you knew Marc possibly never truly listened to the story and just listened to the sound of you speaking, but that was fine.
There are some nights though, when you know that it's not for sleep, but rather something deeper.
You usually sense something in the atmosphere of the room before you even get your first real sign. Like a sudden change in a nonexistent drift. That's when Marc turns to his side to face you and asks the question he always does, "Can you read me something?", but it feels different. There's now a weight in his voice that lets you know that it's one of those nights. His face says it too when you glance at him. It's one of the only times you see doe eyes on him, and they're oh so sad.
"Yeah, sure." you respond as you clear your throat so that you can have the right voice for it. You open up your arm that's towards him so that he can come closer and place his head on your chest, like you know he always does when it's like this.
Do you ever ask? No. No, you don't. Because he doesn't need you to talk to him about it. He needs your reading to soothe him. And that's okay.
#moon knight#moonknight#moon knight x reader#moonknight x reader#marc spector#marc spector x reader#hurt comfort
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just one word
gif is not mine, credit to the owner
steven grant x reader, marc spector x reader (hints of jake lockley)
word count: 3.8k
warning: disociative identity disorder (did), stalker theme in the lead role, hurt/comfort with a little bit of fluff
summary: You may not be aware of their existence having only met Steven, but no Marc Spector alter will let anything happen to you.
a/n: it’s not my favourite piece of writing, but it needs to be said - steven grant is my best boy, i love him so much!! he's my comfort character and even though it sounds ridiculous he really means a lot to me. i need real steven grant in my life:(( text in italics is a flashback!
my mailbox is open to your requests all the time. also, every like and reblog is very much appreciated!!<3
pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for
tag list: @wolfmoonmusic
You were sitting in a greenish armchair, standing against the wall of a room cluttered with books, starring at your bruised hands, while uncontrollable tears ran down your cheeks. The adrenaline that had driven your body to action just a moment ago was slowly making place for pure fear, and every creak of the wooden floorboards made you flinch as you glanced panickedly towards the source of the sound.
“Darlin’?” you heard your boyfriend's voice. You slowly raised your gaze to the man with the curly hair, who was now crouching in front of you, placing his hand on those of yours, “Can you tell me what happened?”
His voice was calm and his movements gentle. His face, on the other hand, portrayed both confusion and worry as his chocolate eyes wandered over your face. Seeing you take your hands from him in response to his question and lower your stare again, he looked around the room as if looking for someone to help him.
“Love, you need to tell me what happened so that I can help you” he stood up from his crouching position, helplessly placing his hands on his hips.
Meeting another lack of response from you, he sighed deeply, running his hand over his tired face. It was late and Steven had had two sleepless nights that you didn't know about. The only thing he was dreaming of at the moment was getting back into the bed you had dragged him out of with your unannounced visit and getting at least a few hours of sleep. The situation in which he sleepily stood in front of a crying you in his grey pyjamas wasn't the most comfortable situation of his life, but after all, he couldn't leave you in such a condition.
He glanced up at the ceiling and tried again.
He squatted in front of you this time without touching your hands, instead placing his own on your knees, “Would you like a warm drink? I have your favourite tea” he asked, gently stroking the fabric of your jeans with his thumbs. You nodded nervously, to which Steven asked another question, “And later, will you tell me why are you crying?”
“You- You've already met him” you said quietly, without looking at the man in front of you. The tears had stopped dripping from your eyes a while ago, but you slurped your nose every now and then, and slight hiccups made themselves known at even intervals.
“What do you mean, love?” you couldn't see his face, but you were sure he was wrinkling his thick eyebrows in confusion.
You were a student in your final year of literary studies and every day on the college campus you met hundreds, if not thousands, of different faces. The only people you recognised were professors and students who stood out in some way in your class groups over the years. For some time, however, you had the feeling that every day on your way between classes you met the same man with a rather distinctive beauty.
Between classes, because he was not a member of any of the groups you attended lectures with, and yet it seemed as if he knew your schedule perfectly.
The boy you've been seeing lately on a daily basis seemed like he could be your age. His head was crowned with a tumble of ginger curls and his face was adorned with wire-rimmed glasses. With his style of clothing, he was reminiscent of a classicist writer, and his hands were often full of books, so you assumed that he was either also studying your major or something similar.
He usually kept some distance from you, not accosting you or drawing much attention to himself, but the moment you exchanged a few words in the university library, you noticed that the redhead felt much more confident in your company. It was enough to let him sit at your table while you studied, and he started not only greeting you every day, but also initiating short conversations and even inviting you for coffee, walks in antique shops, or to his place.
Despite his friendly appearance and calm manner, something about him didn't sit well with you and you didn't feel comfortable in his company, so you declined the redhead's invitations as nicely as you could, but he didn't give up.
More and more often you saw him in other places besides on campus.
You'd see him at the café where you bought a vanilla latte every day before your morning classes. You would see him during the afternoon walks in the park across your flat, that you loved to take when the sun was shining outside your window. You even seemed to see his red curls flashing between the shelves during your weekly grocery shopping.
All this made you feel like you were slowly going crazy, but after all, he wasn't a threat, so you didn't want to tell anyone about him.
You didn't want to, but the moment you met him at Steven's workplace made you change your mind.
That day Steven was working until 5pm, so you agreed to drop by the museum on your way back from the afternoon lectures and then go out to eat together. Because of your timetable, combined with the writing of your final thesis, and his schedule at work, it was difficult for you to meet every day. Unfortunately, the 24-hour day was too short and your daily chores often took up a good part of it, so even quick meals eaten together were satisfying.
After entering the museum, you greeted the security guard, who you already got to know better, and with a bright smile headed to the gift store where Steven was an employee. You knew that his boss didn't like it when you visited him because she claimed that even if there were no customers in the store you were the one big distraction, so you made sure by peeking at your watch that there wasn't much time left until Steven finished his shift.
Taking the first step beyond the threshold of the store, you wanted to wave hello right away, pretending to be a hesitant potential customer looking to buy some silly souvenir offered by the museum, but when you saw who your boyfriend was talking to, you immediately stopped, and the whole smile disappeared from your face.
Hearing some small noise that you had caused with your arrival, Steven peeked out from behind the red head belonging to a boy whose existence you would like to forget and, seeing you, smiled. Before the man, who was unfamiliar to Steven, had time to turn his head in your direction, you shook off the shock and moved slowly toward them.
“Y/N, meet Frank. He will be our new employee” your boyfriend announced with a happy smile. You, on the other hand, looked at the presented boy with subtle confusion. Frank? You'd give your hand to cut off that he introduced himself to you by another name at the university.
“I think we already know each other” you moved your gaze to the cuddly toys portraying Taweret, standing near the cash register, when the redhead didn't take his eyes off you.
“Did we?” he asked, which caused you to look at him again, gently wrinkling your eyebrows. “I'm sure I'd remember a girl like that if I'd met her before” he gave you a charming smile and you blinked blankly several times without saying anything.
He behaved very differently on campus. He wasn't so bold, and you certainly wouldn't think he could flirt with you in the presence of your boyfriend. Or maybe ‘Frank’ didn't know that the man he was talking to just a moment ago was in a relationship with you? Maybe it was just some not-so-funny coincidence? Could this man's actions be called coincidental when he has been showing up everywhere you go for over a month now?
“Darlin’?” Steven's voice reaching you snapped you out of your thoughts. You shook your head in embarrassment, shifting your gaze to the man on the other side of the counter, realising that you had been staring blankly at the redhead for a longer moment.
“Yes? Sorry I- sorry” you said quickly, not knowing how to act.
“I asked if you would stay a minute with Frank while I tell Donna I'm leaving. Are you all right though? You turned pale…”
“Yes, of course, go” you answered immediately, ignoring the man's last question, then sent him a forced smile. “Make it quick, I'm hungry already” to emphasise your words, you glanced checkly at your watch and then followed as Steven ran to find his boss.
“What are you doing here?” you asked when your boyfriend disappeared from your sight, shifting your gaze to the redheaded boy. At the same time, you took a few steps away from him, standing in a way that people who were outside the shop could see you. You didn't know what might pop into this madman's head, so you preferred to take every precaution. The boy seeing this burst into silent laughter, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Aren't you happy to see me?” he asked, tilting his head gently to the right, with an ironic smirk on his face.
The boy who stood in front of you was definitely not the boy you had the occasion to share a table with in the university library, and now you have confirmed this even more.If he took this version of behaviour at the time of meeting Steven, how would he behave if you agreed to accept one of his invitations to meet him? A shiver went down your spine at the very thought of what could happen then.
You looked quickly over your shoulder, checking to see if your boyfriend was already on his way back to you, but when you didn't see him anywhere on the horizon, you returned your gaze to Frank.
“I just wanted to see what it was about the guy who often hung around by your side” he answered the previously asked question while taking a step towards you. “One should not judge a book by its cover, but really? A shop worker in a museum gift shop, who spreads the energy of a man in his 70s and a seven-year-old at the same time? You can do better, Y/N”
You furrow your eyebrows in frustration, hearing what he says about Steven, “And who would be better in your opinion? You, Frank? If my memory serves me right, back in the library your name was Nathaniel, so perhaps you'd like to explain your point about pretending we've never met?”
“I know the entire schedule of your week, and you're asking why, in Steven's presence, I pretended we'd never seen each other?” as the boy standing in front of you finished his question, you noticed his sight move to something behind your back. “Take care, we'll be seeing each other even more often now” he smiled in a fake way, then passed you and left the shop.
You turned around after him and, seeing his ginger head talking to Steven a few steps away, you walked up to the counter, where you leaned your hands against it and sighed shakily, closing your eyes, hanging your head down.
When, after a short while, you felt someone's hand on your back, you jumped slightly, immediately turning to face the stranger. This stranger turned out to be Steven, who was completely not expecting such a reaction from you, because he was now standing with his hands gently raised in the air.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked confusedly, and you could hear a hint of sadness in his voice.
“No, of course not” you assured immediately, then bit your lower lip thinking what you should do next. “I think I need to tell you something… about- about your new co-worker” you said lowering your gaze to the floor.
“What is it, love?” Steven asked, bringing an even softer tone of his voice than usual and taking your hands in his. You looked at him again as he gently squeezed your hands, wanting to give you encouragement.
“Let's go to your place. Anywhere where we won't be listened to…” you looked around tentatively, making sure you were alone in the shop. Seeing your reaction, Steven also got a look around and then moved his hands to the sides of your shoulders to softly rub them.
“Of course, yes” saying that, he walked behind the counter, from where he took his jacket and put it on himself. “Donna will come to start the next shift soon” at the man's words, you nodded, looking nervously around the room again, then put your arms around yourself and sighed quietly.
When Steven's boss came to change him behind the till, you didn't even pay attention to her snideness directed towards you. At that moment, all you wanted was to sit down in a place where you felt safe and let out everything you had been hiding from everyone for the past months.
You didn't know the intentions of the red-haired boy who had recently become your second shadow, but knowing how he already wanted you, you were afraid he might hurt Steven.
After entering his flat and locking the door with all the locks, you quickly took a seat on the old couch and chaotically started to tell him about Frank, who is actually Nathaniel, but actually you are not even sure about that. You told him how you had noticed him at university, you described him your meeting in the library, as well as his nudging invitations and seeing him afterwards everywhere you went. You also didn't forget to repeat to him the words the redhead said when Steven left the gift shop.
Even if the sentences you spoke didn't always make grammatical sense, the man listened carefully while sitting next to you. When your runny eyes paused for a longer time on his face, he would nod, showing you that you had his one hundred per cent attention all the time.
That was one of the traits of Steven that you loved so much about him. No matter what was going on, he was always there for you. He listened to what you had to say. He helped as much as he could. You felt a huge amount of support in him and you knew you could always count on him. And in the same way, he could count on you, even if he didn't often take advantage of this opportunity.
“Darlin’?” you heard Steven's voice pulling you out of your head, where a moment ago the memory of his first meeting with Nathaniel was looming.
You blinked several times, shifting your gaze to the man's chocolate eyes, recalling what he was asking before you let your thoughts wander, “Could you- could you please repeat?”
“What do you mean by saying I’ve met him before?”
You were ashamed that you hadn't noticed Steven's exhaustion before, instead just barging into his flat practically in the middle of the night, but a moment ago your only focus was on being somewhere safe, next to your person.
“Nathaniel. It was Nathaniel, Steven. I-” you stopped suddenly, feeling tears starting to come to your eyes again.
“It’s okay, everything's fine, love. You're safe here” saying this, he grabbed your hands, which this time you also willingly squeezed. “What did he do?”
You could have sworn that asking the question there was some kind of change in his eyes and his British accent suddenly disappeared, but you quickly blamed it on an overstimulated and tired mind. The man crouching in front of you was watching your face carefully, with his eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his face, just a moment ago longing for sleep, was now more tensed.
“I spent half a day with Evelyn working on that project I told you about recently. We were in a cafe near Bloomsbury and then- then each of us went its own way. I was going to go straight home, but-”
“All right, let's skip it. What did Nathaniel do, Y/N?” you were not given the chance to finish because Steven interrupted you in the middle of the story, in a harsher voice than always. He had never interrupted you in this way, so you were a little taken aback, but seeing the hurried movement of the man's hand, you took a deeper breath and started talking again.
“I met him passing through the park, across from my flat. He- I don’t know, he was behaving strangely. He looked like he was drugged by some sort of substance, and when I tried to-” you paused to calm your nerves a little as your voice began to shake. Steven let go of your hands and stood up, now looking down at you with his jaw clenched with anger. “When I wanted to ignore him and rush home, he grabbed my wrist and started pulling me, saying some- I don't know, I was so scared, Steven.”
The truth was that you knew perfectly well what the man you met was saying to you, but you were unable to repeat it out loud.
“You should go to bed, Y/N. Stay here tonight.”
You watched Steven walk over to the wardrobe, from which he took out the clothes you always slept in when you were in his place, and then handed them to you.
“I have to get something done, I'll be back soon.”
You furrowed your eyebrows as the man returned to the wardrobe as if nothing had happened and quickly began to throw off his pyjamas, changing into a plain black t-shirt and jeans.
“Steven?” you asked, getting up from the greenish armchair and putting the clothes you had been given aside. The mentioned Steven, however, didn't answer you, which wasn't his style, so you confusedly looked around the room, not knowing what was going on. After changing his clothes, the man walked to the door, where he began to put on his shoes. Every now and then he kept glancing in the mirror at the same time, looking as if he was thinking deeply about something.
“Where are you going, Steven?” you asked, taking a few steps toward him. The man only made eye contact with you through your reflection in the mirror, without even giving you a quick look over his shoulder.
“He is not here” you heard, and after a while the brown-eyed man left the apartment.
You stood confused in the middle of the dusty living room, staring at the door that was closed a moment ago.
What?
You felt like you had gone completely insane already. First you had to run away from a crazy man who should be isolated from other people, and now your Steven is telling you that Steven is not here? Maybe it's just a dream? An extremely crazy dream, but still a dream? You began to carry on an internal monologue, while walking nervously back and forth.
Finally, you stopped in front of one of the bookcases and quickly pulled your phone out of your pocket. Its screen was broken, which was the result of the fact that it had fallen out of your pocket during your escape from the red-haired aggressor, but it was usable, and that was the most important thing. You went into the call history and quickly found Steven's number, then put the phone to your ear, listening for some signal. Unfortunately, almost straight away you heard a mechanical voice saying that the person you were trying to call either had their phone turned off or was out of reach.
You were awake when Steven turned up at the door to his apartment again. You hadn't even changed into the clothes you had been given before he left. This whole time in his absence you sat like on pins, unable to calm your thoughts. You tried a few more times to contact him, knowing that it wouldn't help anyway since his phone was off, but you didn't know what to do with yourself.
When he came inside, you were sitting on the edge of his bed, nervously stomping your foot and scratching the cuticle near one of your left hand nails.
You didn't know how much time had passed, but as soon as you noticed a disheveled Steven with a cut lip, you immediately jumped to your feet.
“Oh God, Steven… What happened to you?” you asked, rushing over to him as he backed up against the wall, kicking off shoes from his feet.
The man didn't answer your question, making it seem as if he didn't even hear it. You stood worriedly in front of him as he was about to walk deeper into the apartment, looking closely at his face, while taking it in your hands. You softly touched the cut on his lower lip, at which he frowned slightly.
“Sorry” you whispered quickly, as if the normal tone of your voice could hurt Steven even more.
The man standing in front of you looked as if he had aged ten years, during which life had shown him no mercy. He looked like a puppy, left for dead, so now it was you who felt obliged to take care of him, just as he did when you knocked weepingly on his door.
“We'll talk tomorrow, okay? Now let's quickly clean this wound and go to sleep, yeah?” you wanted to look into Steven's chocolate eyes, trying to find the answer in them. He instead took you into his arms, hugging you tightly and petting your hair.
“I'm sorry I didn't do anything about it earlier…” you heard his hushed voice, immediately noticing his British accent. “You will already be safe, I promise you that.”
After a while, during which you allowed Steven to hold you in his embrace, you both went to the bathroom, in order to wipe his cut lip. You didn't talk, but you didn't need to do so at all. You knew that you would have a frank conversation in the morning once you both got some sleep. Now you let things happen.
You wanted to ask Steven about everything right away. Not only about what happened to Nathaniel, but especially about his sudden change in behavior. You felt as if you were in the presence of a completely different person at that moment, but you refrained from bombarding him with a thousand questions, and after a few minutes you were both lying in his bed, giving yourself over to the embrace of sleep.
#moon knight#steven grant#steven grant x reader#steven grant x you#steven grant x y/n#marc spector#marc spector x reader#marc spector x y/n#marc spector x you#oscar isaac#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac x y/n#you#x reader#x you#fluff#angst#hurt/comfort#marvel
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Moon Knight Drabble - Marc X Steven
My First Fic for the Moon Knight fandom! Please be gentle, open to constructive criticism!
Sunlight streams across honey wood floors as dust motes sparkle and dance in the air, Marc waves a tiny hand through them and grins at how they undulate. The purple Hot Wheel he’s holding careens over imaginary curbs -dust motes the engine’s exhaust.
Marc raises his head from the pillow on his bed, his eyes trained on the door. He pauses to listen for a moment, the room is quiet save for the light bird song trickling in from the open window next to him. He breathes out through his nose slowly in relief and brings his gaze back to the toy above his head.
A sharp turn of the car rips the sound of squealing tires from his chest, a wheel flies off with the impact of the tiny car’s enormous crash, which was odd considering the wheel went missing years ago at the bottom of his toy trunk.
Another explosion sound, imaginary fireballs sting his eyes and warm his face as the sun shifts across the sky and illuminates his bedroom.
Marc startles violently as a sudden boom from the first floor rattles his door frame. He drops the car in surprise - it careens under the bed and disappears into the safety of darkness.
Marc holds his breath.
For a moment nothing happens, it's as though time stands still in his childhood bedroom; perhaps he had even imagined it--
Another crash - this time from the same floor, just two doors down, accompanied by heavy footfalls.
“WHERE-”
Marc’s small hands shake, his heart flutters rapidly but he can’t seem to move. The window is right there - he could try this time. Marc chances a quick glance outside but the sun has disappeared - the world is doused in a sudden inky darkness.
“WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM YOU MONSTER?” Wendy’s shrill voice slurs, it echoes down the hall and under his door.
“M-mom, I-I-” Marc’s words, whispered in between heavy gasping breaths, stop and start.
His bedroom door abruptly shudders and groans as a weight slams against it, the door knob turns and turns and turns.
“...please stop, stop it-” Marc asks in a small voice as tears gather and blur his vision, as hard as he tries he cannot seem to lift his hands to wipe them.
“MARC!”
He closes his eyes, it’s the only part of him he can still move, his limbs are numb, cold, crumbling into the Dunes of the Duat.
The bedroom door creaks open, sand shifting around it as it swings and swings and swings -
“MARC! Marc? Love, please…”
He opens his eyes, an empty apartment bathed in moonlight greets him, he nearly cries at the sight.
“Marc…breathe for me love, you were dreaming,” Steven’s soft voice carries his attention over to the mirror beside their bed - his alter’s worried face stares back at him.
Marc swings his legs over the edge of the bed and sits up, a new tension creeps up his spine as he tries to stop the shaking in his limbs. The rapid staccato of his own heartbeat roars in his ears, Marc breathes sharply as his eyes sting again.
In the periphery of his vision, Steven shifts in the mirror, “Mark love, please say something?”
Marc swallows roughly, words catching in his throat. He slips off the bed and in one fluid motion sinks to his knees and onto the floor. Steven watches him silently. Marc can feel the worried gaze burn into his naked shoulders as he leans down and lifts a handful of blankets and sheets to gaze beneath the bed.
Nothing.
No purple car, paint chipped and worn, covered in dust from the years spent hiding in the shadows.
Marc breathes out wetly, his vision blurring.
“Oh honey,” Steven says, his voice soft and sad, “it’s okay-”
Marc stands and turns back towards the mirror, slightly wobbly from the sudden shift, and scrubs his face - it does little for the tears gathered around his eyes, “It’s fine,” he murmurs.
Steven nods slowly, his own eyes flicking down to the space beneath their bed and back to Marc’s face, “What can I do?”
Marc breathes out slowly through his nose, his jaw moves forward slightly as his teeth click and grind down on the words that threaten to come tumbling out. Marc thinks back to their time in the Duat, just before they met Taweret, before Steven found out. He thinks back to the brief shining moment where they connected, when he could still feel the other man’s soft skin and tousled curls on his cheek, the warmth.
Marc lifts his head to meet Steven’s eyes, “I-it’s fine, Steven, don’t worry about it.” He sits himself back on the bed, and refuses to meet the hard gaze leveled at him from the mirror. After a long beat, Steven tuts softly and suddenly Marc feels his body shift on the bed, laying down on his side.
Marc sucks in a sharp breath as his arms smoothly come around himself, enveloping his torso in warmth. His eyes flick towards Steven in question.
Steven smiles warmly, laying down to face him, “Is this what you want?”
It shouldn't be so warm, so comforting; a hand cards through his sweat-dampened hair and circles back to cup his cheek. Marc shudders at the contact.
“It’s okay love, I got you.” Steven whispers, his thumb brushing away the remaining damp from Marc’s eye.
Marc holds his gaze for a moment before his eyes flutter shut.
He breathes out.
#moon knight#marc spector#steven grant#marcsteven#marvel#marc x steven#fanfiction#moon knight fanfiction#angst#hurt marc spector#I'm not sure why I hurt the characters I love the most#nightmares#I do not have DID so please tell me if there are mistakes!#i apologize in advance
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Someone Like You: Part 1 (Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and Jake Lockley x Avengers f!reader)
Summary: When Moon Knight is captured, there is only one Avenger with the right powers to save them. You. Marc might hate you, but when his life is on the line that no longer matters. ~3,100 words
Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Adventure I guess idk
Pairings: Primarily Marc Spector x f!reader, Jake Lockley x f!reader, Steven Grant x f!reader
Warnings: DID mentions and lots of them, canon typical violence, blood and injuries, Marc calls reader a bitch and they fight but in a we’re both superheroes way, generally Marc is an ass for this part so proceed with caution, mentions of childhood trauma/abuse, disassociation and nightmares
A/N: I represented DID in this fic in a way similar to the show, or at least that was my intention. Please understand this is fictionalized and dramatized, but also please tell me if there are errors. Look, this was supposed to be more plotty, but I just wanted to get to the hurt/comfort part and didn’t feel like writing a big action sequence, so the plot isn’t that complicated. Also Nat is alive for this, and Bruce, Buck, and Sam all make an appearance:)
Part 2: Coming Soon
--
“We need you. Now!”
Natasha’s face is flushed and her eyes wide. She’s flustered.
Natasha Romanoff is never flustered, and that is the first sign that something is well and truly wrong. Sign two? That she is asking for you now when you had just used your powers yesterday. You are already exhausted, overexerted, utterly drained. Today is supposed to be a time to recharge.
But Natasha is so uncharacteristically panicked that you roll off the couch to your feet and stumble after her without a second thought.
“It’s Moon Knight,” she explains as you hurry down the hallway.
“You found him? Them?” You correct yourself quickly.
Marc, Steven, and Jake had been missing for days. They did that frequently, just disappeared off on some mission for Khonshu. But Steven always checked in with the Avengers sooner rather than later. He hadn’t this time, and that worried the team, apparently with good reason.
“Sort of.” Nat stops outside of a closed door and turns to you. Her lips are pressed together with displeasure. “It’s not fair to ask you this, but-“
“Oh,” you exhale slowly.
The pieces finally come together.
“You’re the only one with the skills to do it.”
You curse under your breath. Not only are you exhausted, but you and the Moon Knight system have a long-running… well it wasn’t exactly hatred, but you certainly weren’t friends.
For no apparent reason, all three alters avoided you like the plague. Your best guess is that they learned about your particular power set and wanted to stay far away it. Most people did, which was ridiculous because you had complete control of your powers and no desire to use them on your coworkers anyway. And frankly it stung. You had privately harbored a small crush on the handsome trio from the first time you met Marc, a crush that was clearly not returned.
All that was inconsequential now. Would they be pissed about this invasion? They certainly would, but at least they would be alive.
--
You can tell it’s Marc fronting by the tension carried in his forehead. His eyes dart around wildly as he slumps against a wall and slides to the ground. Obviously, he is in the midst of making his own escape even as you are attempting an extraction.
“Marc!” You hurry to his side and kneel down.
His deep brown eyes finally focus on you. He blinks once, then twice. The softness you saw for just a moment is replaced with an icy darkness.
“The fuck are you doing here?” He growls, slurs really.
The man has to be drugged out of his mind. His eyes can’t focus on you for more than a second.
“Where’s Steven?” His voice lowers as he looks behind you and began whipping his head back and forth violently. “Where’s Steven? Steven!”
His deep voice, heavy with that Chicago accent, cracks over the name of his alter. “I’ll help you find him, Marc,” you reassure gently and hold out a hand. The rules here are different, so even though you have no idea how you are going to find Steven Grant, you are trying to be reassuring.
Marc stares at the offered hand blankly.
“Jake?” He whispers. “I can’t hear Jake. I can’t hear Jake! I can’t… I… Steven? Jake?”
You reach for him and grasp his forearms, guiding him to a standing position. He stumbles into you.
“I’m getting you out of here, Marc. Come on.”
“No!” His voice is suddenly clear, and he shoves you backwards. The push sends you stumbling into a wall with a heavy thud. “Not without them!”
The impact actually hurts. You are so overtaxed that you are experiencing pain in an environment where you should have total control. This is bad. This is really bad.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Marc’s is becoming more lucid, his eyes filling with rage as he realizes what is happening. He rounds on you with an accusing finger extended. “I know where I am, and I don’t want you here!”
His finger jabs your shoulder painfully, and any pity you might have felt disappears. You grab his wrist, and start to lock out his arm. He’s wise to the technique and tries kicking your leg out from beneath you. You side step easily, but his fist finds your nose and throws you off balance.
Pain shoots through the back of your head as it smacks against ceramic tile floor.
Something warm is on your face. You raise a hand to touch it, and when you pull your hand back your fingers are stained crimson. Blood. This has never happened before. You’re starting to have serious doubts about this mission.
“Get out of my fucking head!” Marc stands over you and shouts, but you hardly hear him. You are solely focused on the sticky red stain on your hands. You are bleeding. You shift your gaze to Marc. Blood. Marc.
“Shit,” you curse.
You look around, taking in the elaborate hallway structure with doors on either side. You’d walked through a dozen hallways just like this one to find Marc. The organization of the space is masterful, unlike any you had ever seen. People could live here. People do live here. Kind of. Then it hits you, a realization that should have been clear from the beginning.
The blood and pain has nothing to do with your strength. Even weakened you would have control enough to keep yourself from injury. No, this isn’t about the strength of your mind at all. It’s about the strength of theirs.
--
Natasha, Sam, Bucky, and Bruce hold vigil around the bed where the Moon Knight system lays unconscious. Nat smooths a hand over your upper back. Your eyes are shut and shifting rapidly under your eyelids. You sit straight backed beside the unconscious man with your palm pressed to his forehead and fingers tangling in his dark curls.
“How did this even happen?” Sam demands. “Isn’t the bird thing supposed to keep him safe?”
A chilly wind whips through the room.
“I think he’s listening,” Bruce mutters. “And I think he did his best. Some other god did this. Khonshu defeated him, but not in time to keep this from happening.”
“How do you know this? Can you talk to the bird thing?” Sam asks, purposefully goading Khonshu.
“Thor can.”
A heavy silence settles over the room.
“She just mind-walked yesterday,” Bucky growls and stands so he can pace out his nervous energy. “And this mind is hardly a simple one. She’s going to come out a disaster…” he trails off.
If she comes out at all. That’s what he was going to say, but he doesn’t want to so much as speak the terrible words into existence.
But you hadn’t even hesitated to take the dive, to walk into the mind of Marc, Steven, and Jake even knowing it could kill you.
--
Marc is still staring down at you while you lay back on the ground, and there is no denying that he is intimidating. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, the same outfit he always wears in the real world. That fascinates you, but there’s no time to unpack what it means right now.
“Marc,” you say his name softly. “Nat sent me here to wake you up. You’ve been unconscious for days. Kate and Clint only just found you a few hours-“
“I don’t want you here.”
“Do you think I enjoy this, Spector?” There is no anger in your voice as you stand, putting a few feet between the angry man and yourself. You are resigned to his hatred. “You think it’s fun popping into people’s heads? I’m more than aware of how violating it is, but you have to come out of this and soon, and we didn’t see a better option. So please just let me wake you up and you can go back to hating me.”
Marc surveys you for a long moment. He rolls his wrist and pops his neck.
“Just get out,” he snarls. “I‘ll find Steven and Jake and we’ll get out ourselves.”
He’ll find them? The questions sticks in your mind for a moment before annoyance takes priority over the curiosity. You aren’t going to just ‘get out.’
You are opening your mouth to say as much when a heavy body slams into you from the side, tackling you to the floor so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re so banged up. These injuries better not be on your physical body too.
A deep voice above you is spewing curses in Spanish and shouting something at Marc. Your ears ring too loud to hear whoever this newcomer is.
“Let’s go, hermosa.” The man on top of you stands and drags you to your feet. “Run!”
And you do. You don’t even question who this other person is or why you’re running. You simply take off in a sprint after him. The newcomer wears a jacket and a flat cap, but that’s all you can make out. That and you have finally realized where you are. Well, you knew where you were the whole time, but now you are realizing just what exactly it is.
A psychiatric ward. But not the clean, modern type. It is the horrific, decrepit, horror-movie type. Brick walls that are crumbling, smeared with a dark liquid you assume is blood. Dimly lit hallways. Water dripping from pipes and pooling dangerously on the tile floor. This is their mind?
Marc grabs your arm and yanks you into a room. He slams the door shut behind you and immediately rounds on the stranger.
“What the fuck Jake!”
Jake? You know that name. Jake Lockley. He is the alter none of the Avengers have met, just heard of. It’s the same body and the same face as he turns to you. But his expression is less emotional than Marc’s. Where Marc is all rage, Jake seems to possess a more muted curiosity about your presence. He blinks at you, then turns to Marc.
“Whoever trapped us here Khonshu took care of. But the dangers they planted in the headspace are still very real,” Jake explains as he peeks out of the small, dirty window to check the halls for danger.
“Quite the academic you are,” Marc remarks dryly and crosses his arms.
“Steven is just a few hallways away. He can explain this all much better.” Jake pulls off his hat to run a hand through his curls.
“Steven’s okay?” Marc’s voice is the softest you have ever heard. “He’s safe?”
“Safe enough and waiting for us. Then we can figure out how to wake ourself up.” Jake glances at you. “You’re the mind reader girl.”
You scoff. “I call it mind walking, but sure, I’m the mind reader girl.”
“Oh you pedantic bitch,” Marc snaps, and the word stings. Even Jake seems shocked at the venom in Marc’s tone. “Sorry we used the wrong term while you invade our mind. Is there really a fucking difference?”
He doesn’t want an answer, but you want to give one.
“Yes, you dense ass!” You wish you could think of a better insult. “Mind walking literally knocks me out. My consciousness doesn’t just touch yours and pick up some things, it’s inside of yours. Your mind is all around me. I can access just about any part of someone’s mind when I mind walk, even parts they don’t know about.”
“And you wonder why no one wants to be around you.”
Somehow that’s worse than being called a bitch. Embarrassingly, you find yourself blinking back tears. You still remember the days you thought you could befriend him, when you had liked him. You think that in the past-tense as if that crush is long past. It isn’t.
“Be nice,” Jake mutters as he finally shakes off his stunned look.
“You know,” Marc starts, clearly ignoring Jake. “You can go. We’ll be back to the real world in no time. We don’t need you meddling around with our head.”
You don’t have to explain that though, because before you can gather your thoughts Jake interrupts, “Stay. I think we’ll need your powers.”
As much as you want to go you can’t. That’s the problem with entering the unconscious mind - it’s nearly impossible to get out without bringing the other person with you. If you were at full strength it might be doable. But not now. Now your fate is tied to Moon Knight.
“We don’t-“ Marc starts.
Jake shoots him a look and puts his hat back on.
“Better to be safe. I think the hallway’s clear. Let’s get Steven and fix this.”
You follow Jake, Marc not far behind. Your trio moves silently but quickly as Jake leads you into another dingy room.
“Steven!” Marc pushes past you and falls to his knees beside Steven. This alter you had met briefly on one occasion. He had been nicer than Marc, but he still kept you at arm’s length.
Right now blood drips from a gash across Steven’s forehead, matting his messy curls to his head. He wears a loose patterned button down shirt and a jacket with light colored pants. You look over at Jake in his dark jacket with an intricately embroidered collar, white dress shirt, and flat cap. Marc, as you had noticed earlier, is wearing his usual attire. Which means this must be how Jake and Steven would dress when they front.
From a strictly academic perspective, it was fascinating. You’d never mind walked into someone with such a complex psychological condition. Each alter had a physical form in their headspace, and it seemed to be like an elaborately structured home for the three alters. Most minds were just a space, some more organized and complicated than others, but certainly none as incredible as this.
“What happened?” Marc’s question interrupts your thoughts.
“Hecca priests,” Steven murmurs in that rich British accent. “Some version of them at least. It’s Set, the sun god. He trapped us in our own mind, messed with it.”
“But this isn’t our headspace,” Marc protests.
It is unnerving to stand in a room with three men who both look the same and entirely different. Steven looks exhausted; he’s definitely hurt. Marc is hunched over, his back to you, but you hear worry in his voice. Jake’s hands are tucked in his pockets while he leans against a wall and tries to act like he isn’t staring at you.
You try to follow the conversation. Jake strolls over to whisper an explanation.
“Normally we’re in a mental ward, but clean and white with rooms of memories and no monsters. It’s rather relaxing.”
“It is our headspace though,” Steven answers Marc. “Just twisted by a vengeful god. Wonder who got us involved with those again?”
He fixes Marc with a pointed and amused glare.
“Using our own headspace as a prison,” Marc ponders the explanation and ignores Steven’s snide comment. “It is smart.”
Steven’s unfocused gaze catches on you then.
“You’re here?”
Marc whips his gaze around to you too like he’d forgotten your presence.
There’s something accusing in his eyes. No, maybe it’s not accusing. Distrustful. Does he think you are going to hurt Steven? Or does he not want them to be seen so vulnerable?
“Yes,” you answer simply. There really is nothing else to say.
“Good. Because I think we need you to wake us up.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Marc jumps in, shooting you a look that clearly says to keep quiet. “When we died, we got out fine on our own.”
Steven laughs. “Mate, Osiris loved our little heart to heart and brought us back to life. This is totally different.”
“How?”
“Well for one, we aren’t dead.” It’s Jake’s turn to argue with Marc.
“I can wake you up now, I think,” you offer.
“Alright-“ Steven starts to accept.
“Fuck off!” Marc interrupts.
That’s it. You have had it with his attitude.
“What did I do to you?” You demand, advancing on Marc who stands to face you and squares his shoulders. “I’m trying to help you! I’m your teammate! I’ve never been anything but kind while you quite literally pretend I don’t exist. Last week, I tried to talk to you at dinner, and you acted like you couldn’t hear me. When I walk into a room you leave. So what is it, Spector? My powers? They are completely under control. I just want you to not die today, so let me fucking help!”
“I don’t need you!” Marc closes the space between your bodies. “You are- you-“ He sputters.
“Marc doesn’t want someone like you seeing inside our head,” Steven jumps in much to Marc’s chagrin.
“Shut up, Steven.”
“Someone like me?”
“Someone kind, sweet. A potential love interest.”
“Shut up, Steven!” Marc bites out again
“Well it’s true ‘innit?”
A potential what??
“Not that this isn’t fun and well overdue, but the longer we’re trapped here, the harder it will be to get back.” Jake is the voice of reason for once.
He’s right. There’s a time to unpack Marc’s psyche, and it, ironically, is not right now.
“Let’s vote,” Steven wipes a drip of blood from his brow. “All in favor of letting her help.”
Jake and Steven raise their hands. Then slowly, miraculously, Marc raises his too.
“Unanimous. Brilliant! What do we do?”
In a lesser mind, you would have merely snapped your fingers, maybe literally, and woken both of you up easily. That isn’t going to work here. Their mind is complicated already, made even more so by a third party holding it hostage. Plus you are, as your trembling legs remind you, exhausted.
You crouch down beside Steven and take his hand then reach for Jake’s. He takes it and grasps Marc’s hand who completes the circle.
“Think about waking up in the morning,” you say quietly as you shut your eyes and channel the last dredges of your strength even as you draw on theirs. “What do you do? What’s your alarm sound like? Think about pulling the covers back. Think about opening your eyes to the morning sun. Think about the best parts of being alive, the things you feel - really feel - when you have the body, the parts of the world that are most real. The crunch of waffles. The smell of rain.” You are talking to yourself now. Or maybe thinking. It’s hard to tell the difference between mind and reality. Maybe there is no difference.
A warm mug of tea. The soft fur of a cat. Soft white wrappings. The smell of new books. Old books. Light falling across a museum exhibit. Fluffy pillows soft beneath your head. The quiet crunch of leather gloves folding around a steering wheel. Desert sands.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake-
--
You jerk forward off the chair, catching yourself weakly against the mattress before any of the Avengers can get to you. Bucky slides down to the floor beside you.
“Are you okay?” He demands urgently, and the worry is prominent in his voice.
“Yeah,” you rasp and use Bucky to pull yourself up.
“He’s waking up too.” Nat breathes an audible sigh of relief.
You don’t want to see Marc. Or Steven or Jake. And the after effects of mind walking are coming. Marc didn’t develop DID from a happy childhood, which means things are about to get bad for you.
You assure Bucky and Sam that you are alright, that you want to be alone this time, and hurry out of the room, barely making it to your room as pain flares in your skull. You crumple onto your bed and don’t even have time to cover yourself in blankets before it begins.
--
A/N: Part 2 will be so angsty and fluffy and wonderful. It is written and just needs edited, so it will be out soon!
EDIT: Part 2
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#moon knight#moon knight x reader#moon knight x f!reader#moon knight x avengers!reader#oscar isaac#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac x f!reader#steven grant#jake lockley#marc spector#steven grant x f!reader#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader#jake lockley x f!reader#marc spector x reader#marc spector x f!reader#bonus cameos included at no extra charge#moon knight angst#moon knight hurt/comfort#moon knight whump#moon knight fic#mcu#bensolosbluesabermasterlist#bensolosbluesaber
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thinking about marc meeting your parents and they instantly fall in love with him and want to include him in all of your family traditions and holidays and he's always nervous to get too close because what if he fucks something up like he doesn't want to get attached and then lose another family so he's just polite and sweet but keeps himself at arms length but the first hanukkah you spend together your parents surprise him (and you, you had no idea they were going to do this) with a menorah and latkes and they try so so hard to make everything perfect and as close to the memory of his hanukkahs before randall died as they possibly can and that's when he realizes that their love is unconditional
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Fucker Notices Everything
Marc X Reader
Masterlist
Drabble Summary: A sound triggers you in a small way, but Marc still noticed.
This was supposed to be like, 2 paragraphs, but I'm incapable of sticking to lengths I initially intent to write. Oh well. Just wanted to write a short lil something with my baby boy Marc.
********************************
You lay in Marc’s arms, listening to the sounds of the outside lulling you to sleep. The night was cool, but you liked the windows open. The two of you had taken a little trip, just out of the city, to a simple hotel in the suburbs. Just to do something different. He held you close, fingers training your body in your warm PJ’s. You had packed sexier lingerie, but the night was so peaceful, you wanted to keep the windows open. This, of course, meant it was too cold to dress like that. Luckily, Marc thought you were sexy in your Star Wars themed pajamas, and anything else you wore. He couldn't keep his eyes off you, and he wouldn't take his hands off you if you’d let him.
You wondered how you possibly found someone like his, someone who was so in love… your whole life you were taught to settle. That men were something you were supposed to chase, that you should be so lucky if they looked at you. But Marc? Marc chased you. You never even considered him someone that was possible outside your fantasies, well, look at him! And yet, somehow, you found yourself the object of his interest. Slowly but surely, you allowed yourself to believe it, and he proved his love to you again, and again, and again.
You were deep in thought, and pretty sure Marc was asleep, when you heard it. A motorcycle outside. You briefly, and ever-so slightly tensed and then relaxed as it continued on down the road. You still your heart rate back down, and continue falling asleep. No big deal, it happens sometimes. You usually don’t notice, with all the sounds of the city surrounding you, but it was quieter here. Nevertheless, it comes and it goes.
“What was that?”
You wince. Marc. Of course he noticed. Fucker notices everything.
You play dumb. “What was what?”
He’s spooning you, arms wrapped around your chest, face in your neck. “You tensed.” He’s sleepy, but painfully aware. As always.
“I was just stretching my back…” A bad lie.
“Sweetheart, please. I felt your heart rate pick up.” Fucker really notices everything… You turn over, letting him hold you as you look into his eyes. They were big, brown, and compelling, even half asleep. “Talk to me, please?”
You sigh. It was hard to deny him. It wasn’t that you were hiding it, necessarily, but Marc was a fixer, and this couldn’t be fixed. This… wasn’t a big deal. But he wanted to know, and you couldn't say no to those eyes, not for something as small as this. “My dad rode a motorcycle.” His concerned look softened in understanding. But he kept giving you that face, so you continued “Since he worked evenings, he’d come home when I was usually in bed. I was almost always up.” Marc knew that you slept painfully little as a kid. “We’d have our windows open any chance we had to save money, and my town was so fucking quiet, I could hear him from miles out. And I just pile listen to him come on 9th, turn onto our street, come up the drive and shut the bike off, hear him open the the door and then it just depended on the day whether he’d go watch TV or start slamming things or yelling…” You bury your face in his chest as he holds you tighter. Marc knew of your chaotic and tense home life, this wasn’t new. And likewise, you knew of his abuse. “So when I hear a motorcycle go by at night, it just… I don’t want to say triggers me… but it does. But it’s silly and it just comes and passes super fast. I promise…” You look at him again, wanting to reassure him. “It’s not a big deal, and I promise to tell you if it ever is, okay?”
He studies your face for a while, seeing if you were hiding yourself from him or downplaying something upsetting. He nods. “Okay. If you’re sure.. and I don’t think it’s silly, baby.”
You smile and kiss him, happy he believes your truth, and you settle into his arms. He lays on his back to allow you to rest your head on him. You were starting to learn that not only was honesty best with Marc, but you were safe in your honesty. If you had a bad day for the 4th time this week, you could tell him and he wouldn't say you were dramatic or ask if you were on your period. You could tell him to slow down or stop during sex at any time, for any reason, and he would never show the slightest sign of being annoyed. You could be honest about your past, and in return, he was honest with you. There weren't secrets. And when two people come from the background you and Marc have, openness is key. There is a comfortable silence, happy and in love.
“Wine bottle cork.” A sleepy, soft voice speaks above you. You look up to face him, but his eyes are closed. You watch his beautiful mouth, lit by the moon, as he continues, spurred on by your silence. He was muttering, voice slightly slurred by the sleep that pulled at him. “When the corks in wine bottles get popped off, it startles me. Makes me think of my mom. She drank about everything, but wine had a distinct sound.”
You carefully touch his face, the start of stubble on his pretty, perfect, brown skin. Your heart hurt, and you wished you had paid better attention. You wished you had noticed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged, eyes still closed, chest steadily rising and falling under you. “You like wine.”
“Oh honey…” You swore to yourself, no more wine with corks. Twist off wine only. Fine by you, Stella Rosa is great.
“The point is, I get it. It’ll startle me for a moment, then I’ll be fine.” A smaller shrug this time. “I guess we’ll always be this way, to a certain extent.”
“Yeah.” You kiss between his pecs. “But if I ever need help, I got you. So I’ll be okay.”
He gives your arms where his hand was resting a squeeze “And I’ll be okay, as long as I got you, babe.” He sounded far off, drifting off into sleep. “You alright? Do I need to go break every motorcycle in the the city or anything?”
Despite the fact he was clearly almost asleep, you could hear the little bit of play in his voice and you didn’t doubt he’d do it if you asked. He’d do anything, if you asked. “I’m better than okay”
“Arighty.” He mumbles. Now you knew he was tired. He wouldn’t say ‘alrighty’ without a gun to his head. As always, he reassures you that you are safe. “You can sleep now. I got you.” You were pretty sure he fell asleep right then, a soft snore escaping his perfect nose that you loved.
And you didn’t doubt him. Even fast asleep, you knew you he would protect you. His senses were always going, always aware. It’s why he was always so tired, he never really, truly rested. You would gladly take the ‘super high risk’ of him turning his brain off, just to let him get a full night's rest…. But he would never. Not right now, anyway. Maybe someday.
You hug him, a quick, innocent hug you might give your friend in college as you left a party. “I love you, Marc Spector.” you say quietly into his skin.
A whisper. “I love you too.” Fucker notices everything.
**********************************
If you like this, you might like Seattle, which is also Marc focused. very much protective!marc, but it's a situation he's largly helpless. It started as a one-shot fanfic, but I'm turning it into a miniseries. This one is quite a bit jewish!marc and Jewish!reader.
You might also like Marc Spector: Angel, Knight, Protector. A darker fic, but a big protective! Marc Spector fic.
#marc spector#marc spector reader#marc spector x reader#marc spector x you#soft marc spector#loving marc spector#marc spector needs a hug#moon knight#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight fluff#Marc spector comfort#marc spector fluff#marc spector hurt/comfort
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All of Me, All of You
Summary: Steven's life is finally going his way, but he's feeling empty. It's up to you, his long time friend, to remind him he's beautiful and worthy of love. And maybe find love along the way.
Warnings: Some self depreciating thoughts. Mostly fluff, some hurt/comfort. Sooo much FLUFF!
There is silence on the other end of the phone. For a moment you think the network was iffy, but you can hear faint notes of traffic noise through the call.
"Steven..?", you try carefully, your heart already pounding in worry. Is this even him calling?...Did the suit fail?.... did Khonshu make them do something horrific, did --
"Y-yeah", his small voice answers, a cool wave of relief washing over you. He's alive. "Oh thank god, Steven, are you okay?" you scramble to a sitting position, phone clutched tightly. "N-no", he almost whimpers before adding "I'm not hurt, I'm home, we're safe." You're quiet for a few beats as you process that news before you say softly,"Can I come over?"
Steven looks like a wet cat. The tip of his nose is red, his eyes not meeting your gaze when he opens the door for you. You hurriedly prop your umbrella by the door and usher him to his couch, fussing over his wet hoodie and how he should have called you to be picked up from the university if he didn't have an umbrella. Steven's usually mouthy when you fuss over him, sassing you back, but he's awfully quiet when you sit him down. Before you can turn to get a towel, he has wrapped his arms around your torso, caging you to his seated form. You jump slightly in surprise, but his face is stuffed to your tummy, hidden from sight. "Oh sweetie", you mouth in the faintest of whispers, shuffling yourself closer to him and splaying fingers in the wet mess of his hair. You hold him to yourself, stroking his head gently, feeling the shudders pass through his form. He is weeping.
Steven never cries, Marc is the one who cries easily. As if once he got the license to cry before you without judgement or fear of being treated differently, Marc could not stop. You've even seen Jake cry once or twice. But Steven, no. He's so good at de-escalating tension and finding emotional outlets that it never gets there. You give his shaking body another once-over. But no, no traces of blood on his clothes, just soaked and stuck to his skin.
When his grip loosens, you kneel down to his level and sweep some of his curls from his forehead. "Come, Steven, lemme get you out of these. You need warm clothes", you try gently. This is unfamiliar territory, you don't know how to approach him when he's this vulnerable. Does he want to talk about it, like Marc...or pretend the moment never happened, like Jake?
Steven being Steven, doesn't leave you fumbling in the dark. He gently pulls you up onto his lap. "Shirt is drier", he says between sniffles, pulling the hoodie off and dropping it onto the ground. You nod, hoisting yourself comfortably on his lap, sitting sideways and leaning back against the armrest. He rests his hand on your knee, absently tracing with his thumb. "Do you..wanna talk about it?", you tread carefully. Steven sighs heavily at the query, his thumb not stilling.
"I topped the semester exams", he mutters.
Whatever you had expected or imagined, that was not one of them. You let out a small noise of confusion before you can stop yourself, and your friend lets out a bark of humorless laughter. "I know I should be happy", he continues. "But I'm not." He finally looks up at you, eyes heavy from tears and exhaustion. "I thought finally getting to study Egyptology, being chummy with the others, and...you know, the rest. I thought I'll be bloody happy", he shivers. "Today my professors say they're proud of me, but I...I...." He shakes his head and drops it back against the couch.
"You feel lonely?", you ask. A tremor passes through his body at the word, and you know you've hit the nail on the head. "I am sorry", he is almost pleading, looking down at your knees. "You're always here for me, and I'm being a...I'm so sorry"
"Hey, hey", you gently pull him out of his spiral. "We do not apologise for how we feel, hmm? And..I get it. Having friends and...a partner? Not the same." Steven hums and wraps an arm around you, your head tucked under his chin with practised ease. You grab a hold of his hand, dragging it away from your knee and playing with his deft fingers. "I just feel like I'm holding the others back. I'm with my books and papers..and they're so handsome...have you seen Jake?"
That makes you sit up straight. You were no stranger to his distorted sense of self, the way he hid himself and his body. But hear him say he's holding the others back? "Steven, love", you start, cupping his cheek. "You are handsome, gorgeous even. You know I wouldn't lie."
"You're just saying that", he dismisses you. "No!", your voice rises an octave. "No, hear me out." You scoot off his lap to kneel on the couch. "You, Steven Grant, have the most beautiful eyes of any human on the planet...uh-uh..don't interrupt me. You have the cutest blush when you're happy, and your nose..ooh" You drag a finger down the bridge of his nose as you make the cheeky comment, and he can't help cracking a smile. You smile back in truimph, continuing,"You have a voice I could listen to all day, hair I'd never get tired of playing with... and you have..pretty! lips!" You punctuate the last two words with taps to his lips with your pointer finger, and he ducks a little with a blush. Your cheeky smile softens then, as your heart clenches at the sight. He was so beautiful, so close, but never close enough to call yours. You draw your hand back, and Steven's brows furrow at the sudden intensity of your gaze. "Anyone would be lucky to have you", you breathe out.
There's dead silence for a few moments, almost as if you both have stopped breathing too, then Steven mutters quietly,"Including you?" You hold his gaze for a moment before chuckling mirthlessly and tearing your gaze away. It almost hurts as you whisper out,"...Especially me."
But Steven's hands are cupping your face and making you look back up. His face looks wrecked, eyes so wide with hope they're bordering on terror. "Do you...mean what I think you mean?", he treads carefully. His gaze hypnotizing, you can't look away as you speak,"Would you like it if I said yes?" Steven shudders at that, his body melting into yours. "I'd be thrilled", he answers simply.
And that answer is all you need -- so simple, so Steven. "I'd be thrilled too, if you liked that", you bite your lips in sudden shyness. Arms engulf you in a hug again, pulling you back onto his lap.
"So..you like me, huh?", his voice is dripping with cheekiness. You sputter in indignation. "How dare you tease me about that?", you whine. He laughs then, a musical sound, and leans close to touch your foreheads together. The moments linger on, calm and sweet, right out of a sappy romance novel. Then his eyes glaze over for a few, but he's back soon, sitting back with a whine. "What happened?", you ask. "The others are being mean", he pouts. "Jake's paying up to Marc. They bet on who'd confess first"
#moon knight#luke shares#marc spector#steven grant#marvel#moon knight x reader#steven grant x reader#steven grant x you#jake lockley#steven with a v#fluff#hurt/comfort#moon knight fluff
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