#jake lockley x female!oc

[bit-dodgy-innit]

The More The Merrier - Part One

Set in The Shape of Youniverse

Summary: Doctor Strange’s wedding gift allows you and your husband to fulfill your wildest fantasies 

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system 

Word Count: 3.3k 

Rating: Mature (for now!)

CW/TW: Mentions of pregnancy, reader experiences anxiety and mild body insecurity, Marc is ~protective~ and not afraid to threaten violence to protect his fam, discussions of group sex, making out  

A/N: Okay y’all! Everyone loved Group Effort so I thought there was no better way to celebrate 1000 followers than to write a follow up! I am currently burnt to a crisp creatively, HOWEVER I figure if I post what I have so far this lovely community’s support and reactions may just invigorate me to get the rest of this naughtiness out! 

Translations at the end of the fic as usual!

You thought you were dreaming. You must have been, because why else would Doctor Strange be in your living room talking to your husband? The sound of voices had awoken you, and when you saw that Marc’s side of the bed was empty, you followed the hushed but heated voices to their source. 

You could hear Marc insisting lowly, “I told you I can’t…”

“And I told you his new avatar is miss–”

“Honey?” You interrupted, your voice raspy from sleep, “What’s going on?”

You’d rubbed just enough sleep from your eyes to be able to take in the sight before you. Marc, in his pajamas, mid-argument with Doctor Strange, red cape and all. 

You blinked furiously. Up until that very moment, all of Marc’s stories about being the white knight dude–Moon Knight, he told you he’d been called, were just that. Stories. You liked it that way. That way, there was plausible deniability. Seeing him talking to an Avenger in your flat made things startlingly real. 

“Go back to bed sweetheart,” your husband urged you, trying and failing to keep his mounting frustration from bleeding into his tone. 

Like hell you were going back to sleep. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Marc answered immediately. His pointed look to the Avenger meant that Strange wasn’t going to divulge anything either. 

“Sorry to wake you, Mrs. Spector,” the sorcerer offered instead. 

“I’m not going anywhere until one of you tells me why he’s here in the middle of the night,” you informed both men plainly. It was perplexing to think that the men in charge of your planet’s safety, like Doctor Strange and your husband, were such shit liars.

“It’s Khonshu--�� Strange began. 

“He’s retired,” you interjected. Your husband resuming his superhero activities, especially when you’d just found out you were pregnant a few weeks ago, was your worst nightmare. 

“I know,” he assured you, “I had a question for Marc, that’s all.” 

“And I told him that I can’t be involved with any of this shit, in any capacity,” your husband fumed, “Twice now.” 

“Well excuse me,” the sorcerer snarked, “and here I thought you’d become a consultant.” 

You couldn't stifle the giggle that Strange’s comment brought forth. Marc bristled, “Please sweetie, will you wait for me in the bedroom? I’ll show Stephen out.” 

Hearing that your husband was on a first-name basis with an Avenger made your head swim. You nodded, but didn’t completely comply, going only so far as the hallway so you could eavesdrop on them unseen.

“Did I just get you into trouble?” Strange inquired. 

“Yes,” your husband confirmed. “Out of everything wrong with me, her only hang-ups are my ex-wife and the avatar shit, so summon one of those portal things before I have to kick you out myself.” 

“Wow, okay, so Steven’s the one with the manners then,” he noted wryly. 

Marc sighed so deeply you could hear it from across the flat. “How many times do I have to say–”

“Congratulations by the way.” 

Your heart dropped. Did he know? He couldn’t know. You were nowhere near showing, how on earth could he know? Doctor Strange flew and did magic and traversed the multiverse, but there was no way he could tell that you were pregnant, was there?

“I’ll tear you limb from limb and rent your stupid cloak out for birthday parties,” Marc threatened in a snarl, “I didn’t want anyone knowing that we're together, let alone that we’re expecting. If that information leaves your lips, so help me–”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Strange promised him, “though it explains why I can’t convince you.” 

“Use that forgetting spell on yourself,” your husband ordered. 

“I’ll do you one better,” the sorcerer offered, “I’ll put you two under the protection of the London Sanctum. It’ll keep her safe while we sort all of this out…though it’d go a lot quicker if you–”

“Want me to re-introduce you to Jake?” Marc growled. 

Now it was Strange’s turn to sigh. “You realize you don’t have the suit anymore, right?”

“Nunca lo necesité,” the man in question interceded, “Disfrutaría el desafío.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” the Avenger observed. 

“She’s the reason I left Khonshu,” Marc confessed. After observing him so tight-lipped and protective about your relationship to Strange just now, your husband’s candor shocked you. 

“I’d say you traded up,” the sorcerer remarked archly. 

 Marc stood firm. “Yeah, and I’m not looking to downgrade anytime soon.”

“Can’t blame you. Well Marc, it’s always a…time.”

The faint hum of what you assumed was the magic he conjured for the portals Strange used alerted you to scamper back to the bed and dive under the covers, so that when Marc returned you could convincingly feign sleep. Moments later, you felt the mattress dip under his weight and his arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

“Are you mad at me?” came his timid question, murmured into your hair.  

You didn’t open your eyes. “That you told Doctor Strange to fuck off for the sake of our marriage? For our family? No, hun.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized anyway, “I hate how that this part of my past won’t let me go.” 

“This wasn’t your fault and you didn't get involved,” you pointed out, implicitly urging him to let it go. “Can we go back to sleep? Need to rest up for my inevitable morning vomit sesh.” 

Marc held your tighter and pressed a kiss to a notch of your spine. “‘Course baby.”

You weren’t exactly proud of how quick you were to brush the encounter off, but being a newlywed and a surprise pregnancy meant you had enough on your plate. There wasn’t any mental or emotional space to entertain the thought of your ex-avatar husband having to risk his life to ensure your, your unborn baby, and Earth’s safety, because if you did, the Hulk would look like a teddy bear in comparison to the state it’d send you in.  

Luckily, Marc was even better at sweeping uncomfortable moments under the rug than you were. You didn’t give the late-night meeting with Doctor Strange a second thought until a few weeks later when you glimpsed a headline about another global calamity averted emblazoned across a fellow Tube passenger’s copy of The Guardian. Your first trimester made you incredibly motion sick, so you had to look away and deep breathe at once, since the last thing anyone wanted on their morning commute was a woman spewing all over the car. 

Work served as the perfect distraction, until you received a particularly cryptic and distressing text from your husband mid-afternoon.

From: Hubby 

Can you come home please? 

From me:

Now? Are you alright?!

From Hubby: 

Yes, I’m fine. Just need you to come home right away. 

You huffed. That answered absolutely nothing and only made you more anxious. The periods at the ends of his sentences were a dead giveaway as to which alter you were texting with, so you pressed: 

From me:

What’s wrong Marc? 

From Hubby:

Everything’s fine, I promise. 

From me: 

Are you sick? 

The three dots appeared that he was typing, but you’d already sprung from your desk chair at that point. You hurried over to a superior’s office to let them know you were leaving early, claiming a spousal emergency, and you didn’t even wait for a proper response from your boss before you returned to your office, collected your things, and dashed for the door. 

From me: 

Just told Graham I’m heading home. I’ll be there soon!! Do I need to call 999? Harry? Dr. Moorhead???? 

Marc never asked for help. He'd rather eat all ten toes. It was a point of contention in your relationship, something you were working through, so the fact he’d texted you in the middle of the afternoon asking you to come home freaked you the fuck out. You’d just gotten into a taxi - it’d be faster than the Tube this time of day - when he finally responded. 

From Hubby:

No. See you soon. 

You slammed your fist, still wrapped around the rectangle of your phone, down against the upholstered seat in the cab. If Marc was alive when you got home, you were going to kill him. 

After one of the most fraught cab rides of your life, you breathlessly burst through the door of your flat. “MARC?! Jake?! Steven?! You okay?” 

Your husband sat on the couch, appearing to be perfectly well. “Hi baby.” 

You rushed to him, instantly putting the back of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature. “What’s wrong? God, would it kill you to tell me what’s going on? I nearly gave myself an ulcer on the way here.” 

Marc caught your hand and brought your palm to his lips, murmuring “I’m sorry” into the skin there.

“Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is happening here?” you demanded. 

“It’s okay, everything’s okay baby,” he tried to soothe you. 

“Then why did you send me those vague bloody texts telling me to come home ASAP?” 

A sound from the bedroom momentarily distracted you before Marc captured your other hand in his grasp and gently tugged you to take a seat next to him. He continued to apologize, “I’m sorry, so sorry baby. We didn’t know how else to do it, plus we wanted it to be a surprise.”

You regarded him warily. “For what to be a surprise?” 

“Remember when Stephen – well, Doctor Strange came here?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Well, he um…he knew you were pregnant–I didn’t tell him, he just…I don’t know he mystically sensed it or something–and he felt bad about implicating you in our business. I ended up helping him–nothing really, just told him some stuff he wanted to know about my time as Khonshu’s avatar, and he wanted to thank me–well us, I guess? He said to consider it a belated wedding or early–”

“Ay…I think I’ve missed a birthday with how long you’re taking!” 

This was it. Forget your husband’s mental health struggles, you’d officially had a psychotic break. Because Jake had interrupted your conversation by walking into the room. In a separate body. 

“Fucking hell!! You couldn’t wait thirty more seconds?!” Marc snapped at him. 

Thank goodness you were already sitting down. The room swam. Your husband – wait, husbands?-- kept bickering with each other while you stared at them, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. 

“No voy a perder otro segundo teniendo que escucharte un parloteo. No tenemos todo el día aquí.”

“What the fuck is going on?” you asked yourself in an awestruck whisper. 

“Honey?” Marc turned to you, “you’re okay.”

“Todo esta bien,” Jake added, rushing to your other side. 

You were grateful that there were two of them, otherwise you would’ve collapsed. The thought made you laugh. Wow, you’d lost your mind with a stunning efficiency it seemed. 

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Marc’s eyes searched yours, desperate for you to focus. 

“Uh huh.” 

“What este pendejo was trying to say,” Jake interjected, “is that el doctor did a spell where we all get our own body for twenty-four hours.” 

“He can do that?” It was a stupid question, given that you were surrounded by two of your husbands, but your brain was all but fried. 

“See! This is why I wanted to do it like this! We needed to ease her in!!” Marc lamented. 

“Where’s Steven?” you asked. He had to be here somewhere too, right? 

“You can come out now!” Marc hollered toward the kitchen, and lo and behold, the last third of your husband shuffled into view, complete with his individual body as well.  

“Why am I always the only one who follows the plan?” Steven complained, then after taking one look at your ashen face, joined his counterparts tending to you. “Oh darling, are you alright? Sorry, I know this all must come as a terrible shock. You want me to put the kettle on? Make you a cuppa?”

“The only thing that could help me right now is a stiff drink, which I obviously can’t have because of…” you trailed off and gestured to your midsection. 

“Right, sorry. Marc and I wanted to do this differently, but leave it to Jake to muck things up, as per usual,” he groused. 

“Oye, vete a la mierda pequeño–”

Marc tried to stop them. “Shut up, both of you, this isn’t hel–”

“Oh my God is this what the inside of your head is like?” you wondered aloud, unable to squash a delirious chuckle. 

“Yes,” Steven confirmed, trying to maintain composure, “a small sampling of it, I’m afraid.” 

Your chuckling escalated to full-on unhinged laughter. What else were you to do when each of your husbands were given their own body and argued in front of you?

“Am I high? Or at the very least awake?” 

“No and yes,” Marc replied. 

“So this is why I had to come home early,” you surmised. 

“Sí, we only have twenty-four hours, and we weren’t going to waste anymore on waiting when we could–”

“We could what?” 

“Well, with the baby coming, naturally our sex life is going to take a hit,” Marc said, “so, this seemed like a perfect, one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to um…fulfill some fantasies.”

“You faked an emergency and made me ditch work so we could all have group sex?” 

Steven groaned, “It sounds so tawdry when you put it like that.” 

Marc buried his head in his hands, but Jake puffed up his chest. “Por qué no? Vas a trabajar cada día, ¡pero tal vez nunca volvamos a estar así!”

“No one is touching me…” you protested, heaving a labored breath as overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes. “No one is touching me until you all apologize! Properly! You scared the shit out of me just now! You can’t…you can't keep me in the dark like that…I can’t take the stress between your past and the baby and work…it’s too much! So guess what? The last thing I want to do right now is have sex!” 

Three flummoxed faces of concern stared back at you as they each realized they’d severely miscalculated the reveal. Apparently you looked so pathetic it dispelled any of their urges to argue about it, the reminder that you were pregnant seemingly enough to shut them up and send them straight to contrition. Plus, they were probably still hopeful they could get some action later if they apologized right away. 

“I’m sorry baby,” Marc began, pulling you to his chest, “We wanted this to be fun, but…”

“Somos estúpidos,” Jake finished for him, “Even with separate bodies, we all think with the head between our legs.”   

Steven spoke next, “Take all the time you need, my love. We don’t even have to…do anything naughty. We just want to be with you like…as…as us.” 

“Uh, no. We have to fuck,” Jake disagreed. 

Before you could snipe back at Jake, you remembered something Marc had told you about the last time they were separated. Their entire journey through the Duat, Jake had been trapped in a sarcophagus. Despite being married to them, you couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to share your body, your life, with two other people the way they did. 

So of course having a body of your own, especially if there was a clock on it, would be a momentous occasion, and it warmed your heart in a funny, roundabout way that Jake wanted to share this precious time with you as intimately as possible. 

Therefore, you found yourself cackling at his remark. The three of them watched you dumbstruck. 

“I think we broke her,” Marc muttered under his breath. 

When you finally regained your breath and a modicum of your senses back, you proposed, “How about this…we make an early dinner to fuel up for um…the night ahead, shall we say? It’ll give me some time to adjust. Deal?”

It took about an hour, but you did calibrate to having multiple husbands in your flat. Jake and Marc were parked on the couch flipping between games on the telly and arguing over scores, players, and stats while Steven and you camped in the kitchen. 

Steven had volunteered to make dinner, and you instantly offered to assist him, figuring that keeping your hands busy would help quiet your racing mind. The pair of you chopped vegetables and, in everyone but Steven’s case, chicken, to make a soup that would be hearty enough to sustain any physical exertion later but light enough so as not to hinder it. 

“This is bizarre, innit?” Steven asked while he stirred the broth. 

“Bizarre doesn't even begin to cover it,” you confessed. “I mean, I know crazy superhero magic shit like this happens, but never to me.”

“When Marc first told me he served Khonshu, I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.” 

You laughed at Steven’s frankness. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” he echoed, his face splitting into a beatific grin. The two of you leaned across the stove to kiss each other. Neither of you hurried to break it. In fact, Steven slipped his tongue between the seam of your lips, while you turned to wrap your arms around him properly. 

You nearly forgot the other two men were there until you were both startled apart by Jake whistling and crowing, “Ey! Save it for later!” 

“Entonces vas a ayudarnos con la comida?” you shot back at him without any real heat.  

Several moments transpired while you ate in which you lapsed into an astonished silence. Though you were no stranger to your husband being co-conscious, there was something even more wondrous about all three of them having to interrupt each other to speak, though despite their separate bodies, each man tended to talk over the other still. 

Marc and Jake were put on cleanup duty, and Steven captured you in his arms once again. He dotted kisses from your clavicle, up the length of your neck, culminating at the extra sensitive spot behind your right ear. “How do you want to do this?” 

You mewled at the pressure of his lips on your skin. “Mmmm, I wanna take a shower and primp a bit. Marc had a point earlier, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, might as well make the most of it, right?” 

“Whatever you want,” he rumbled into your ear. You could feel Steven’s cock stir as he pressed himself into you. 

A devilish smirk danced across your lips. “Wanna look extra fuckable for all of you.” 

“Bloody hell, babe,” Steven’s hips stuttered against your leg. He leaned in to kiss you more, but you dodged him, instead scampering away toward the bathroom and throwing a cheeky look over your shoulder. 

Beyond the fact that you knew that Jake would want to fuck you in the ass and you needed to prepare accordingly, it occurred to you that your insistence on getting dolled up was just as much for your benefit as it was for your partners. You were about to be more vulnerable than you’d ever been in a sexual situation, and though it was with the people you loved and trusted most in the world, sometimes confidence was best found from the outside-in. So you shaved your legs, styled your hair, made up your face, and slipped into the lingerie that you’d grabbed from your dresser before you retreated into the en-suite. 

You examined the finished product of your efforts in the mirror. Your bump wasn’t quite a bump yet at just over twelve weeks, you just looked perennially bloated. You tried to smooth the frown from your face, reminding yourself that you weren’t fat, but instead growing a little life inside of you, the culmination of you and your husband’s love. Nevertheless, you adjusted the straps of the microscopic thong you’d squeezed yourself into to try and create a more flattering shape. After fluffing your hair one more time, you decided you were as ready as you’d ever be.

READ PART TWO 

A/N: Eh? We like? Y’all are always so encouraging but if you feel compelled to leave any feedback I could really use it this time around!!! 

Translations:

Nunca lo necesité - I never needed it

Disfrutaría el desafío - I will enjoy the challenge

No voy a perder otro segundo teniendo que escucharte un parloteo. No tenemos todo el día aquí - I'm not going to waste another second having to listen to you babble. We don't have all day here

Todo esta bien - Everything is ok

Este pendejo - This asshole

Oye, vete a la mierda pequeño - Hey, look here you little shit

Por qué no? Vas a trabajar cada día, ¡pero tal vez nunca volvamos a estar así! - Why not? You go to work every day, but we may never be like this again!

Somos estupidos - We’re stupid

Entonces vas a ayudarnos con la comida - Then are you going to help us with the food?

Taglist:

@twwcs​, @rmoonstoner​, @hot-mess-express1​, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon​, @winterbiipp​, @avatarofseshat​ @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6​, @harrys-tittie​, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32​, @dawnsutopia​, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo​, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul​ @missmarmaladeth​ @welcometostayingawake​ @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction​, @thatgirlshady​

[athenaderiva]

The Blood Lake

Chapter Three

A second chance. Violence.

Previous ~~ Next

Masterlist

Marc did something stupid.

Chasina hummed to herself as she stepped over the threshold of her cabin, symbols lighting up all over her walls. She watched each one fade into nothing as she closed the door behind her. One symbol was still glowing when she turned back to her wall and she frowned, walking closer to it. Intruder. She pulled her mask back over her head and pulled her sword free. Her other hand began to glow and the energy once again spiked from her hand to the ground, creating a perfect image in her mind of her surroundings. The silhouette of Moon Knight came into her ‘vision’ and she sighed.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, not bothering to ask how he found her after him learning who she was.

“You threatened me last time I saw you. And right after I rescued you.” His voice was harsher than usual and she rolled her eyes. “I can’t let you arrest me. I’ll be executed and I can’t let that happen, I can’t let what I’m trying to do fail.”

“You sound exactly like Harrow, you realise that? You’re not going to make the world better, you’re going to destroy it.” Her voice was softer than she expected and it made him stumble back.

“I am nothing like Harrow. He wants to cleanse the world. We’re trying to fix it.” He hissed, though his voice sounded different. Chasina removed her mask, putting the sword back in her scabbard. He appeared to have changed, his posture was less certain, his hands were fidgeting, his gaze was darting across the room.

“Leave. This is the only time I will ask. If I have to ask again, I will be taking you down and taking you in. You get one chance to go peacefully, because I really don’t want to have to clean blood off my floor and my walls, and I feel that something has changed in the last sixty seconds.” The masked man nodded, vanishing and she frowned at his retreating figure. Something had definitely changed.

“Look, Steven, you can’t take over like that. We should’ve taken out the threat there and then.” Marc hissed at his reflection in the lake. Steven was glowering at him and Jake was shaking his head with barely constrained laughter. We were at her home, Marc. Did you not see all the symbols on the walls when she stepped through the door? We would’ve been obliterated. Steven argued. He’s right. She’d have killed us if we didn’t back down, and we know for a fact that you wouldn’t have backed down. Marc glared at them both, crouching down closer to the water. “We can’t fix this doomed world if she doesn’t give us space to do that and she insists on stop-” Marc. You’re the one who was taken aback by her softness and gave enough space for Steven to take over. Jake interrupted, a shiteating grin spreading across his face. Marc’s glare somehow got even deeper. Steven shrugged. The real question is why did she let us go? Marc hesitated. “It doesn’t matter. We’re behind schedule.” He huffed, reforming his armour around his body, setting off deeper into the forest.

Jake was in control by the time they arrived at the sorceress’s hut. He knocked once, twice, three times on the old wooden structure and the door swung open, revealing the woman he’d met in a tavern a long time ago.

“It’s really you… I didn’t think you were ever coming.” Sabrina whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped back, letting him in and he smiled under the mask. “How have you lived this long?”

“I’m lucky.” She nodded, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she glanced to the side behind him. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing. “Do you have it?” He asked, brushing past her and her breath hitched in her throat as his mask vanished.

“Oh! Of course! I said I’d hold onto it for you.” She stumbled over her words and her feet as she rushed to find the jewel he had been looking for. “The only true blood diamond that was owned by the Wild Hunt.” She confirmed as she passed it to him. “So, is that all you came for?” She asked and he shook his head absentmindedly, examining the diamond. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered, stepping back as she created a portal and he sighed, tucking the diamond into his sleeve.

“No, Sabrina, you’re not. But you’re about to be.” Jake said, turning to face her with a disapproving frown plastered on his face. He pulled the crescent shape blade loose from the chest piece of his armour and he was in front of her before she could step into the portal, slashing her cheek. She cried out, dropping to the floor in shock as she clutched at her face. He chuckled, almost enjoying seeing her beneath him. “Unfortunately, Sabrina, sorceresses are part of the plague that is destroying this world, as you just proved. We were just having a friendly exchange and you threatened me.” He tutted, crouching down to eye level. “Why did you have to do that, Sabrina?” She stifled a sob as she tried to scurry away from him, footsteps running into the hut and Jake sighed again. “What a pity.” He stood, stamping on her ankle to still her as she screamed in pain and he turned to see three village boys. “We don’t have to do this.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m just here for the sorceress.”

“You can’t hurt her and get away with it!” The bravest of the lads said, his voice shaking. Jake chuckled, unaware of Sabrina reaching for something and tapping a symbol on the floor.

“Let’s get this over with, boys.”

Chasina sprinted through the forest, not having bothered with her mask. She ran as fast as she could, ignoring the howls surrounding her. The light of the full moon lit her way as she tore through the undergrowth, clearing a lake with a single jump. By the time she made it to the hut, there were three dead men, a portal flickering, Sabrina on the floor, and Moon Knight, unmasked. Her eyes narrowed.

“Back away from her.” His shoulders tensed, turning to face her with shock written across his features clear as day. She blinked, not having expected the face that she saw looking back at her.

“I wouldn’t step any closer unless you want to die, parajito.” the man snapped. His voice was different, a look of calculated cruelty in his eyes that would’ve scared her on a more dangerous man. Chasina tilted her head, taking another step forward.

“Let Sabrina go.” Her voice was empty as she pulled her sword free and manoeuvred until she was between him and the sorceress. He watched every move she made, trying to figure out what she would do next as the tip of her sword pressed against the underside of his chin.

“¿Estás tratando de obtener una reacción de mi parte?” He whispered, a dangerous glint in his eyes. She narrowed her gaze as Sabrina began to crawl towards the portal.

“No. But I am distracting you, aren’t I?” Chasina asked with a small smile as she realised his breathing pattern had changed, ever so slightly. The portal fizzed shut and the smile dropped as she picked up her foot and slammed it into his knee.

“Fuck!” The tip of her sword nicked his chin as he stumbled back, dropping his leg out from under him. “That’s not fair, parajito.” He snapped. Chasina shrugged, moving her sword into a defensive hold as she watched him regain his balance.

“All is fair in war, Moon Knight.”

“I think you forget part of that phrase on purpose, parajito.” He lunged, slamming his elbow into her wrist and her sword slipped from her grasp. He threw punch after punch, all of which Chasina evaded as though she was stepping through a dance. How many times have we done this? Steven wondered. Too many. End the threat. Marc snapped and Jake rolled his eyes. Chasina hesitated for a split second but it was long enough. A blow caught the centre of her chest and she flew backwards, coughing and wheezing. Before she could stand his fingers were wrapped around her throat, lifting her into the air and slamming her against the wall. “Hoy te toca perder.” He whispered.

Chasina stared at him, golden defiance burning in her eyes. Jake stared back, entranced by the change in colour, as her fingers inched closer to his hand even as her lungs began to burn. Jake. Jake watch o- Chasina smiled, gripping his wrist as her hand began to glow and heat poured from her skin to his. He shrieked in pain, letting go of her and she smiled as she landed on her feet. Before he could recover she drew a quick symbol in the air that he didn’t recognise and he found it was impossible to move.

“I’ve never lost to you. And I don’t intend to start now.” She whispered, binding him and lifting him as though he weighed nothing. Her fingers pressed into his neck and his vision turned dark.

“Fuck!” Marc mumbled as he woke up, surrounded by 3 grey walls and a metal door. “Fuck!” He yelled, making everyone else in the cell turn to him in displeasure.

“Shut it, or the guard’ll come back and take our food from us.” One of them hissed and Marc glared at him.

“That won’t be my problem for long.” Marc grumbled, analysing the structure of the cell as he began to pace.

~~

Translation - ¿Estás tratando de obtener una reacción de mi parte? - are you trying get a reaction out of me?

Parajito - little bird

[bigbadripley]

Normal People - Prologue

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Husband!Miguel O'Hara

Summary: Two and a half years have passed since Simone lost Marc and consequentially, her place in this world. As she begins to find it; however, the revolving door of tragedy spins again. Violence and liquor become her coping mechanism as she sinks deeper into her darkest era, but Simone learned a lesson years ago: nobody stays dead forever.

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |   Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Angst, reference to smut, mention of death, reference to violence, use of alcohol, miscommunications, infidelity, hurt/comfort, established relationship, multiversal and time travel, survivor's guilt, death equivalent

Words: 1.8K

A/N: I'm putting the prologue on Tumblr but the rest and what is to come is on Ao3 here along with the first 2 works (this is the third installment) The first work in its entirety is on tumblr here and most of the second. I won't be posting this work beyond this sample on here.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

" The devil came back He's dancing in your path So you're acting like you need me now, hey So tell me if I'm mad There's something in your laugh That makes me fear the way you smile It's hard to believe sometimes We can pretend we're normal people " -"Normal People" by Joji

It felt like his body was inside of a vacuum-sealed plastic bag. Stiff, fighting against whatever held him in place. He could hardly breathe, due to both the weight on top of his chest and the moist soil surrounding his mouth and nose. In the same vein, he couldn't open his eyes or yell for help.

He willed his brittle bones and creaky joints to work again, wiggling his shoulders, neck, arms, and legs to loosen the dirt and reintroduce blood flow throughout his limbs. Once he could feel his hands, he was able to push further, ripping tough grassroots as he freed up space just for it to be refilled by endless earth. His muscles ached already from the efforts, but he needed to be free.

Whilst he struggled against the ground, he started to hear a faint voice over him. It sounded older, and he couldn't make out what they were saying. They continued to speak, uninterrupted by the sound of a shovel sinking and slicing through the land above.

"Don't work too hard, I got you." He was finally able to comprehend the words as daylight peeked through and he pushed the rest of his way out, swiping away at the granules around his eyes. The man who dug him out was George Humbletoes, the mortician who handled his burial arrangements. He looked a bit more gray now than the last time he saw him. "It's about time, Mr. Knight. I was beginning to believe you'd never be back." He said with a wan smile.

Marc began to hoist himself out of the hole, taking note of the brown, dead grass that covered the ground and the flat, moss-grown headstone that read:

Marc Spector

Son ~ Protector ~ Friend

"How long have I been out?" He asked as he sat down and caught his breath heavily. His lungs ached along with the rest of his unused body, even more than normal. George leaned on his shovel and thought about the question for a moment, referring to the date on the gravestone to help with his answer.

"About two and a half years." He said nonchalantly.

Years? Marc thought to himself, nearly saying it aloud amid his huffing and puffing. God, what have I missed?

At first, this wasn't cause for much alarm until his neurons began firing in a way only he could. He thought about the city, Khonshu, Reese-

Moni. He thought to himself, remembering his final interaction with her was shoving her through the gates of Osiris. Forcing her to come back here without him. That was when he didn't think he would be back, himself. It was strange, one moment being in the Field of Reeds and the next being in the dirt with the worms.

Marc began gathering himself to his feet, rickety old bones be damned. He had to find Moni. Had to see what became of the mission in his absence. Two and a half years is a long time to be gone.

"Woah, don't rush. Get your sea legs back first." George spoke with concern, but Marc ignored him and continued to frantically stand and start walking.

"I have to go."

Running through the streets, Marc was able to reach the mission without a word said to him by anyone in the neighborhood. He had his usual white suit on, but the mask was nowhere to be seen. He was covered head to toe in dirt, there were pebbles in his shoes, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach Steven or Jake.

Upon stumbling across the mission, he realized that it wasn't that anymore. It had been repurposed into a Spirit Halloween, which told him it was nearing the holiday.

Nearing Moni's birthday.

This took him to his next stop, being a newspaper stand. The date was October 20th, but that was no longer his greatest concern when he noticed his vestments on the front page, only fitted to a more feminine form. Whoever wore them was pictured hanging 8-Ball from a building by chains wrapped around his body. It was sloppy and could have been accomplished privately just as effectively unless this individual was trying to send a message.

The headline read 'Clinic Burgeler Found!' and off the side, there was a blue box with red text inside that read 'Still No Spidey? See page 7.' Indicating that the web-head hadn't been seen publically in a while. Marc never really cared for the guy, but he was good at his job.

"You gonna buy it or keep gawkin'?" The man running the stand asked. This was Marc's queue to put it back and proceed to his next stop- Moni's apartment. This would prove to be fruitless as well, as when he knocked on the door and a totally different woman with a toddler on her hip answered, he knew she was no longer living there. Asking if the blonde woman knew where the previous tenant went didn't help either.

This left him with one last spot to look, and that was her office. Once he arrived, he was disheartened by the sign on the door that read 'Alias Investigations' , now the office of Jessica Jones and freshly-licensed private investigator Kate Bishop. Last he checked, Jessica worked alone unless he was with Luke.

Marc nearly lost hope there. Moni moved out of her apartment, moved offices, and there were no leads. He had no cell phone or he would try the number he knew by memory.

She may as well have fallen off the face of the Earth. He thought to himself before he peered over at the office next door to Alias to find 'Nelson and Murdock' still stamped onto the glass of the door. The prideful side of him didn't want to speak to Murdock, knowing what he knew now, but it was his only tip.

Hope walk-ins are welcome. He thought as he turned the nob and proceeded inside. At the desk was a blonde woman with the biggest blue eyes he had ever seen, speaking on the phone and writing something down. She regarded him with a smile and a finger in the air that told him she would only be a moment.

His gaze darted around the office and caught the blind lawyer through a window on the left. Marc stormed into the door of the small office space like a bat out of hell, strangely startling the receptionist more than the man in the sunglasses.

"Murdock, it's Marc." He announced, letting the attorney know who he was straight out of the gate. Matt stood, shocked, not only with his being alive but his being at his place of practice. For a moment, he didn't believe it, but the smell of fresh soil and the oh-so-familiar sound of the fabric of his expensive suit confirmed it for him.

" Marc ? How are you alive?"

"I don't know, but listen, I'm trying to find Moni. Can you tell me where she might be right now?" He asked, scrambling for answers. His rushing made Matt stammer,

"Uh, shit. If I had to guess, either at Josie's or her apartment." Matt advised before realizing that Marc wouldn't know where that apartment was. Though, he had been there before, what seemed like a lifetime ago now. "The Rothwell building, quote-unquote luxury apartments."

That bland shithole? Marc thought to himself, making the connection that he had been there, but not the reason. The last thing he caught Murdock say was the apartment number before he bolted out like a man on a mission.

Simone awoke from a not-so-deep sleep, stretching her achy muscles and yawning. Her joints and jaw cracked and popped like she was made of glowsticks.

Another fuckin' day in paradise. She thought to herself as she did every morning. As she attempted to check the time on her phone, picking it up off of the nightstand, she remembered it had been destroyed beyond repair; the screen smashed and revealing some of the mechanisms inside, slightly bent backward at the center. I'll get a new one later.

For now, the shower was calling her name. Once inside, the warm water soothed her sore limbs as it washed away the dried blood that sat on her skin for the few hours she had to rest. As the water around the drain turned pale pink, she examined herself to find that it was the other guy's and not her own.

Once all the residue of the late night and early morning activities was rinsed away down to the bit that had somehow caked under her short fingernails, she got out and toweled off without reason to linger. It was just another normal step in her routine and as she slipped on a pair of tight athletic pants, she was sure of it.

Until there was a loud knock at her door. That part was unusual and made her groan as she threw a loose black top over her bare chest that simply said 'Trophy Husband' on the front in white letters. It was a gag gift, but it was comfortable. The knocking persisted, growing heavier as if the person on the other side was looking to punch it off its hinges. They clearly didn't know who they were getting the attention of.

"I'm coming! Jesus Christ , guy." She yelled out as she heavily trudged to the source of the sound. It made them stop, which was a relief but did nothing to rid her of her displeasure. With that, she swung the door open in an attempt to intimidate them, ready to scold the rude visitor.

Said visitor made her freeze in place with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights. She had faced many enemies as of late, of all sizes and creeds, but nothing made her feel more terrified than what stood before her.

"What the fuck." She muttered with disbelief as she stared at the face a phantom. It was Marc motherfucking Spector, wearing the suit she buried him in. Only he wasn't a ghost. He was very much a physical presence, covered head to toe in soil. It was a dream she had had numerous times and had half a mind to pinch herself if it wouldn't make her look like a chump.

Simone wasn't the only one shocked by what she was seeing. Marc's mind was racing, examining the woman she tossed out of the Duat seemingly the day before. Both of her arms were covered in full-sleeve tattoos and she had chunky strands of silver running through her dark, now shoulder-length wavy hair which was a gift from her mother, who also started graying prematurely. His own observing was cut short by her speaking again,

"Marc? What the fuck !" She exclaimed a bit louder than she meant, backing up out of the doorway and nearly falling as she stumbled.

Zombies weren't on my bingo card for the year. She thought to herself, preparing to fight as the figure before her continued to stare blankly and follow her inside.

[nerdieforpedro]

The Man Next Door

Jake Lockley x plus size black female reader

This blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 4.1k

Summary: You've been eyeing your neighbor Jake for the last few months. A major even and discovery puts things into perspective. You make your move after the dots are filled in.

Warnings: Mentions of blood (various amounts), violence, one minor character death, sprinkles of Spanish, first aid, unprotected P in V (wrap it IRL), aftercare

Notes: My first Moon Knight fic! 🥰 It's been in the works for a bit. It's a half of a request for @megamindsecretlair I asked her what she wanted in it and she told me. We'll see if I delivered on that or not. ��Dividers are designed by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ❤️

Main Masterlist / Moon Knight Masterlist/ Oscar Isaac characters

Sometimes he has blood on his hands, attempting to wipe it off with a rag, other times there are small drops of splatter on his chin and cheek as he gives you a morning nod before you head off to work.

He’s never without a drop of crimson on him, no matter what time of day you happen to spot him. It makes you keep your distance from him, not indulge in idle chatter like your other neighbors in your apartment building, ask to borrow items or even keep a package or two for you.

You’re curious about him, about Jake Lockley.

He’s been your next door neighbor for six months. You haven’t heard anyone in his apartment or seen anyone visit. It was odd, that you’re sure of. He only gets a few pieces of mail and seldom any packages. Never rude and never too friendly either. A fair distance away from any who may try to get to know him.

You wonder if you should have ever spoken to him now. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him and had your morning farewell nod. You walk from the bus stop to work each day, it’s less than ten minutes and you count it as your exercise. This is the night you see him again, your neighbor. Walking home like every other night, you happen to hear a thud and look in its direction. Sure you left work an hour late due to your boss being a dick and wanting you to finish putting together the reports for tomorrow, but at least you got overtime out of it so you hadn’t minded too much. Maybe you should have.

You can’t say it’s completely unexpected, there’s only so many reasons Jake would have blood on him but it’s still shocking. It’s not everyday you see your neighbor standing in a pool of someone’s blood. Honestly you can’t tell the gender or the person or ethnicity from the distance and from the amount of blood.

There’s just so much. Dripping from his hands, splashes on his face and clothes.

No wait…the clothes are odd. They went from some off gray looking robes to his normal jeans, and jacket. Maybe you’re hallucinating. It’s then that you feel a hand on your arm.

“You know him, don't you woman? What do you know about him? Tell us!” When you turn to see who the hand belongs to, you’re met with a knife that grazes your cheek. There are four men in addition to the one holding you for a total of five. You’re shaking your head, it’s not a lie, you don’t know anything about the man other than his name and that he lives next to you. His grip strengthens on your arm as you try to pull away from him and the other men watch amused at your attempt to try and escape. Their laughs are replaced by curses as you stomp on your assailant’s foot and drop your bag to punch him in the face. He’s stunned so his grip loosened finally to give you a chance to go for the knife and you do.

There’s blood on you now. Not on your hand you punched the man with, but on the knife and your white button down from where you went for your assistant’s neck. He’s holding the side of it, trying to apply pressure but he’s shaky on his feet. One of his friends, you assume, grabs him to help him but he slumps in his arms, the man’s hand falling slowly from his neck.

Did you just kill someone? What the hell is happening?

(Khonshu): Is that the woman you glance at and who occupies your idle thoughts Jake? I thought she was one of the many worms. It appears she is not. You may want to don the suit again. She has spirit, but not skill nor strength. She’ll not last long.

(Jake): I hear you loud and clear, you old bird. What is she doing here anyway? She’s normally off work and at home by now. I know her routine and she doesn't change it by much. I knew she had a little fire in her, she went right for the neck, most would have gone for an arm or torso.

The three other men are circling you, screaming at you about their fallen friend and how they’re going to take their time in torturing you no matter if you actually know anything about Jake or not. You lunge at the man closest to you, going for his neck as well since that did the other man in, but he caught both your arms and chuckled.

“Luck like that only strikes once bitch!” He presses his fingertips into your wrists, but you keep hold of the knife, it’s the only weapon you have. But you start to smell more metal - iron, no there’s more blood. It’s not on you, or it wasn’t until the goon holding you falls forward and to step back to avoid his body hitting yours, wrists free, but you’re falling. It seems among all that scuffle, you’d been near a curb and you’d stepped off awkwardly.

You don’t hit the ground though, instead you’re in strong arms. The same gray you’d seen earlier except now there’s a mask, cape and a moon in the middle of his chest? He supports you as you stand up. You’re still holding onto your knife though, adrenaline running through your veins as you hold it close to your chest. He holds your shoulders and gives them a soft squeeze to help you pay attention.

“Mira! Hola! (Look! Hello!) Tch…” Jake’s trying to get your attention but it’s not working. This whole gentle thing isn’t his norm and he can see that your eyes aren’t registering him or his words at all. Not even him squeezing your shoulders, he’s worried that squeezing them harder will result in an injury and the suit only heals him, not you. The blood dripping from your cheek angers him and the men are only knocked out now. He needs to get you out of here so he can come back and find out information from them - slowly and painfully. He releases you and picks up your bag, then tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t have time to console you, not that he would be any good at it. He hears you squeal then yelling and shifts your back to the same arm he’s holding you with, then pinches your hip.

“Silencio! (Quiet!)” Your body tenses in his arms as he makes his way to the apartment building. He jumps to the fire escape outside of his window as he usually keeps it open for when he doesn’t feel like using the door. He removed that suit before heading in, donning his street clothes and carrying you inside, setting you down on his couch. You’re sniffling, but not crying loudly or yelling anymore which Jake is thankful for. He goes to get a small first aid kit. It was included with some beer he bought when he last shopped for anything really and hasn’t been opened. Kneeling in front of you, he sighs as you’re still looking forward, he’s wondering if he’ll still get soft nods and hellos after this. You might even see if you can move from the building. He wets some gauze with some saline and dabs your cheek, finally you respond by hissing from the sting.

“Oh, now you’re paying attention princesa (princess)? You’re in my place by the way. Stay still.” Jake gives you a brief smile before dabbing your cheek a few more times and applying some antibiotic ointment. It’s not nearly deep enough for stitches or even the little strips they have in here, but he still hates that you were there at all, let alone that you’re not only injured but you also had to kill to survive.

“I..so that was all real, not a nightmare? Oh…so I killed…” You finally drop the knife and in klangs on the floor, your hands take hold of your knees, covered halfway by your pencil skirt. Your realization sinks in that no, it was not some crazed fearful dream from watching way too much FBI in one night. No, there had been a fight, there had been blood and you had indeed killed someone.

“It was self-defense hermosa (gorgeous). That’s all it was. You wouldn’t have had to if I wasn’t slow in getting to you.” Jake takes your hands in his. You finally look at him. He looks like every other day, black leather jacket, dark gray t-shirt, dark wash jeans, a wry smile on his face and it’s surrounded by his dark shadowy stubble. When did he change clothes? His eyes are unexpectedly warm in their chocolate pools. You hadn’t really looked at them before, always in passing. You nod and close your eyes. He’s telling you what you want to hear, but you know what you did with that knife. “Come on, let’s get you next door. You should wash up and change clothes. Don’t touch your face though.” He instructs and you follow him to your feet as he stands and walks to his door. His apartment has the same brick walls, though his are more sparse with decorations though you see many books. You didn’t expect any and you’re not sure why.

You aren’t able to find your keys, your hands are shaking so badly and you’re crying again, silently since he told you to be quiet. He regrets that a bit. You’re not accustomed to death and violence as he is, of course it's shocking, most would find it so. “May I princesa?” Jake holds out a hand, he’s not going to force it, it’s not the time. You hand him your back and he searches for half a minute. The bag is large and looks like you keep a lot of ‘just in case’ stuff in it. He finds your keys and unlocks your door, but doesn’t enter with you.

“You’re not coming in? I…” Your voice fades out. You want to ask him to stay, you don’t want to be alone, but would he even want to? He likely thinks you’re a wimp for crying, why would he even want to stay? “N-Never mind Jake see-”

“I’ll be back. I need to tie up loose ends princesa. Just take a nice slow shower, if you get your face wet, clean and apply some more ointment and eat something. You did well, you survived. Don’t feel bad about it at all.” He’s spoken more to you now than he ever has. On one hand, this eleates Jake as he was never really sure how to start a conversation with you, but under these circumstances, it’s far from ideal. His arms wrap around you, bringing your head to his chest. He still smells a little metallic like blood but now like the books in his apartment and cigarettes? You’d never seen him smoke, curious, but not your focus. His heartbeat is steady and one hand touches the back of your neck, his fingers run up into the small hairs you have at the back edge of your hairs, those little ones that no amount of hair grease or edge cream will tame. He’s playing with them though before he lets you go abruptly. “Hasta leugo princesa (See you later princess).” And he’s back to his apartment. Gone that fast. His warmth lingers on your neck and the front of your body and it’s what you ponder while you’re in the shower.

Peeling off your clothes and showering was the easy part. The clothes went in their own small trash bag and would go out with tomorrow’s garbage. It was trying to eat, you made a sandwich and only ate half of it, then there was soup, which normally you love, but the smell made your stomach curl. Eventually, all of the sandwiches went down with some water and on the couch you sat. Alone with your thoughts. You don’t feel any different, but you know what you did with that knife. The blood, the men’s threats, the fear you felt, Jake being covered in blood. What was he going to do when he came back? Where should you even start with your questions? It had been a few hours by this point and you’re staring at the wall when there’s a knock at your door. Standing and hurrying to the door, a familiar voice uttered one word.

“Princesa.” It was the fastest you’d open the door for anyone.

Jake sits down from you on your couch and explains to you who he is, who he serves and why he usually has blood on him. It’s fantastical and had it been any other day, you’d told him to get out and avoided him like he was insane. But the events of the night had told you to believe him and it was honestly better to think he was punishing those causing harm to others than being a serial killer or something else. You do notice something though, Jake appears to be nervous, which is weird, his eyes are darting around and he keeps clearing his throat and moving on the couch, like he can’t get comfortable.

“Did you want to sit in the armchair? You might find it more comfortable.” Your offer makes him stop moving and sigh. Jake’s a little worked up since he’d been doing a lot more of Khonshu work, normally he’d drink to ease himself into some sleep. He should leave. Now. You’re freshly showered, took down a man despite being scared out of your mind, and he held you too long earlier, much too long. He meant to calm you with that hug but it instead had him in his thoughts again.

He shouldn’t have watched you stand either, your wide hips make Jake want to do more than pat them as do the soft caramel of your legs that he sees as you glide over to your fridge to offer him water. He stands as you bring him the water and he gulps it down, thanking you as he starts toward the door.

“W-Wait, you’re leaving already Jake?!” He needs you not to call for him like that. You sound like you need him and…that’s not something he can handle right now.

“You’re okay now. I shouldn’t stay any longer princesa.” He doesn’t turn to face you. If he sees your eyes he’s not going to leave. He knows what he’s feeling is partly from all the fighting but not entirely and that’s the part his mind has latched onto and won’t let go of.

“Could I at least have another hug before you go Jake?” You’ve said his name softly, almost with care. How can he say no now? He did give you a hug earlier. He turns to see that you’ve dropped your robe and you are wearing a red silk nightgown that just barely covers your bottom. Your eyes aren’t telling him you want a hug, at least, not just a hug.

“Hermosa, I don’t think that’s all you want from me. Let’s both be honest here. Has this been part of why you watch me as much as I watch you?” His steps are slow, he’s giving you an out. You can say no and give a flimsy excuse like your robe slipped or something. You don’t. You put your hands on his chest and run them up as he did to you, your hands grabbing his curls, their silken texture makes you smile.

“You’d be correct Jake. This dance has gone on long enough. You’re finally in my apartment and I almost died tonight. I also had a long shower as you suggested.” Your plush lips look so inviting and he can’t resist. The kiss is sloppy and his hands are roaming your body, he’d like to rip the gown off of you, but he’s sure you put it on to be admired so he will for a little bit. Jake is much more interested in what’s under it. He bends temporarily and hooks his hands under your knees to lift you up carrying you to your bedroom.

After setting you on the bed gently, Jake slips off his clothes, making a pile on the floor in front of your bed. He’s not one to be embarrassed and is well aware of what he’s working with. His swollen length bobs while he licks his lips. His eyes roam your body as he climbs on the bed, calloused hands start at your ankles and slide up your thick legs. Once he reaches your hips, his hands stay under your nightgown as he pulls it up and over your head. The low groan makes his Adam's apple bob when he sees you weren’t wearing any underwear as you open your legs for him to expose your wetness. You gasp at the cool air and it allows him to capture your lips again, your arms and legs wrapping around him.

He grins into the kiss, lurching his hips forward to have the head of his cock glide across your wet slit. Your hips react and jut forward having the tip enter you, Jake grins on your lips and pulls back but leaves the tip in. “Rather eager aren’t you cariño (sweetheart)?” He takes hold of his length, removing his tip fully and rolls the wrist of his free hand for you to roll over. “I’ll have you from the back first. I want to see that large ass of your bounce.” You roll on your stomach and spread your knees, feeling him lean over and run his hands along your body as he notches at your entrance. His bulbous head is just past your entrance. “Move that ass and push back on my cock. Show me what you can do hermosa.” He leans to kiss along your spine as you use your legs to move your hips back, having your forearms flat on the bed with your elbows as an anchor.

You’re able to get him deeper and feel him stretching you, almost too much, his hips don’t feel flush with yours yet, there must be more. “Jake you’re so thick…. Please move with me.” You coo, looking back at him, your hips moving slowly, your walls are pulling on his shaft, learning his shape. Jake’s hands are roaming your back as praises for working hard for him. He’s aware of his girth and wants to push forward but not yet.

He leans over your back again, making his chest flush with it. His lips are next to your ear, “Muy bien (very good) mi (my) princesa. I’m going to reward you by moving. Be as loud as you want.” A kiss is placed on your shoulder, a last bit of tenderness he shows you before straightening himself up and taking hold of your hips. He draws back, nearly pulling all the way out of you but he thrusts forward, his hips finally flush with yours and the walls of your core expanded to accommodate him as his thrusts increased as did your cries of Jake’s name. You felt yourself pressing into the mattress, at one point face down. Jake was not having it. He wanted you vocal unless your voice had truly given out, which he was sure it hadn’t. His hips came to a full stop and you gasped. “No, no princesa. You won’t go quiet on me yet. Roll.” He gave a light slap to your ass for encouragement for you to move.

You had just sat yourself up back on your elbows and lifted your head when Jake decided that you were moving too slow for him and pulled out of you, the loss had you groan before you yelped with your leg up in the air where it had not been for a long time. He crossed your leg over and succeeded in flipping you over so you were now on your back. Jake’s relentless, his hands are roaming your thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, “Jake....Jake..Fuck…” You keep chanting as he grins before capturing your lips again with his. He has yet to enter you once more and his precum is dripping onto your slit as it rubs your viscous liquids together.

Once he pulls back, he takes in your swollen lips, the heaving of your chest, every curve that he’s tried to feel with his fingers and he knows he hasn’t. This time when he slips back within you, it’s slower and he keeps eye contact with you, one hand on the back of your knee pushing your leg forward to allow him deeper and the other on the back of your neck to pull your face closer to his as he presses his chest against yours. “So much better than I imagined princesa. You’re not getting away from me you know.” He nibbles on your bottom lip as your core tightens around him again, “Good girl, milk me and accept what I’m going to give you.” Your hands grab his shoulders and dig into his skin, scratching him, your hips keep crashing into his as he speeds up a bit, nearly at his climax.

“Give me what you’ve got Jake. I’ll mark you…” Using your teeth, you graze the skin on his neck before biting down and hearing him hiss, giving you a few more strong pumps before spilling inside of you. The heat from his spend has the walls of your cunt close around his throbbing shaft as you scream in your own peak. Jake continues to slowly roll his hips until you both start to come down. Neither of you move, only the sounds of your breaths fill the room. Your body is completely limp and you stare up at Jake who gives you a small kiss to your lips before starting to move back, your arms weakly reach for him and he grins.

“You want more already? You’ll have to give me a few princesa.” Shaking your head, you stick your bottom lip out and give a small pout.

“Don’t leave yet. Stay.” Jake rubs circles on your belly and chuckles.

“You’re even more adorable than I thought. I need to know where your washcloths and towels are. We need to clean up. I’m not leaving.” You inform him that they’re in the small hall closet next to the bathroom to which he goes and gets two washcloths, warming them up along with towels. He wipes you down first and dries you, then takes care of himself before slipping the both of you under the sheets. His hand cups your cheek before running his fingers through your hair and then it dawns on him - you’re not wearing your bonnet. Jake asks where you keep them and you tell him the bottom drawer of your nightstand so he reaches to get one for you and you decide to pinch his rather round ass.

“I think we’re fond of each other’s asses Jake.” You laugh as he slips the red satin onto your head. “I’m surprised you knew that I wore one at night. You’re keeping that close of tabs on me?” An eyebrow raises and he puts his hands up.

“Come on, give me a little credit. I’m not going to say I know everything about caring for black hair properly, but I know bonnets, protective styles, but don’t ask me how to do any of them and oil.” He put up three fingers for the things he did know.

Now it’s your turn to grin. This sly man. “Pfft. You’re full of surprises Jake. We’ll sleep and then you’re helping me oil my hair in the morning before work.” You press his chest lightly and the scoot closer to him to cuddle. His arm wraps around your back, and those fingers of his run down your spine again.

“I’ll help you oil your hair tomorrow if it’s after breakfast and you take a day off of work.” Jake kisses your forehead and closes his eyes.

“Alright. You talked like you knew what to do. I won’t forgive you if you mess up my hair.”

“Hm. If it’s anything like what you did tonight, I get it. I’ll be extra careful princesa. Don’t worry.” You’d drifted off to sleep and Jake watched you before he dozed off as well, looking forward to having his hands on you again. In your hair or anywhere you’d let him.

Keeping an eye out from the apartment across the hall 👀: @soft-persephone @saturn-rings-writes @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @dameron-grant-spector @soft-girl-musings @agentjackdaniels

[terracottaheart26]

Ya Amar : A MOONKNIGHT fanfic

SUMMARY: About 6 years ago, Marc Spector had a small whirlwind fling with a young woman after leaving home, though he fears attachment and leaves her behind. When he finally meets her again after 6 years, along with a few surprises, could he bear to face her and reveal his truth?

Marc Spector x female!oc, eventual Steven Grant x reader, eventual Jake Lockley

WARNINGS: M rating *for eventual smut and dark themes*

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

[avtrbee]

kisses w/ marc spector and steven grant

a/n: some steven and marc fluff! i barely read any marc fluff so i thought i try my hand on it. a little angst on marc's end, but that's it. feel free to request some steven and marc, and dont be shy to comment what you think! masterlist

steven grant

kisses you often, used any and every excuse to kiss your cheeks, and always your cheeks, whether it is a goodbye before going off to work or its as simple as standing up and heading to the kitchen to make tea

he makes sure his lips on the cheek is the first and last thing you feel before waking up and falling asleep

soft moments with kisses would be like “you-” kiss. “are-” kiss. “the-” kiss. “most-” kiss. "beautiful woman-" kiss. "I have ever met.” and it leaves you breathless and so full of love every time

his kisses are warm, like the soft crackle of a fire in a fireplace, the feeling of hot chocolate in a cafe while you stare at the rain outside, the faint scent of your detergent on your blanket after four days its wash

aside from your cheeks, he oftentimes pecks your lips and it catches you off guard every time. when steven does this, there is almost always a smile growing on his face as he kisses you

marc spector

he doesn't kiss you as often as steven does. his kisses happen here and there, often enough that you don't feel like he's neglecting you or that something is wrong.

his kisses sometimes feel like it's a goodbye, because for him it is, he doesn't know if he'll survive what he must go through. he has made enemies everywhere he doesn't know if this will be the last time he'll see you so he makes it count

your forehead is where he prefers his kisses to land, always grabbing your face and tangling his hands in your hair. he would stare at your eyes first, forehead to forehead, his warm gaze holding all the love he has inside for you, trying to tell you all the things he can't verbalize before kissing your forehead

marc is disciplined but this is one of the rare moments where he'd let himself go, making his kisses last a few seconds more than usual, savoring you in his arms just a little longer

and when he finally pulls away, his eyes tell you what he doesn't say, that he doesn't want to leave, that he would rather spend the day in bed or walking around the streets as long as it's with you rather than to do whatever it is he has to do. but he lets go of you anyway.

[eloisegrant]

We need Another Deity

A/N: Okay, so this story is based on Filipino mythology because I fell down a wormhole surrounding Moon deities. Also I have Filipina heritage so this is very close to me. Would kill to see more superhero characters from less popular countries, some fun. And After re-watching Khonshu’s stoning scene, this concept popped in my head because it seemed to be a cool concept for all mythologies to have common ground.

Background information: Reader takes form of the Philippine deity, Mayari Halla (last name taken from her father, God of all Gods ‘Bathala’), she also has a brother called “Apolaki”, God of the Sun. She is the Goddess of the Moon, Strength, War, Beauty (among other things). Also she’s blinded on one eye due to a civil war between her and her brother.

Summary: This story takes place in the MoonKnight timeline once Khonshu is trapped in stone. Steven alerts Marc at once, causing them to reach out to the only individual who can help, a Goddess herself.

Warnings: none necessarily, bit of fluff and violence

Marc was at a lost for words. Why did the big bird find it necessary to escalate this far? Steven should’ve known better, yet unfortunately, here they were.

So as Marc rummages through the hotel room, constantly stuffing the luggage as quickly as possible. Steven intervenes through the reflection on the broken mirror, “Could you just let me know who exactly we’re getting?” Steven’s voice was nervous.

“Khonshu talked about another deity…” Marc continues packing up, looking for his passport and clothes for the trip, “One capable of persuading the Egyptian gods and goddesses; at least that's how he put it.” Steven scrunches his nose confused with who they were going to fetch.

“And where exactly is this other deity?” He glances back at Steven in the mirror, as he places the luggage in his hands.

“Manila.” Marc laments, putting his dark blue cap, wiping away smudges of dirt on his face as he looks in the mirror.

“Excuse me? Manila? Ammit could be released any second!” Steven panics.

“Without Khonshu, there’s no suit. No suit, no me and you. And whoever else is up there.” Marc explains to Steven, “So we need to hurry.” Marc glances down his phone, seeing the flight to Manila was leaving in 45 minutes.

Without hesitation, he gets out of the hotel, hailing a taxi in one raise of the hand. He needed to get to Manila, look for this deity and convince them to help him. He wasn’t even sure who this deity was, all Khonshu gave him was a name and some stories.

-

“There’s another one?” Marc fixes his shirt over his head, the previous mission ruined his favourite jacket so he needed to change.

Khonshu, standing over him, answers, “Yes. Mayari, beauty and terror wrapped into the ideology of the moon.”

“And you said she’s half blind?” Marc asks to keep the ball rolling.

“Her brother was a treacherous man, he changed once he saw the pain he had inflicted her with.” Khonshu moves a hand and balances on his staff.

“Sounds like a good family.” Marc vocally says but internally he thought they were crazy.

-

As Marc entered the plane, all he could do was wait. Wait for Manila. Wait till Mayari. But a man in this position didn’t have enough time to wait, they were in desperate need of a literal hero.

———>Metro Manila, Philippines

Exiting the facade of the Philippine airport, Marc is met with Steven’s reflection against the shiny metallic pillars, “How are we going to find her here?” Marc pushes back his curly locks away from his face, adjusting his glasses.

“I may know a guy.” As Marc walks through the exterior of the airport, a fully bearded man holding up the sign M.K. caught his attention. Once they met each other's gaze Marc moved to his direction.

The man greets him with a smile, “You’re Khonshu’s avatar, I presume. My name is Antonito, I am the servant to the Halla family.” He grabs Marc’s luggage and brings it over to a pearl white Land Cruiser parked on the side of the road.

“When word of Khonshu getting stoned came, not all the deities were informed. It was only a matter of time until you reached us.” Antonito prompts Marc to sit on the passenger’s seat as he maneuvers to the driver's seat.

“I wouldn’t have reached out if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” Marc adjusts his hips as the car begins to move, “Khonshu’s methods are becoming a bit extreme.”

“I must let you know Mayari may be kind and pleasant. But she is also unsure of most things. You must convince her that the tomb of Ammit is in real danger of being exposed.” Antonito bustles through the busy streets of Manila. Marc nods as a response and glances at Steven in the rearview mirror, “Mayari?” He mouths to Marc who ignores his voice. He didn’t need to concern this man with his condition.

As the roads eventually turned into more residential ones, Antonito turned to the right through curved and unpaved roads. Marc clutches his seatbelt, cursing Khonshu for having made a decision without even thinking about the consequences.

About five minutes later, they reach a tall gate, the words Halla encrypted in golden metallic styles.

The sight was incredible, the gates opened to a garden of Eden, trees filled with fruits and bearing flowers. It seemed to be entirely picturesque, like a piece of heaven on earth. As they went further in, people by the hundred surrounded the tall white facade of the mansion in the middle of this heavenly parade.

“The Hallas are having a party.” Antonito turns the car to one of the many parking slots, “It would be intimate, you know what they say… big parties are the most intimate places.” He backs up to the parking easily, turning the car off before letting Marc hop-off next. As Marc closes the car’s door Steven’s reflection comes to ask more questions, “I’m sorry but is the deity we are about to meet Mayari the Philippine Goddess of War, the Moon and so much more?” He asks kind of giddish in a way.

“Don’t tell me you know Philippine Mythology too.” Marc shakes his head at his reflection.

“You kind of get pulled into it a bit when you study history.” Steven mentally pats himself on the back, gaining a not shocked expression on Marc’s face.

He gets pulled out of his mind when Antonito opens the trunk of the land cruiser, handing him a bagged up suit. “Meeting the Gods and Goddesses of our country means looking the part.” He hands Marc the bag, as if to automatically ask him to put the suit on. First, he hesitates, but eventually caves in since the man did have a point. Antonito makes his way to the house as Marc tries his best to be inconspicuous, changing outside of the car.

Once all dressed, he takes a good look at his reflection on the now dimming sky’s reflection on the car. “We look dapper.” Steven admires his own reflection as Marc nods in agreement, “Showtime.”

Entering the mansion, a butler opens the house to expose a facade that appeared much bigger that what it let on outside. He fixes his tie and tuxedo, glancing around to find where the Goddess Mayari was.

There!

Steven’s voice echoes in Marc’s ears as his body is directed to the woman leaning by the staircase in a glowy blue gown, hair draped ever so slightly in a bun with a few strands out to frame her face.

“You sure?” Marc whispers to himself.

Yes. 100% positive.

Marc grabs a drink from one of the waiters and asks Steven one more time, “How do you know? I don’t just wanna approach a woman randomly.”

The eyes. Mayari lost one of her eyes and that gorgeous woman over there has the exact depiction.

Marc was trying to convince himself that what Steven was suggesting was enough, but he had no time to banter and just walked up the stairs to meet the mystery woman by the staircase.

It didn’t take Mayari long enough to notice this olive-skinned man approaching her slowly and nervously.

So she starts to speak to him, “Why hello, handsome.” stepping down to meet Marc by her chest as he looks up to her. He grabs her hand and kisses it slowly, “I have never seen you around.” He gets a better glance at her eyes, one was beautifully deep chocolate while the other was an icy white

“First time here.” He steps up to meet her gaze as she looks him up and down as if he was a slab of meat. Mayari was known as the Goddess of a lot of things, one of which being beauty, and Marc looked very beautiful in his attire.

“I’m sorry but I’m here on business.” He catches on with how Mayari was slowly examining his physique, though she was an ethereal character, they didn’t have much time.

“I see.” She bows her head down and lifts one hand to Marc’s temples, confusing him. She just wanted to read his mind, trying to understand what his purpose was without having the stress of verbally communicating. As if lightning, 3 seconds and she already had the full story.

“My my… what has Khonshu done this time…” She gulps the drink in her hand, earning a relieved sigh from Marc’s lips, he didn’t have to explain anything like Antonito said. She grabs Marc’s hand and escorts him up the stairs to a more private and less noisy ground. Leading him into a room by the right wing which opened up to a massive dome shaped room filled with artifacts, armory and even its own coffee maker. Nice. He thought to himself.

Mayari began to speak once the door was shut, “When the night sky turned back to 2,000 years I thought it was a practical joke.” She moves to Marc, “It appears Ammit has tainted someone so desperately it drove Khonshu to madness.” She looks up at Marc who nods and shares what he needs.

“I wouldn’t have gone here if it wasn’t this-” Marc is cut off by Steven’s reflection roaming around Mayari’s hall of weaponry.

Mayari notices Marc’s glances behind her and looks, spotting Steven at a glance, “Appears like your mind is crowded.” She smiles back at Marc.

“Y-yeah…” He breathes out, causing Mayari to put her hand on his shoulder.

“He seems to like my things.” She looks at Steven who was gasping at the bolos in racks.

Marc shakes his head and chuckles, but gets back to the point of all this, “I need your help.” He clasps his hands into one another.

Mayari tilts her head and looks at Marc, “To bring Khonshu back?” She genuinely asks.

“Yes… No Khonshu means I can’t fight back… Which means, Ammit could be released.” He admits, making the woman tightly smile and nod in agreement.

She moves past Marc and changes as if in a blink of an eye, “Where do we start?” Mayari, now in casual attire, ties her hair and has both her eyes, instead of one.

Marc recalls what Steven said about her eye and couldn’t help but question it, “Um, how did your eye get better?” He asks.

“It’s already healed.” She walks towards Marc, “Whenever I have meetings or fights, I make it appear as the iconic look it has been for the past millennia.” She grabs a backpack with a swoosh of hand, as if she was ready to leave the house. Marc was sort of confused but let it slide but Steven was fangirling inside him.

“Not now.” Marc speaks to himself.

Marc just let me have the body on the way back and I promise.

Mayari laughs at Marc’s adorable banter to himself which makes her wonder why he was being so mean to the double in his mind, “I’d like to meet him.” She comments in the midst of Marc’s words.

“You do?” Marc raises his eyebrows as if to say no fucking way you do. But alas, Mayari nods in the most sweet and genuine way imaginable. Making Marc look at himself in the mirror, “Go ahead.” He allows Steven to front.

As soon as Steven turns around, he is met with Mayari and this makes him leap in excitement, “Is it true? That stuff about your eye?” He immediately asks.

“Ah yes… Well, I did truly get it from Apolaki.” She eyes him, “But when it healed, I decided the look was so badass, I made it stick. Plus, all my paintings are in that image.” Steven smiles softly at the thought of Mayari doing that for aesthetic purposes but it was something a Goddess of beauty would probably do. He didn’t even realize that he was staring at her with the biggest awestruck look until Marc’s voice echoed.

Hey, Loverboy. Remember. Egypt. Khonshu.

“Sorry, sorry” Steven stutters, “It’s just that… You truly are the Goddess of beauty.” His words make Mayari blush, he was quite a charmer.

“Please don’t forget, I am the Goddess of War, too. Amongst other things.” She prompts her walk towards the door, causing Steven to follow suit. “Now, let’s go to Cairo shall we?” Her hand reaches out to the body Steven was fronting but before anything, an abrupt knock disturbs them.

Mayari sighs and turns away from Steven, promptly letting his hand go. Steven was enamored at the thought that a Goddess like Mayari held him.

To Mayari’s demise, it was Apolaki, drunk out of his mind knocking on the door. “Hello sistaa-“ His words were slurred but he maintained composure as he leaned on the doorframe.

“Hello Apo, what do you want?” She shifts her weight between the left and right leg, replicating Apolaki’s lean.

Apolaki glances to the back of Mayari and spots Steven, well he didn’t know who he was so he assumed Mayari dear was getting jiggy with the man, “Oh sorry, was I interrupting a sensual moment?” Apolaki winks at Mayari. “A little too early in the night to be doing it, hm?” He wouldn’t stop teasing his sister.

In an attempt to shut him up she uses her mind control to shut his mouth, “This isn’t like that I’m afraid.” Apolaki grabbed his mouth and couldn’t open it up. He furrows his brows which was enough to earn a chuckle from Mayari. With a quick wave of the hand, she stops her mind control.

“Fucking-“ He breathes out as if he was gasping for air, “Who is that mortal anyways?” He adjusts his jaw, sobering up from his drunken stance.

Steven weakly waves at Apolaki, “The mortal is Steven.” Mayari answers his question, “… and Marc.” She adds on.

Apolaki, confused, looks behind her again. Wondering why Mayari mentioned two names when there was clearly only one man.

“They’re in the same body.” Mayari senses his confusion and answers before he could be vocal about about it.

“Ah, well…” Apolaki nods as if it was a totally normal thing, there have been more crazier things they’ve seen. But, in this world where giant purple aliens and metal men are constantly on the news, a man and another sharing one body didn’t seem to be impossible.

“Father wants me to ask you if you were going to do anything about the sky last night.” Apolaki becomes more serious with his tone.

Mayari smiles at her brother, “Yes, that’s what Steven and Marc are here for.” She extends her hand to the back for Steven to grab, which he openly accepts. Their hands intertwined.

Apolaki raises his eyebrow, “And who exactly are you?” He turns his head to the side.

Steven looks at Mayari who was staring at him, seemingly awaiting a response too. Wanting to see how he would answer. “I’m uh…” He stutters, “We actually are-“ He points to his chest, “…Khonshu’s avatar.”

Apolaki practically screams in joy, “Khonshu that son of b-”

“Apo!” Mayari scolds Apolaki before he could continue that statement.

“How is he?” Apolaki asks with a huge smile on his face.

“He is currently stoned.” Mayari answers, looking at both the men in front and beside her.

Steven nods to Apolaki’s shocked face, “Unfortunately, he pissed off the Gods and Goddesses enough… which isn’t fair cause we only want to stop Ammit from getting resurrected.” Steven explains, making Apolaki visibly change his expression.

“Ammit? Are you serious? Maya why aren’t you panicking?” Apolaki pokes his sister gently, wanting to gain a violent reaction of some sort.

“Because, if you panic you get distracted.” She confidently says with a smug smile on her face.

Steven nods and agrees with Mayari’s statement, “You gonna help?” Mayari questions her brother.

“Sadly this is on you. Send a post card though!” He screams as he exits their sights down the hallway.

“What a dick.” Mayari shakes her head, “Come on.” She pulls Steven’s body down the back of her room to a huge door that appeared to transform to a location Mayari sought out to go to.

“Ta…” she pushes a button, “…Da!” The door presents the streets of Cairo. Making Steven vibrantly clap, “That was amazing!” Steven compliments Mayari.

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she tries to be coy with it, “Oh please. It’s nothing.”

“No no, genuinely… You are amazing, Mayari.” Steven steps closer and looks down at her eyes, unaware of what he was even doing. He just knew she was hypnotizing.

She giggles at Steven’s poor attempt at flirting cause she finds it cute, “You can call me Maya.” She pinches his cheeks, “Both you and Marc can.” Marc’s voice was heard in Steven’s brain.

She sure is a beauty.

They stay like that for a couple of seconds until Maya moves away and brings them all back to reality.

“Right, so… Cairo.” She gestures to the portal door. Steven blushes at the embarrassment from his awestruck nature, so was Marc.

“Right you are.” Steven follows as Mayari crosses from her bedroom to a hidden alleyway in Egypt.

~

[murdocksgavel]

The Solar Eclispe

Part two of the eclispe series

Rating: explicit

(THIS IS RLLY LONG IM SRRY) Word count: 6.9k

Summary: an old friend of Marc Spector's shows up out of nowhere to find his alter steven grant living his own life until she comes into the picture and changes everything, but is it really for the good?

Warnings: somehow this one is filled with more angst like alot. Flirting, Fluff, implied kissing, mentions of characters dying (more than once), mentions of childs death, kissing kissing, osiris bullying khonshu, IED and DID depictions, swearing, sad nailah, PTSD, disassociating, flashbacks, spoilers for moonknight, . (possibly bad writing i was vry tired, LMK IF I MISSED ANY)

A/N: this took a long time to write ngl. I'm so ecstatic though b/c this is definitely my favorite chapter so I RLLY HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT.

A single gasp "marc", and then he wakes up. Steven shot up with a gasp and pratically jumped out of his bed, but landed on his hard wooden floor face first with only tiny memories of the night before. Nailah on the other hand didn't sleep at all after the museum incident, and she was pratically fuming. Her chest was tightening, hands tremoring, her thoughts began to race, and it all sent her spiraling down a dark,windy,curvy lane of memories. It was a unusually cool day in egypt with the wind blowing in the direction of the sunrise along the three pyramids top. Nailah amir had just gotten words her parents had died in a shootout in hells kitchen new york. Of all days it had to be on the Anniversary of her- of her daughters death. It sent her spiraling, and she hadn't been taking her meds not after- not after he left her, and it was all just getting really bad again, and the tightness in her chest indicated she was going to have a very explosive episode if she didn't find something else to focus on. London was nothing like egypt it was cold, aggressive, windy, gray, and sometimes dull while her motherland was anything but maybe windy, but never dull especially after the incident with marc. Steven found himself searching the camera's now for any indication of what he thought he had dreamed, but now- now he knew better as he intently watched the camera's for any sign of literally anything, but that's when he saw it, or two things really.

The first thing he saw was nailah when she was fighting that thing, but it was invisible?, and then he saw her lift her hand and a golden sunray shot out?. He then sees another thing that pratically makes his bones quiver, and his face go shot pale with the goosebumps, and not the good kind. He sees himself staring straight at the camera, and Steven says, "that's not me". On the other hand nailah was now laying in her floor in a burial position, her hands were clasped and resting on her chest, and her legs were straight. This was what she did after she had her episodes, or at least that's what she used to call them quite literally in another lifetime. She found something else to focus on which was basically just her walking outside, and kept walking until she found herself nearing some mercenaries camp?. He got fired, fired from the gift shop job, and was now heading in some direction he didn't really know where he was going just letting them take him somewhere and to his suprise he ended up in front of her building. Nailah was still on the floor just listening to the quietness of her own breathing, everything was so....quiet, it was never this quiet even if osiris talked to her on the daily occasion he was never this quiet, she always hated the quiet. "Pretty girl you're not supposed to be here". Nailah pointed to herself when she saw a crowd of mercenaries pratically break their necks to look at her.

Holy shit she knew that guy, only from the news and her parents when they used to bicker how he was only stealing Egyptian artifacts and it only made her irritability increase. "I want to sign up to become a mercenary" if she was going to be ridiculed by the bushmen she was going to at least stand her ground. Steven stood at her door hesitating to knock, hesitating to even move he wanted to make sure she was okay, but what if she didn't want to see him. So he knocks, but he doesn't hear footsteps just the door opening, and then he sees her on the floor in just black sweats, and a tight tank top that shows off her arm muscles a little too well. "Nailah I- I came to ask if you- were okay, are you?" And all she does is roll her head to the side and stare up at him, she looks tired, eyes watered either from drinking or crying he can't tell, curly hair dishevelled across the floor, and just a tired expression on her beautiful face. The mercenaries pratically laughed in her face until what she guessed was another mercenary emerged from the tent, and holy shit in the name of re (ra) nailah's knees almost buckled. This man was about 5'9, curly black hair that fell close to his eyes, beautiful almost black eyes, and he carried himself with such confidence as he strided over to nailah pratically giving her a once over to which nailah felt as if he was checking her out, and honestly he definitely was, until he looked into her eyes, and spoke "can you fight?", and her eyes fucking widened. Nailah was still on the floor, and the silence was still in the air even with steven still standing right there just waiting for her speak, or maybe he was waiting to come up with the right words.

"How did you get the scar on your heart" Well he found words, but maybe they weren't the right ones, but little did he know nailah was weirdly relieved he said something to break the impending silence that caused her to break free from the flashbacks that haunted her silent mind. "Old friend of mine, used to be a army nurse for marine corps, he went off the rails, killed a family, almost got killed in the same place, he uh- he went crazy, and caught me off my guard and shot me ended up killing me again-" she heard stevens gasp and before she knew it he was now kneeling beside her. "Can you fight?" He asked her again this time snapping his fingers in front of her shocked face, but she quickly nodded and he pulled her quite gently by the arm to the middle of the sand dune they were on as a crowd formed around them. "Fight me then, if you win you can join got it?...what's your name sunbird". Nailah looked up at steven with hollow eyes probably not the most attractive look she's worn, but with the way steven was looking at her made her not care as much "anyway that's how I got the scar, woke up in the arms of my-..my umm well he was my best friend, frank castle, we parted ways when i decided to come to london, he didn't want me going alone, but i insisted" steven watched intently as she pulled out a necklace, a plain silver chained necklace with a sun, and a machine gun that rested right against it, "he gave me this as a parting gift", and with that steven just nodded needed to find words again, fucking hell this was hard especially since she was still laying down, and he could easily reach out and touch her, but all steven said was, "I hate to say this now, but I need your help..sunbird".

"My name is nailah, nailah amir" the man nodded and then looked her in the eyes once more, "beautiful name for a beautiful girl I'm marc spector" marc whispered which honestly made nailah blush until he threw her over his shoulder. He said it, he said that stupid fucking nickname and it made nailah bolt up from the floor, and now she was the one grabbing Steven's wrist. "Nailah- nailah did i say something" she seemed to be far away, her eyes just staring at him, and this was about to be so out of character for him, but the little american man inside of his head said to do it so he did. Steven pratically manhandled nailah to where she was sitting very closely in front of him, and just like she had done before to him he placed his shaky hands on the sides of her face, and forced her to meet his eyes. He knew this all too well the disassociating, the glossy eyes, all of it, and with that steven searched her eyes, "nailah listen to me, you are disassociating, and I really don't know how to do this, it's probably bloody useless because you're usually so strong, confindent, gorgeous, and self-assured, but please say something darling" steven rambled, and rambled on; the sudden feel of dread polluting his entire body. Nailah was on the sandy ground after she had just blinked, and marc was standing over her with a cheeky ass grin she wanted to slap off his face. She kicked up with her feet and landed perfectly back on the sand which made marc raise an eyebrow, and tilt his head and it was her chance without even blinking she used her position to sweep Marc's feet out from under him, and straddle him with a smirk, "I win". Marc was stunned to say the least, and he actually really wanted to kiss her, but instead marc reached up and moved her hair from her face.

Steven moved nailah's hair from her face which seemed to help because now she was backing up, and blinking, and then standing up, but shaking. Steven stood too rather abruptly and- (steven grab her hands, calm her the fuck down and go to the warehouse), and so he did exactly that, grabbing her hands, "I know it's alot trust me I know better than anyone else, but, and you don't have too but I need to go to a warehouse do you want to come?", and at that nailah looked up at him and sighed like she was relieved to see him which in turn made his heart swell, "yes, let me-let me change". "Where to first? I'm assuming we're going to a temple" nailah spoke interrupting the silence that once sat between the team which was just her, marc, frenchie, and bushmen she always hated the silence. "We're going to the moon gods temple and then the temple of re (ra)" bushmens tone was harsh, and crude towards her, but nailah still perked up regardless which marc noticed and then frenchie noticed that marc noticed so he elbowed him with a smirk. "I actually know where the temples are, I've lived here my whole life so i could take us", and when nailah said that everyone perked up but it was only marc who caught her gaze. Steven was waiting patiently by the door when she came back only 2 minutes later, now wearing long mom jeans, a tucked in turtle neck, a long brown jacket, and her curly hair felt at her shoulders, but what caught Steven's attention was the two necklaces that rested above her heart.

Two necklaces; the first one was the one frank castle gave her, and another that was the eye of re (ra) with an ankh adorning it at its side, and then they were off to the warehouse in awkward silence. Finally after what felt like 10 slow, agnozing hours, not that Steven minded being cooped up in a car with nailah, he just needed air and pratically rushed inside the warehouse with her following close behind. Nailah waited quietly while they walked to the warehouse, and now its all familiar, its all familiar again as they step inside and close the door, it's too familar. Three days later because bushmen needed some "personal time", and the wind was doing nothing for the group, and bushmen had kept talking about a doctor, but she pushed it aside and let her mind wander to the person who was next to her, marc Spector, and she was falling deep. "You still listening sunbird?" Marc spoke up, and nailah looked up towards him with a small smile on her face, "yeah, yeah I am, also we should be nearing khonshu's, and ra's temple now", and she was right, but as the two of them turned around they were met with bushmen pointing guns at the both of them. Steven rummaged through a duffle bag that he saw on the bed nailah was feeling, she was running her fingers along everything almost like everything here was familar. That's when marc appeared in the mirror after steven had picked up an id card, but hearing marc's voice made nailah shoot up from the bed she was previously occupying. "You two- you two holy shit you know him, you knew him personally how bloody personal did you two get?".

Marc jumped in front of nailah immediately when he saw the gun. "What the hell is going on" nailah spoke out loud regardless of her voice wavering she kept eye contact with bushmen and her hand was now resting in Marc's, "you're little boyfriend here disobeyed me", and that her head tilted, "if you're going to hurt him"- it was her turn to stand in front of marc now pulling a silver spear from the side of her waist, "you'll have to get through me first". Nailah just, she just blinked at Steven, but before she ever got the chance marc spoke up first, "you weren't supposed to see any of this, and yes she knew me personally, but it never got far",nailah was still silent now with both looking dead at her. "I-uh, I'm gonna wait outside- I can't, close spaces and me don't- don't work" nailah shut the door gently and pratically collapsed against the one opposite of it holding her hand to her mouth as her eyes clamped shut, and the tears she's been holding back for a while finally fell. She was trembling with fear now that a gun was being pointed at her, but regardless gripped the silver staff in her hand with a purpose, either to get the hell out of here alive, or die saving marc. "Fine then I'll go through you" it all happened so damn fast. Marc practically threw her out of the way as the gun pierced her ears, and when she looked back up he was laying in the sand, propped up on one elbow, and holding a bleeding wound. (Kill him, and bring marc to me) a voice whispered to her, this was her chance to use this explosive episode shes been holding back to finally fucking erupt, but- gods that word but,when she saw marc, the blood, his face twisted in worry and pain, and the spear, the voice, and instead of using this episode for revenge she used it for strength. She was going to save marc even if it killed her too.

The warehouse shook violently and the wind picked up within the hallway, and nailah quickly wiped her eyes, and abruptly stood as Steven ran out of the warehouse with a bag. "What the hell is happening" Nailah yelled out over the loud banging, and Steven just started running, and now she knew why. Khonshu was standing at the end of the hallway, but at the other end there was...osiris. nailah scampered over on the sand to where marc was as bushmen pratically left them in the dust, "I'm going to get you help I promise, you're not going to die marc not on my watch, okay? Not today." Tears spilled down nailah's sandy face as marc cupped her cheek with his nonbloody hand, "You're a pretty crier" was all he said and it whole heartedly made nailah chuckle until he rested his forehead against hers and let out a shaky sigh, "i- i lov- like you alot sunbird i really do", that was enough to give nailah even more strength to stand, and haul marc up, and now they were on their treacherous journey to the pyrmiads. 'KHONSHU, FORGOTTEN GOD OF THE MOON AND VENGEANCE, IF YOU LAY ONE MEESELY HAND ON THEM I WILL DRAG YOU TO THE UNDERWORLD MYSELF' nailah found herself widening her eyes at osiris's voice to the other god, and now it was her perfect escape to go find steven. Khonshu ended up in front of her again and she was going to call upon her staff, but osiris had other plans when he appeared behind khonshu. 'DID YOU THINK I WAS LYING, YOU WILL NOT HURT MY WARRIOR, NOR WILL YOU HURT MY WARRIORS BOYFRIEND' nailah couldn't help but chuckle, "osiris he's not my- you know what I'm gonna go find him". Marc was bleeding out fast, but they were almost there and all he had to do was hold on just a little longer, just a little longer, "you're going to survive marc I'm not letting you die today, not ever okay? Keep your eyes open" her voice was breaking, and all she could think about was how she was not going to loose someone else not ever, not today.

Steven ran out of the building even if khonshu was no longer behind him, but nailah was, and both of them were panting and catching their breath. That's when she heard a voice, that voice, layla and her fucking bike, and Steven getting on said fucking bike. She stole one, yeah, yeah it's not humane of her to do, but she had to catch up to steven and Layla and either it was the episode she was suppressing, or just pure determination she got to Steven's apartment quite fast, and got to the door, but it was shut in her face, "I'm going to kill the both of them" grumbling her eyes flickered to their powerful gold color, and out of nowhere a gust of win swept under the door, and unlocked it letting nailah walk in unannounced. She did, they got to the temples the only issue now was getting marc inside khonshu's temple because somehow he was still breathing, and nailah was thanking her lucky fucking stars. "Come on marc, come on we're almost there" her voice officially broke and both her a marc collapsed in the middle of the two temples, and the waterworks flowed down her face like the- the nile river. "You did good sunbird, I'm- I'm proud of you okay? I'm so proud of you, you did good" marc held her face with pale, sweaty, shaky hands, and his eyes stared into her own but his were losing their signature brightness. "Today has been really shitty you know, but I'm glad i met you" whispering with her forehead now pressed into his, marc was the first to look at her with concern even though he was literally dying, but like he was waiting for an answer as to why it was so shitty, "despite this, i got word today my parents died in a shootout in new york, my uh..daughter died today a few years ago she drowned in the nile, and now this, guess I'm just surrounded by...death". That she was, but death would not bring her back, not the first time at least.

"You're- how the hell did you find him" layla shot out at nailah pratically spatting in her face to which nailah wiped her face with a laugh, and not the good type of laugh. "Needed a vacation from frank castle decided to come to london, we just ran into each other" nailah was standing with her back to the door, her stance now tense again not what she had shown steven earlier; the vulnerability gone and her shield was back up along with the tension that presented itself in her face, and her body. "You- you were the one who helped frank castle escape, and you fucking helped him!? What the fuck nailah" layla was yelling now, and Steven was pacing, but she stayed calm, she always stayed calm, at least now she did Nailah was not calm, not calm at all placing marc in the door of the temple; she was so fucking close, so fucking close just a little bit more...- until a shot rang out through the empty desert. Layla looked down at the bag on the table and then back over at steven, obviously they had argued before nailah got there, and steven seemed anxious, and tense which wasn't anything new but it was obviously intensified right now, and she wondered if marc was speaking to him. "Layla don't" steven warned, but she went through the bag anyway despite Steven's wishes which made nailah roll her eyes, until she pulled out the scarab. It felt as if marc was yelling her name from a distance as she fell to the blood red sandy ground beneath her holding her chest. How she didn't die on impact was beyond her, but she could move. She could barely breath when she felt shaky, bloody hands lift her head into their lap, and all she could hear from him was, "don't you fucking dare leave me nailah, if I'm not allowed to die neither are you" his voice had broke, and the tears fell but then she felt something else, marc had lifted her to where her limp body was resting against him, but her head was in his hands, and at the moment she felt marc spector kiss her with the words, "until another lifetime" hung in the air, and then pure, unadulterated darkness.

That damn scarab started all of this; it was why nailah came back in the first place, (that and what went down with her and frank) like it had drawn her back here and now it was in the hands of the woman who saved the both of them. Yes nailah didn't quite like layla, maybe it was because their personalities clashed, but she had to give it to that woman because truthfully without her none of this would've been possible so yes nailah pushed layla away because in truth she cared for her regardless. (If you let her take the scarab they'll come after her you know this, don't let her take the scarab) nailah's eyes flickered to the shiny object now in layla's hand and then there was a knock on the door. Marc held nailah's now limp body in his arms, slowly feeling himself grow weaker by the second but he was literally crying his eyes out and rocking her limp body back and forth even if it hurt him to do so. "I'm so sorry, first day on the job gets you, and I both killed I'm so sorry sunbird, I'm so sorry" it was all he could say now, and the only thing he could think of was at least she was with her daughter now, but as he leaned down to kiss her cold forehead and looked up, even though he couldn't quite understand what she was saying as the darkness started slowly creep up on him all he could see was his good friend layla coming towards them, and then nothing. Layla was gone, no like literally as steven went to open the door, and nailah looked back layla was quite literally gone, and now two people were barging into the room, and Steven almost ran to be next to her. They both shared a look then nailah looked back towards the two "agents" with a snarl ripping loose from her mouth, and she spoke out loud enough for them too hear, "how fucking delightful". She was dead, like full on bloody corspe dead, but that bright light,the hawk, and the booming voice she heard, 'NAILAH AMUNET AMIR' it was right in front of her the voice, and a foreign warmth wrapped around her like a blanket, YOU WILL BE FORTH KNOWN AS THE FIST OF RA, FROM HERE ON OUT, ARISE MY KNIGHT AND PRESENT YOURSELF AS THE ECLISPE, THE MIGHTY FIST OF RA'.

She abruptly sat up from the gold altar she was laying on with a loud scream, a scream that shook the earth around her, a scream that caused the thunder to clap back, a scream that brewed a wicked storm, a scream that the sun wept for, a scream that called out for one name, and one name only, marc. nailah couldn't have stopped it if she tried it was already too late here she was passed out in a car while steven was conscious, but she was slowly starting to wake up, and she was fucking pissed. Steven was cuffed and so was nailah but when she awoke her body was horizontal meaning her legs were right over Steven's lap, and now was not the time to be flustered but a blush creeped up on her face regardless. Steven looked over at her with worry painting his face but nailah held a finger to her lips telling him to stay quiet, but she had a hard time when she felt him involuntarily relax and placed a really shaky hand on her calf with a lopsided,worry filled grin. Marc, marc, marc; it was all that was going through her foggy brain as she descended from the golden alter, and he was nowhere to be seen, (you know that rage she was feeling this morning, well it's coming back again). Her legs were shaky sort of like she was a newborn baby, but when her legs came too nailah bolted out of the temple into the nightly air of the Egyptian desert, and pratically stumbled into the temple of the god khonshu. The car had stopped moving and had parked in some weird ass back alley. That's when nailah jolted up, her legs still across Steven's lap and his hand was now practically using her thigh as a stress ball which in turn made her blush and reluctantly place her legs back on the floor board. "They're going to separate us i can hear them talking about it" she whispered looking over at Steven before gently grabbing his face mostly to get her point across, and mostly because she was mirroring his actions from earlier this day, "be careful please, promise me you will be" all steven could do was nod and maybe this was the little American in his head, or maybe it was just him but he very lightly pressed his lips to nailah's.

Her lips tasted like sun kissed citrus, blackberries, and honey a perfect combo Steven thought to himself. All of this wasn't what he wanted, he definitely wanted to keep kissing her as he still was, but he wanted to take her out on a date, go to a art museum, a vegan restaurant, or something but he could get by with this for now. Finally he pulls away to breathe and nailah has this beautiful lopsided smile on her face but Steven grabs her face again totally ignoring marc in the mirror who seems to be...jealous, but steven didn't care as he rested his forehead agaisnt hers, "i bloody promise". The temple sung when she entered like light was washed over every corner making her jump slightly, her hands tingled, but then she saw him laying on the altar and bolted to him. "Please wake up, please marc, if you don't I swear to the gods I'll kill you all over again" nailah gently grabbed his face in her hands and the tears she'd been building up all came out like a flood at the nile until she gently kissed his forehead the same way she did when her daughter died, but something was happening outside and in the temple. The two of them now separated thanks to arthur harrow who steven was now with and nailah was waiting impatiently. Arthur had brought steven into the compoud his little cult group was staying in. It was big to say the least, many people that looked almost like zombies, and- "Khonshu is here isn't he?, you know I was once his avatar", and that made steven worry even more, but his mind went to nailah, what was she doing currently?, and where the hell was she?. He didn't get the chance to ponder much more because Arthur had asked about the scarab, marc was yelling at him, but just to his luck layla came in holding up the shiny peace of history, and now he was really wondering where nailah was.

She didn't see it happen, her back was turned away from the altar, but she felt the gust of wind, and her mind told her to turn around immediately and so she did but she was met with marc spector rising from the altar with pure white eyes that had a blue tint to them, her own eyes became a rich golden color, and she followed marc as he began to walk into the cold egyptian desert that was now covered with an almost dim darkness. Layla had grabbed steven as arthur started chanting, and a royal purple light came from his staff, the same staff that held a sliver of ammit's power, releasing the jackals. "I'm gonna die in some man's creepy ass dungeon" steven called out until layla spoke out, "where's nailah steven? Where the hell is she" both layla and marc had said it at the same time and now he began to really worry. Nailah was fucking bored. She was sitting on the curb with her chin resting in her hand and she was just going to stay there unless needed, but then she heard a large crash and immediately got up, and pratically ran to the source of the crash. Steven had fucking fallen throught the window, and into a suit? It was a really clean all white tux and he had a mask on his face and as he looked in the mirror he noticed the white eyes on his face, and then he noticed marc, "steven what the hell are we wearing". Nailah was still running and so many thoughts were running through her mind but one stood out from the rest, why did harrow want them separated?, why didn't he want nailah there, and maybe he knew what together, her and marc were truly capable of.

Fucking finally nailah made it and she saw- well she did see the jackal jumping on what she guessed was steven in a white suit but something told her to stay back, to let him do this on his own even if she could disintegrate these things with a flick of her wrist, she wanted steven to have this accomplishment of saying he actual fought off a jackal. Nailah watched from afar, (he's going to get himself killed if you don't help), nailah rolled her eyes at the god that was now standing beside her to where literally only she could see, "he'll be fine, I believe in him plus if things take a rlly bad turn I'll step i- ooo that didn't look good ouch" nailah winced as steven was flung into the car, but then he started talking and Gods nailah literally face palmed. "You're in the wrongs ends mate you're in my yard now" steven gritted out and he let out a punch that honestly suprised nailah and his celebratory wagwan did make her laugh until he was plummeted into the street, poor steven. That's when nailah stepped in as steven was catching himself against the bus; she rolled her shoulders at once letting them eminence a popping noise that was similar to someone's bones creaking, as her head clicked to the side and her suit wrapped around her body in a...familar warmth as the jackal headed straight for her and-. Marc and nailah stepped outside in the dim darkness of the beautiful Egyptian desert. "Marc what's happening" nailah's voice wasn't quiet but in a way it felt as if it was as they looked up towards the night sky? But it wasn't night, it wasn't night at all, and looking back out at the vast desert the two walking corpses saw what they guessed were the god khonshu, and the high God Ra. This would be the only time ra ever appeared to nailah...in this lifetime.

She was ready to take on the jackal by herself until she felt a gust of wind, and her mind told her to turn around immediately and so she did but she was met with her old friend marc spector. "Get it out of here!" Layla yelled out to the both of them, and marc started running from the top of the city and nailah took the lower half hopefully to meet marc halfway with a dead jackal since it followed him. Marc stumbled onto his knees rather not gracefully unlike the god he mirrored; Khonshu gracefully came to his knees as the wind began to pick up, and now it was nailah's turn to fall to her knees with a grunt as the mighty god Ra gracefully came to his knees, and nailah felt like crying. "What the hell is happening!" She yelled out at the two gods rather angrily, but the god in front of her slowly moved his head to stare at her with piercing eyes and he opened his mouth with a booming voice"THE SOLAR ECLISPE'', and then khonshu looked towards the both of them and spoke with a deep bass of a voice, "you both have caused this, dying together, your blood mixing created a solar eclispe something that only happens when the knights are purely connected. That is how you found each other because you are connected not only through knightage but by hearts and minds, you together are a powerful force, the solar eclipse where both of you are at your most poweful".

Nailah stopped at the end when marc slammed the jackal onto the pointed tip of the tower and her eyes widened as the jackal oozed and then went poof, the only reason she was so suprised was because she had never really stuck around long enough to see these things die, but then her eyes shoot elsewhere and it's marc again instead of the suit and her own suit retracted itself. He was searching his pockets now as nailah made her way towards him until he yelled out in pure frustration and she stopped, her entire body going rigid when she realized what that meant, he had lost the scarab. Her voice was barely above a whisper as her hand reached out behind marc, not touching him but letting him know she was there as she spoke, "marc..we'll get it back okay? I promise you" but when he turned around the look in his eyes made her take a step back, because she knew what was about to happen, it happened with frank castle, and it was about to happen with marc spector until he looked towards the mirror in the structure that had just been used to kill the jackal, and marc was pissed off, the look in his eyes was dark, angry, explosive, but tired all at once; nailah knew exactly how he felt. Khonshu explained what it meant but nailah wasn't having any of it as she stood breaking the mirrioring process of her and Ra, her eyes were frantic, wild, uneasy, but scared all at once. The wind began to pick up around nailah, "nailah you must stop this now, you don't know the strength of your powers yet" The mighty god Ra exclaimed and now it was Marc's turn to break the mirroring process and he was going to comfort her, but when she looked back he stopped seeing the dangerous glint in her eyes, and the wind picked up even more around her like she was the one causing this.

She watched as steven and marc went back and forth, from a distance of course because this was the first time in ages she had ever seen marc angry, sure it was nothing like the murderous rage of frank castle- who she lo- well..it's uh complicated to say the least about what went down with her and frank after she left egypt, and promised herself she would never step foot in Egypt ever again. Marc had now broken the mirror in a fit of rage, "shut the fuck up" marc continously yelled breaking the mirror in pieces, and then everything was dead silent as the wind picked up around them, and she knew it to be khonshu. Nailah hadn't said anything yet just letting marc and khonshu talk, she could hear the both of them, and their conversation about how khonshu was dissatisfied with marc loosing the scarab, and then he said her name and now marc noticed she was there and his hard eyes softened with regret, and something else nailah couldn't quite figure out. She couldn't figure it out, the wind, her bubbling anger, was she really the one causing this. The two gods and marc stood around her in a circle of three just staring because marc was going to go to her but khonshu stopped him immediately. "Nailah you need to stop, or you will kill someone" khonshu yelled out, but her eyes were golden now, and she let out a very loud scream not like the scream when she arose from the dead but a scream of anger, sadness, confusion, tiredness, a scream that could be heard all across Egypt as the sky, a scream that killed someone.

Marc was advancing towards her now with khonshu still behind him, "we need-" naliah cut him off with a hand being pressed to his chest, "I know, but we need to find harrow first, and then all of this will finally be over, and you can go back to your life, and I can go back to the U.S" his eyes hardened again at the mention because she hesitated to say something, a name he presumed. "So you can get back to who nailah? Hmm, who's so important over there?", she wanted to say, the person who saved her from her self sabotage when you were off with god knows who, but she kept her composure and simply said, "frank castle, and i already told you I'm never going back to Egypt ever again". She killed him..nailah didn't mean too, it all was just too much, it was overwhelming and- and loud, and- and, "oh my go-god" everything stopped the wind, the loudness, it was all just silence, and the eclispe had stopped, and now the hot sun was reigning over them once more. "You killed him nailah- I can not be the mentor over someone who has killed without jurisdiction, you will be my fist, but you'll never hear, or see me unless i allow it" and with that the mighty god Ra was gone, now it was her, khonshu, and a dead marc Spector. "You need to leave before he wakes up" she heard the god but her feet were planted into the sand above Marc's body, "LEAVE NOW MORTAL OR I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN", and when khonshu spoke nailah left as fast as her feet would carry her, mentally promising herself she'd never come back to egypt, and that's when she went to the U.S, and met new York's very own punisher (read their story in comet on collison coming soon!, now back to the present).

Ever again, it repeated in her head as marc came closer to her, but she kept backing away too scared to face him after all this time, too scared to even look him in the eye. Marc lifted her chin so now she was practically forced to look him in the eye, but everything was still tense and marc without any words kissed her forehead gently, "I'm so sorry about this, and i hope you'll forgive me, no matter how long it takes sunbird, until we meet again", she didn't have time to ask what he meant because as soon as marc finished speaking he snapped nailah's killing her. "You did what you had to do marc, she'll come back, knowing osiris he'd never let her die before her time" khonshu spoke out as marc picked up a unconscious nailah with a sad sigh, he hated that he did it, and he knew nailah would be extremely pissed off. "Where are we even going" marc asked looking down at nailah then back up at khonshu who spoke, "where the hell do you think". Nailah knew where she was, she had been her before when Billy russo stabbed her with her own staff, it's how osiris became that little voice inside her head, but nailah was literally fuming now as osiris presented himself to her. "He killed me- HE FUCKING KILLED ME" nailah howled out in anger, her once brown eyes, now lit with a golden flame, nailah whipped back around to stare up at osiris who was expectedly calm. "Osiris-" her voice dripped with anger, "where did he take me" she knew the answer, but she just needed to hear it to fuel that fire waiting to erupt.

"Wake up and see for yourself knight", and before she could get any words out, she woke up gasping for air. She was in the bed, and marc was now standing near the window, shirtless throwing open the curtians to reveal cairo egypt. Nailah stood from the bed, realizing she was only in what she guessed was one of Marc's shirts, and shorts, and...the necklace frank, and marc had given her, but she pushed it away and was now staring at marc with pure anger in her eyes, and terror in her heart, "welcome back to egypt nailah", she was going to fucking kill him...again.

Taglist!!: @soldatspet @daughterofthequeen @that-yn-girl @elliaze @bucky-daddy-barnes @comicobsessedhomo @instantalien @thelesbianwithlesbianissues-blog @xoxoloverb @weaponb33 @espurrispossessed

[little-cereal-draws]

The romcom sequel to Moon Knight we've all been waiting for!

Sometimes it's hard sharing a body with someone. Especially when you're both in love with the same woman... and your friend has a crush on you... and you're an ex-superhero

aka the fic where Steven likes Layla and Layla likes Steven, but Marc likes Laya but also a new mystery person, an old friend returns with a crush of his own while also catching the eye of a man who barely exists

[juniperwoodwell]

Master list

Disclaimer: I only do Gn or Female for X reader, I don't do OCs.

I will write smut but I'm not great at it.

Request's are open.

I take Plots,prompts, dialogue prompts,etc. Anything your imaginative minds can think of.

•Prompt List

!NEW! Keanuverse

•Keanu Reeves

•Summer of the Buzz Cut (90's Keanu)

•John Wick

•John Constantine (2005)

•Johnny Utah

•Blurb- Rest in peace not in pieces

•Kevin Lomax

•Ted "Theodore" Logan

•Exhausted (requested)

•Conor O'Neil

•Julian Mercer

•Neo "Thomas" Anderson

•Exhausted (requested)

•Tom Ludlow

•Exhausted (requested)

ADCU

•Prompt Exchange with @kylowritten

•ADCU prompt list

•Kylo Ren / Ben Solo

•Favorite Distraction°

•Pen and Paper°

•Domesticated°

•Dedication Masterlist°

•Flip Zimmerman

•Proud

•Adam Sackler

•Phillip Altman

• Reunion pt.1

•Ren/Zimmerman/Sackler/Altman

•How ADCU character's react to an S/O who is insecure.

X-Men

•Charles Xavier

•Oneshots•

•It's a goldfish and cream soda kinda night

•Totally normal morning!?

•Skits(?)•

•Snacks

•Cruel Joke

•Late nights

•Requests•

•Paris

•Erik Lehnsherr

•Love is Complicated

Batman

•Bale!Bruce Wayne

•Presence

Top Gun Maverick

•Bradly "Rooster" Bradshaw

•Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Daredevil

•Matthew Murdock "Daredevil"

•Night Terrors (Request)

• And Down We Fall

•Frank Castle "Punisher"

•The Beast Finds Love

9-1-1

•Eddie Diaz

•Thief (part 1)

•Thief (part 2)

•Theif (part 3)

•Theif (part 4)

•Theif (part 5)

Moon Knight

•Steven Grant

•Ducky

•Marc Spector

•Jake Lockley

Others

•Damon Salvatore

Request's are open

(Gotta think of some more later lol)

[athenaderiva]

The Blood Lake

Chapter Two

An escape. A reveal. A lot of italics.

Blood Lake masterlist

Previous ~~ Next

Chasina was moving on pure instinct, hearing her armour call out to her, begging for her to find it. She knew that Moon Knight was following her, but she had no idea why he was helping her. It didn’t matter. She had to get out. She could hear the blood pumping through her veins, could feel her strength returning as she grew closer and closer to her armour and her weapons.

“And where are you sneaking off to?” Chasina looked over her shoulder to see Kenneth and she smiled. “I’ve got something for you from the Master.”

“If it’s more of the Ammitryne, I’ll have to decline. But thanks for the offer.” Kenneth chuckled mirthlessly as he stalked closer, syringe in hand and Chasina eyed him wearily.

“I’m thinking you blowing the door off your cell and breaking your cuffs was all the Chaos you managed to regain control of, otherwise you’d already be gone.” Kenneth sneered, his lip curling up into a smirk. “So you should really behave, little songbird, and then we can all go about this much easier. What do you say?”

“I say that you underestimate me.” Chasina snapped. “But also that you’re assuming that I did those things. Who’s to say there isn’t a traitor in your midst? Someone who slipped through the cracks, or someone who was forced to help you.” Kenneth paused, his smirk faltering and Chasina smiled. She moved in close and slammed her elbow into his nose, the shock making him drop the syringe. She caught it and plunged it into his thigh, pushing the dose into his veins as he sank to the ground, wisps of fire dying his hand as the purple liquid took effect. “Sweet dreams, Kenneth.” She said, gently laying him down. She paused, tilting her head until she heard the song of her armour again and she darted down another hallway. She couldn’t hear Moon Knight’s footsteps but she knew he was close behind her.

You were wrong, Steven. She doesn’t need any help at all. Marc nodded in agreement with Jake, though he disapproved of the amount of admiration Jake had in his voice, as Chasina disappeared around another corner. We should still make sure she definitely leaves. Just because she could take one person doesn’t mean she can’t be overwhelmed. “Yeah, yeah, Steven, I’m making sure she leaves. Even if it means we don’t get Harrow.” Marc grumbled as he finally caught up to her. She was tightening the straps on her armour as he froze, staring at her mask. “No, no, no, no, no.” He mumbled, unable to tear his gaze from her as she attached her scabbard to her belt “No, no, no, no, no!” He huffed and she turned to stare at him.

“Thank you, Moon Knight. Next time I see you, I’m arresting you. But as a thank you, I’ll let you go this time.” Chasina - the Songbird of Bastet, Steven corrected- smiled, vanishing out the nearest window. He ran over and leaned out to see that she had already disappeared from sight.

Did we just help the one person who insists on doing their job properly and arresting us? Yeah… sorry. Marc swore as he heard running footsteps and he jumped through the window, using his cape to stick the landing and he ran for the treeline.

Chasina paused, leaning against a wall as she panted for breath. The sun had long since set and despite her blessed armour, she was beginning to feel the cold of the night. She couldn’t risk lighting a fire. Not yet. Not less than a day’s ride from Harrow’s apparent fortress. She sighed and tugged her mask from her face, clutching it to her chest as her hair tumbled free and she tucked it behind her ears. She stared up at the moon and stars, wondering if the gods were watching, her vision blurry from being obscured by the mask for so long. She almost felt bad that she had deceived Moon Knight to get herself free but she knew what would’ve happened if he’d known who she was the whole time. The only downfall was that now he knew what she looked like and her name. “Fuck.” She mumbled, running her hand over her face and up to push her hair back.

You have to keep moving. Chasina nodded, shoving her mask back over her head and tucking her hair in it properly as she began to run again, releasing a flash of energy from her hand to the ground to keep ‘sight’ of her surroundings. Don’t lose focus or you’ll lose your ‘sight’. Stay aware of your surroundings. “That’s a lot easier if you’re not nattering at me!” Chasina huffed in between breaths as she sprinted, leaping over roots and rocks and rivers.

Soft white flakes began to float through the trees, landing in her hair. A howl hung heavy in the air and she smiled. A job. Another howl sounded, louder, to the west of her. Chasina slid her silver sword from the scabbard on her hip, stalking the sound with a small smile. She walked atop the snow without a trace, making no noise and leaving no prints. She whistled a single note and it reverberated around her, echoing through the trees. She followed the soundwaves, listening to how they echoed off the trunks, the branches, the ground. A flash of energy cascaded from her hand to the floor and created a perfect image of her surroundings within her mind. Ash trees, snow at least four inches thick beneath her boots, silver leaves, and a clearing straight ahead of her. In the centre of the clearing stood a minotaur. Through the arcane image, it looked nine feet tall, broad shouldered, covered in brown shaggy hair.

“The little songbird.” The beast managed to growl out. “Lot of people looking for you.” It grunted and Chasina tilted her head. “We in the forests hear things.”

“Thank you for the tip.” Chasina murmured, her sword resting easy in her grip. “The blood that’s matted in your fur. I take it some of it is yours? What does the rest belong to?” She asked, the stench of human corpses being carried to her on the wind. The minotaur hesitated. “Did you know that each species decomposes slightly differently? I say you’ve got less than a day before your den is overrun with ghouls, based on the smell of human corpses.” The minotaur’s nostrils flared and it lunged for her. She smiled under the mask as she ducked the flailing limbs and sliced up the beast’s stomach to its throat. She sighed, pulling a piece of cloth from her armour and wiping the blood off of her mask, shoving the cloth back in place. She pulled her mask over her head and blinked until her vision came back into focus, wiping her sword clean on the snow. The black blood of the minotaur continued to spill from its body and she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s truly a shame.” She murmured as she crouched down and reached out, closing its eyes.

Steven sighed as he took control of the body, the Moon Knight suit vanishing as he tumbled to his knees in the doorway of the room they were renting for the next few nights.

“Had a few too many?” Shut the fuck up! What the fuck would you know? Steven chuckled and shook his head at the passerby, ignoring Jake entirely as he stood and closed the door.

“Jake, mate, come on, you’ve gotta relax. We’re safe for a bit, you know that Layla spelled this place so that nobody who had ill intent toward any of us could get in. That includes the Songbird of Bastet, and Harrow.” He said quietly, staring into the mirror. Jake was glaring at him, but Marc was barely paying attention. “Marc?” I don’t trust Layla to have done it properly. Not since - since you broke her heart? Steven sighed, putting his face in his palm. “Layla is still our friend. She’s moved on, Marc.” But- “No. Layla has moved on. The room is protected. No buts, mate.” Marc sighed and Steven turned from the mirror, flopping down face first on the bed. Now that he had stopped running, he could feel how tired the body was, how the muscles ached, and he wasn’t going to put up with it any longer. It didn’t take long for sleep to take over his senses, and he hoped that Jake wouldn’t let Marc do anything stupid.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 18 - Trippin

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Modern!Miguel O'Hara

Summary: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |   Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Angst, reference smut, reference to non-dubious consent, mention of death, reference to violence, mentioned use of tobacco, lots of arguing, miscommunications, jealous!Miguel, small injury on a set of stairs, toy firearm use, Steven is yet again the sweetest individual in this series.

Words: 8K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List and AO3 saw it first!

" I appreciate you for your patience Even though I know it's runnin' thin I ain't tryna put you on the waitlist Maybe we were better off as  friends " -"Trippin" by EARTHGANG

It felt like  the  harder  Simone tried to sleep, the more impossible it became.  Fortunately, at an indiscernible time in the early morning hours , she drifted off into a light slumber .   The unfortunate part came when she was awoken  seemingly right away  by the buzz of her phone under the pillow  next to  her.

A quick examination of her surroundings remedied  the slight confusion she felt  in her sleepy daze: it wasn't some dream she could blink away.  She was indeed right where she thought she was, eyes undeceiving. Once she was re-familiarized, she pulled the cell phone into view of her tired eyes. It was Miguel returning her call.

Miguel apologized for not answering when Simone called the night before, claiming he had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day and woke up to a dead phone. An easy conversation about how strange and awkward everything was soon turned into a beat of dead air so silent you would think they lost connection.

"So, six more days?"  Miguel spoke up, breaking the hush.

"More than that, probably. We have to figure out what to do about this place."

"I'll be betting on at least a week and a half, then?"  

"Likely so. I'm sorry, I didn't think about that."

"No worries. Maybe I'll be down after to help with the house stuff."

Simone smiled at the suggestion,  elated  that he would  both make time for her and tolerate Marc in a time of need. Perhaps things will work out after all.

"We could probably plan that. Sounds nice."

As if Simone's morning couldn't get any stranger, she was overtaken by the smell of melted butter as she descended the stairs. With each step she took, she felt  more and more  anxious to take the next. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face  a full  day with Marc but breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to the floor and heard humming that could only mean Steven was present. 

"Morning, darling."  He greeted her with a smile  upon spotting her  and waved the plastic spatula.  "Pancakes?" 

"Sounds great, thank you, Stevie," Simone replied as her bare feet patted the hardwood floors.  She couldn't help but reminisce about old  times;  watching him make a  simple,   yet   thoughtful ,   breakfast and coming up behind to wrap her arms around his middle, sprinkling dozens of kisses along his back.  

Those memories weren't lost for Steven, either  and  he half-expected to feel those arms caress him.  Once  he saw her take a seat at the table after she passed behind him, though, he knew it was a long cause. 

"Hope you don't mind my being here." He said, not sure what to expect as a response but was pleased to see Simone gesture that it was fine. This made Steven happy, even if it was wordless confirmation. "Marc needs some... rest, you could say. Not big on sleeping during the late hours, yeah?"

Simone watched as Steven flipped a pancake and listened to the satisfying sizzle of the batter hitting the hot cast iron. It hadn't crossed her mind before then how hungry she was, and she nearly missed what he was saying while focused on the rumbling of her stomach. 

"I know it. I didn't get much shut-eye either." She aimlessly replied, now running her eyes over the blue cotton tee and black and white plaid pajama bottoms he wore. She used to steal and wear that same combination all the time. 

"Weird being back?" Steven asked as he looked over at her.  His eyes  locking  with her own broke the trance  and  she diverted to the skillet  right away .  

"Weird being alone with you guys. No offense."

"No, no, I get it." He reassured. Simone looked back up and studied him  taking  a clean plate from the drying rack next to the sink. Mrs. Jacobs took care of them before she left the night before, insisting that we don't need to worry about it. "Bananas and peanut butter?"

He still knows what I like.  Simone thought to herself. She pursed her mouth to keep from grinning and gave him a nod but noticed he had already begun expertly spreading the chunky condiment onto one of the cakes with the back of a spoon. Her eagerness grew as he carefully placed slices of banana and stacked the three wonky-shaped circles on  top of  each other. 

Simone started practicing  how to say   thank you  in her head as the red saucer was placed in front of her, but somehow  all  she could manage was to mouth the phrase wordlessly before picking up the fork and digging in. "So, what are we to do with all of this?" 

The question mirrored Simone's thoughts from earlier, but she  wasn't going to  bring it up until a few days had passed. She knew better than to disrupt the mourning period with such things. 

"You guys take what you want  and  we can probably donate the rest. Maybe invite the friends over to take their keepsakes first?" She suggested with a shrug before shoving a forkful of decorated flapjacks into her mouth. It took a lot of willpower not to  make an audible  groan at how delicious it was.

"That could work." He said before sitting caddy-corner to Simone with his own syrup-smothered hotcakes.  They both ate  in silence  for a while, too busy with their mouths full but  also  not too sure what to say.  She figured there was no harm in discussing what she was considering during the dark hours.

"While we're taking care of this place, I  was thinking I could try and  find my mom."

"Yeah?" Steven questions, so  in shock  by the revelation that he nearly choked on his mouthful of breakfast. He held up a finger, signaling he would finish chewing before he continued and followed it up with a sip of creamy coffee. "You're not feeling guilty, are you?" 

Something like that.   She  thought to herself before standing and  making  her  way  to the coffee pot for her  own  cuppa.  

"I just don't want her to die and me not try to have a conversation with her, ya know?" She admitted. At first, she was looking at the man at the table but diverted her eyes the second the words left her teeth. It sounded insensitive and all too similar to the reason Marc felt so upset over his dad's death. It wasn't a call out, by any means  and  she hoped it wouldn't be taken that way. 

Though Steven knew Simone wouldn't intentionally poke that  bear,  and felt that Estefania deserved no loyalty from her daughter, he wanted to  be supportive of  her ventures.

"That makes sense. I could come with you, you know?" 

As always, Steven was proving to be more precious than she deserved. Once Simone was seated with the warm mug  cupped  between her hands, she made her stance clear.

"No, I need to face her by myself."

"You didn't let us face this alone , why  should you have to do that?" 

Because my mother may have hated me, but if she saw Marc with me now, she'd have a fucking conniption. 

"It makes the  most  sense." Simone tiptoed around the truth. She took a small sip of the black coffee before placing the mug onto one of the wooden coasters still sprawled along the dining table after the get-together from the day before. She loved and appreciated the half-eaten pancakes before  her,  but was suddenly not hungry. 

"But you're not alone, love." He said  in a reassuring tone  before tenderly taking her trembling right hand into his. It was a sweet, telling gesture. It told of a man who wanted to earn her trust again. Simone  just  couldn't count on that  and   she  pulled the hand away with a soft sigh through her nostrils. 

"Stevie, this isn't going to be one of those things where being stuck in a house together for over a week  is going to  make me and Marc miraculously rekindle. I can't forgive getting me tied with that damn bird."

Her words made Steven visibly frown, but that wasn't what he was doing all this for. 

"I understand that  but  it doesn't change that we— I —want to be there for you." He made quick work to correct himself. One, because he didn't want to speak for the others. Two, because he cared no more about their thoughts of this than he cared about their feelings towards the moon mark. He hated that he never said anything about it and felt it was time for some making up  to do . 

Simone's eyes fell into her  lap  where her hands retreated to find more picked cuticles and blood under her right thumbnail. She shook them out to halt the tick, missing Miguel's soft reminders to stop.

"I know. I'll think about it."

The rest of the day is spent doing more  sitting,  quietly ,  until about 3 pm when Moni needed a nap on the couch to make up for her lack of sleep.   It was around this time when Marc took back  over and decided to start the search for her mom.  

All he knew was that she was sent to an old folks' home due to the severity of her mental health and lack of treatment for it, as well as the absence of sound-minded people to look after her. Estie had driven them all away.

He sat at the dining table with his phone in his hand, sifting through a Google search of the facilities in the area and calling each number as quietly as he could muster.  Through several ten-minute holds and a series of 'No, we have nobody here by that name' in different voices, he realized he would need to expand the search.

A loud, long honk of a car horn  was what  pulled Simone from her slumber. She wanted to be angry at this stir but couldn't help but giggle at the  phrases that followed .

"Learn to drive, jagoff!" 

"Yeah? Where'd you get your license? Sears and Roebuck?"

The argument caused her to scramble onto her knees and peer through the shabby curtains to find a car that had most certainly run a stop  sign,  and another  car  halted. While no accident had occurred, the classic Chicagoan road rage had taken off.  She  found she  recognized one of the individuals as someone she  when  to school with.

"Huh. Ricky Tenanbaum's still around." She spoke aloud to herself before a  hm?   from  behind her made her realize she wasn't as alone as she thought. A quick look back revealed Marc at the table, intently scrolling. After Simone asked what he was up to, he told her that he had called every retirement home in Chicago  as well as  a couple in Rockford but still had no luck. 

"Don't worry about that right now, Spector." She insisted as she treked to the table, now sitting in the seat Steven  sat  before.

"I'm just trying to help. What else am I supposed to do?" Marc asked, gesturing to the still home surrounding them. She understood not wanting to become encumbered by traumatic thoughts of his boyhood.  If her education taught her anything,  it's that you should  by  all  means  take your time with acceptance, but it only gets more difficult the longer you wait.

"Have you been to your room yet?" She asked, knowing the answer already.

"No."  

"I'm gonna go check it out." 

"I'll stay here." 

"You'll have to go up there at some point when we start gutting this place," Simone stated the obvious, hoping to get through to Marc how much it's going to suck, even if he holds off. "You afraid it isn't what it used to be?"

"I'm afraid of it being exactly how I left it." 

Though Simone was trying so hard to not put pressure on him, she realized it might not be a heavy  push,  but tender  comfort,  that he needed.  Just as  Stevie did earlier, she took Marc's hand to let him know he wouldn't be unaided.

"Let's go." She spoke softly, nodding her head towards the staircase. He understood what he needed to do and silently agreed.

They  walked slowly , side-by-side  up  the stairs, neither  one  dropping the other's hand. Though Simone would never admit it out loud, it felt right. Just like old times, but not the old she chose to forget. Much older, like the children they used to be. 

Once they  made it to  the bedroom door, Marc's hand was sweating around hers, and his knees had grown weak. Fear of the unknown had taken hold  and  he was too afraid to open the door himself. A brief squeeze of his hand told Simone everything he needed to say, and she took charge, using her opposite hand to turn the knob for him.

The door creaked loudly on the hinges and resonated through the quiet landing to reveal the very same room they both remembered, unchanged from childhood.  The sight of  books, knick-knacks, old toys, and furniture collecting dust was almost a relief to Marc, who started stepping into the room before Moni to look around.

As her eyes darted around the room, she passed up dingy Transformers and the shelves they sat on to lay hands on a relic she spotted in the nearly empty closet. Brown leather  now  a tad wrinkled with age,  it  was none other than her old bomber jacket. 

"Fuck me, that's impressive." She laughed as she pulled it from the wire hanger it resided. It stirred up an  air of  undisturbed closet smell as the familiar heaviness rested in her fingers. "Nearly two decades  and  this old thing  still  looks stylish."

At this, Marc's attention was pulled away from the old posters he admired. 

"Holy shit! I always meant to give that back." He said, joining Moni by the closet. The coat conjured an image in his mind of the woman who held it now, wearing it as a kid. It was always far too big but kept her warm for years, up until the day he borrowed it. It was once her father's, and it was one of the few items of clothing that wasn't feminine she could get away with wearing because of that fact. As if Moni read his mind, she took a deep breath. 

"Sometimes I forget he's dead." She spoke absently as the memory of her first birthday without her father arose. The feeling of abandonment followed. He may as well have been dead long before he passed. "I guess never calling your only child while doing time in federal prison will do that." 

Marc watched as the face of wonder and curiosity wore off and was replaced with an expression he knew all too well: disappointment. Her arm extended to put the coat back where she got it.

"Oh no, you're taking that with you." Marc protested. 

"Like  hell,  I am! It fits you better than it did me." She replied, now thrusting it in his direction. "You take it." 

It was then that Marc spotted the plastic handle of an old Nerf gun poking out of the basket next to him.  Without wasting a second,  he went for it quickly and pointed it at the woman before him.  Did he know for sure it had anything in it? No, but Moni didn't know that either.

"Say you'll take it  or   you're getting  a foam dart to the forehead." He threatened playfully. Last time he held one of these, the main rule was to not aim for the face  or  you could take an eye out. He was far better with far more dangerous weapons these days. Moni's jaw dropped,

"That's not fuckin' fair! I'm unarmed!"

"Take the jacket, Moni." He attempted to speak sternly and cocked the plastic firearm for effect. Simone knew he would do it, but she refused to give in if it was the last thing she ever did. Especially now that it has become a game to him.

"Not. A. Chance." She spoke slowly, annunciating each syllable. 

Marc realized it was about as good a time as any to find out if the thing was loaded, took aim, and squeezed the bright orange trigger, causing the sound of the spring-loaded suction bullet to announce as it shot. Moni held the jacket up over her face for protection and heard the foam bullet bounce off of the leather with a thud before it fell to the floor.

"You missed!" She shouted before throwing the coat in Spector's direction and bolting through the bedroom doorway. Without dropping the toy, he let the outwear fall to his feet and took off after her. 

Laughter and false screams erupted from Moni's throat, clearly having fun as she went down the stairs as quickly as she could muster. Somewhere in the  middle;  however, she lost her footing and tumbled down the remaining steps. Marc watched as delight turned to pain when her head smacked one of the wooden stairs.

Without a second thought, he tossed the toy back into the room and rushed to her side. 

"You alright?" He questioned, clearly panicked. Simone felt like her brain had been shaken up as pain bloomed above her left temple, knees, and elbows. She attempted to pick herself up from the floor but was nearly pulled up against her will before she could make the effort. 

"Fine, just gonna bruise." She explained as her hand found the knot forming on her hairline. She stumbled again, clearly rocked, as Marc helped her to the sofa. 

"I'll get some ice." He told her once she was seated.  All he could come up with was  a bag of steamable frozen peas, but it was better than nothing.

Simone didn't want Marc to make a fuss over her. After all, nothing was broken, and aside from a possible skidded knee, no skin was open. Still, she couldn't help but watch  admiringly  while he doted on her and muttered expletives into the freezer, failing to find an actual ice pack.

Must've hit it really hard.  She  thought to herself, finding the thoughts to be out of place.

Upon returning with the peas, Marc knelt down in front of her and brushed his thumb gently around the bump, as well as studied her eyes for signs of a concussion. "No nausea, dizziness, confusion?"

"No, not really," Simone answered as she took the bag from his hand and placed it on the affected area. Absently, Marc put his hand on it as well. For a moment that felt like an eternity, she didn't protest.

This is how it's supposed to go, right? We take care of each other.  She thought, silently grazing her eyes over each line that made up the  face  she knew so well. Loved, even. He was still handsome as ever—it didn't take sexual interest to recognize that—but being so close to him again made her brain feel like it was short-circuiting. 

It was  just  like that night in the office, his mouth mere inches away from hers. That was before she knew the truth, and as the thought took over her mind, disgust pooled in her stomach  and  anger flared in her eyes. "I got it." She insisted sternly, shooing his hand away. 

Visible confusion filled Marc's face, wondering how she could go from hot to cold in  a matter of  seconds. The more he stayed in place, pondering it, the more pissed off she began to appear. "Don't look at me like that." She nearly snapped. Marc stood,

"Well, don't act like I'm just supposed to pretend  like  I don't feel the way I feel."

"I should say the same to you!" She spoke with an unbelieving tone. "You keep looking at me like I'm supposed to  just  accept what happened. Forgive and forget."

"Fuck, Moni, I didn't know!" Marc stated, throwing his hands in the air.  He knew he had said it a dozen times  already , and when she rolled her eyes at it as always, he knew it would fall on deaf ears again.   "He said you would be protected  and  that  felt like a good enough reason."  

His explanation still wasn't satisfactory as Simone stood from the couch, squeezing the bag of peas so hard it popped open, and green pebbles scattered and clacked on the hardwood floor. 

"You should've known there was a catch!" She barked.

"I'm sorry." He said. Marc  was  sorry that he didn't look into it further, blindly trusting the untrustable, but he wasn't  sorry  for thinking it was the right thing to do at the time. Seeing right through this and knowing he was telling her what she wanted to hear, Simone scoffed. 

"Apology not accepted. I don't have an ounce of forgiveness in me for you. I'm only here for your dad, and the second our business is done here, I'm done with you again. Understood?" 

They stood staring at each other for a  minute  solid, unmoving  except  for blinking eyes. There was a time not long ago when a moment like this would be broken by knocking the throw pillows off of the couch and engaging in mindblowing sex.  The look in Moni's eyes this  time ;  however,  gave away that her mind was far away from that conclusion.  A very different face than the one she wore moments ago.

"I understand," Marc replied calmly with a hint of chagrin.  It seemed Moni was  pleased with this response and pivoted around to head upstairs but was stopped dead in her tracks once again when the man failed to hold his tongue. "I  understand  that you seemed pretty ready to forgive and forget in my office the night we  talked about  this. You showed me right there that you miss it as much as I do, but you're not ready to  talk about  that."

The thought of turning around and knocking him upside his head flashed in her mind. His words were like a lit match to the kerosene in her veins. It wasn't the fact that it happened, it was the fact that she went into that office pissed at him  and  the second she crossed that threshold, it was gone . Like  a spell. 

The so-called  moment  happened  as a result of  the mark, and she was sure of it. The bodily autonomy she worked so hard to grasp? Gone the second she was in his domain. That wasn't all on her, and she refused to accept it as so.

"Alright, mate. That's enough." She heard Steven speak from behind her in Marc's stead, having forced his way out to stop any further discourse. Without looking back, Simone disappeared back up the stairs.

While Simone sat sulking in the bedroom, she listened to the distant discussion downstairs. Did she want to fight with Marc right now? Not at all, but she would be damned if  she  were to apologize for standing her ground. Still, she knew it would all go  a lot  smoother if they tolerated one another.

She was lost in her  own  thoughts enough to miss the footsteps growing closer to the bedroom door she sat next to but was pulled away by the soft thump of Marc's forehead resting against the wood.

"I wish there was a way for us to just be okay. Be friends again." He spoke through the barrier. Simone's sinking feeling deepened at the bummer she heard in his voice. 

"Marc, I don't think we could ever  just  be friends." She responded, not bothering to hide her frustration at a fact that he  also  believed in. "Fuck, I don't know that we were, to begin with." 

It  sounded awful  in her own ears. After an entire childhood of telling everyone around her that they were  only  friends, nothing more, would she really accept it now? Simone expected Marc to get defensive, but the slight snicker from outside confirmed that he had his suspicions as well.

"Just a couple of kids who didn't see what everyone else seemed to see. That makes sense." He spoke tiredly, possibly just trying to avoid another fight. She didn't have it in her to change her mind or disagree. It was exhausting. 

A long pause weighted heavily on Simone in the bedroom by herself. She  thought about  inviting him in so they wouldn't have to speak through the walls, but felt it was pointless. The door didn't lock, and it was his house. As it would turn, Marc would beat her to it. "Can I come in?" 

At first, she nodded to herself before remembering he couldn't see her.

Yes.   She  then thought to herself before remembering  he  couldn't read  her  mind. 

"Yeah." She finally spoke aloud. Marc entered the room slowly, unsure what  he could  find upon opening the door. He found her sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest and her back against the wall. He nearly held out his hand to help her  up ,  but thought better of it and joined her, leaving a wide birth between them. 

Is this how it'll be the whole time?  He wondered silently.  Why does it have to be so hard to  just  get along? 

From what he could make out in his peripheral vision, Moni hadn't been crying  or anything , which made him feel a little better. He ran what he wanted to say to her a thousand times over in his head, but it was caught in his throat like a lump of peanut butter. Her silence spoke volumes for her, though, and  told  him she wouldn't be speaking until he did.

"You know, I...  I don't know how to fix  any of this  or make any of  it  right.  Seems like when I try, I screw it up even more."  He spoke softly, losing  the words he originally intended , and improvised something close.  

Of all the things Simone wanted to say in response—kind, harsh, half-truthful—she tried to land somewhere in the middle and stand on business without picking another argument.

"You can't expect me to just suddenly overlook the bullshit and fall in love with you again." The words came out  a lot  sharper than she planned, and to Marc, they hit him in the chest like daggers. She hated she could feel the pain of her own words but couldn't tell for sure if it was hurt she felt for  herself,  or the connection between them causing her to feel what  he  felt. 

"Ouch." Marc voiced the ache.  "Hearing you say you don't love me anymore solidifies it , I guess ."

"I mean, it's not that I don't-" Moni spoke up quickly  then  stopped, unsure of what overcame her and why she felt compelled to correct herself. " Obviously  there's love for you, or I wouldn't be here." 

"And you have that love for Miguel now?" He asked, feelings unclear over whether he wanted to hear the truth  or not . He kept his eyes away from her face to avoid catching her if she lied. 

Was she happy? Absolutely. She considered the word  love  with Miguel in mind and had chewed on it several times already. Maybe the problem was it felt so different this time that it was unrecognizable. Still, as far as she was concerned, it was none of Marc's business.

"Everything with him is still new, Spector. Love is a stretch." 

What drove Marc crazy was that it wasn't a simple  no . He chose not to dwell on it, afraid of hearing what he didn't want to, and  chose  to veer off course.

"He just seems so boring  but  I guess it's normal that you want." 

"Right.  Normal ." She said sarcastically. To her surprise, he didn't seem to pick up on the tone, too lost in his  own  thoughts. Her eyes stayed glued to her  socks;  dark blue with a pattern that she supposed was supposed to look like sushi rolls but instead seemed like colorful blobs.

"If I left all this behind, would that make  something  right between us?" Marc asked with a hint of hopefulness. Though Simone still wanted to avoid a fight, she found the question laughable and couldn't keep a snicker from escaping her nose.  In her mind,  he already knew the answer and was wasting his time asking.

"You couldn't leave being the fist of Khonshu behind. It's ingrained in you now."

"I might if you gave me a reason to." He replied. Amusement was quick to bubble into irritation  and  she felt her neck tense up. 

"I thought I did a long time ago." Simone spat but followed the outburst with a deep breath. In retrospect, Marc knew it was a dumbass thing to say. She was right.

This time, a prolonged quiet blanketed the room  and  the thought of the photo downstairs clouded her mind before she cleared her throat. "Your dad wouldn't want us to fight. Like on that fishing trip, you accidentally knocked me off the boat, and I  swore  you did it on purpose." 

"You didn't talk to me the entire ride back, and then once we were out of the car, you tackled me to the ground."  Marc chuckled at the memory of himself bending over to reach into the water and almost losing his balance, trying to grab something to stabilize himself and Moni being the closest ,  but  also  unsuspecting ,  victim.  

Before either of them could think, he heard a splash from the other side  and  his friend was nowhere to be found until her head popped up above the water. Dark, tousled strings of wet hair stuck to her face  and  her hat floated next to her as she coughed up water she accidentally breathed in.

"I was so pissed to be riding back in soggy clothes.  The whole time  I  was  thinking   'I'm gonna beat the brakes off this guy when we  stop '  and I meant it, too!"  

"Dad had us stick our noses in opposite corners until we apologized and hugged it out." 

"Just be glad it wasn't my mom who witnessed it. Would've been belts to asses." 

They laughed for a good while  and  once it died off, they  found themselves finally looking  at each other. Though they were much older now, the children they were resided in their eyes and recognized one another instantly. Sadly, their newer, more mature facial features were quick to overpower them.

He's just too pretty.  Simone thought to  herself,   involuntarily,  before she remembered why she was sitting on the floor in the first place.  Get ahold of yourself, Fredrick.

I'd kiss her right now if I didn't know better.  Marc's mind mirrored, knowing if she could hear his thoughts, she would kick his ass. Luckily, she couldn't, and if his mental images were all he had  left;  so be it.

Both of  their inner monologues were interrupted by a loud rumble that could only be a hunger signal from Moni's stomach. Neither of them had eaten since breakfast, and it was nearly dinner time  at this point .

"You know what we need? Tacos from that place on Howard." Marc suggested as he stood up, holding his hand out to help her  up . She took it and brushed her palms over her butt and legs while he pulled out his phone to call for food.

The tacos were delivered  and  they started chowing down immediately, both seated at the table and not speaking.  As much as Simone wanted to attempt conversation, she was disheartened  by the fact that they only ever  seemed to get along when they  weren't  talking to each other.  Her internal strife was eventually overpowered by her need to break the awkward silence.

"I could move back here just for these." She said mostly to herself. This statement perplexed Marc, having heard her say every negative thing one could say about Chicago. 

"You  actually  mean that?" He asked curiously before putting the final bite of his fifth taco into his mouth. Simone  was only trying  to make conversation and didn't expect the grilling, so she shrugged.

"I mean, I don't know." She started, realizing she might not have been truthful. Though the carne asada with cilantro and onions would forever be in her heart, she could get good tacos almost anywhere. "I hate this place and everything we went through here." 

When she felt relieved of the question, she leaned back in the wooden dining chair, running a trimmed nail between her teeth to pick out a stubborn bit of steak that had jimmied its way in there.

"You know, I thought about it," Marc spoke, hoping Moni had not given up on the subject  entirely .

"About what?" 

"Asking if you wanted to move here instead of New York." 

At the mention of this, Simone suddenly  had a  hankering  for a cigarette. There certainly would have been enough crime for him here, but she knew  he  knew better than to bring it up.

"You know what I would've said." 

"You would have asked if I was out of my fuckin' mind." Marc chuckled, which made Simone laugh along with him. It was a gratifying sound, them finally agreeing on something. Once it ended, she changed the topic.

"I'm stuffed." 

"I bet. You just smashed eight street tacos." Marc began, having only had five himself with a few left over. "Where'd you put it all?"

"Do you want me to say that it goes to my rotund ass? Because that's probably true." Moni joked.

And a nice ass it is.  Marc thought to himself before realizing it wouldn't be wise to say anything aloud that would be in agreement. They were getting closer to being okay  and  the last thing he wanted to do was say something stupid and ruin it when it  just  barely began.

Though Simone felt the same, she couldn't tell if she wanted him to make a comment about her butt joke or not. She brushed it off as a feeling of wanting attention she didn't need and let it go as  easily  as she let go of the hardy gut laughs they had shared together.  She  missed this. She missed him. It terrified her.

"We could  try  the friends thing." She blurted out just as the idea entered her mind. It seemed to catch Marc off guard, and he tilted his head in confusion. It was a very different tune than she was singing earlier. "It sounds a lot better than me hating you."

Hearing Moni say it out loud made him realize what he had said before was a blatant lie, even if he didn't catch on  at the time . The word  'friends'  in reference to their relationship stung deeply. He, again, didn't want to ruin  a perfectly good  moment of getting along. 

"Wow. Didn't think you'd come around so fast." 

"It has to work correctly, though. No being buddy-buddy with ulterior motives." 

In other words, no hanky panky.   She  thought.

"Moni, I just want you in my life again. I don't give a shit how." 

Another lie, and this time, Marc could tell she noticed with the doubtful look in her eye. He expected to be called out on it but  ended up proceeding  to speak before she could. "Did I tell you how much I appreciate you  for  doing this?"

"Don't worry about it. You'd have done the same for me." Simone trailed off at the thought, knowing she may need him sooner than either  of them  thought. " Will  do the same for me. There's a possibility she's already dead."  

"How'll that make you feel?" Marc asked.  Moni rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her palms, familiar with  the technique he was using .

"Are you shrinking me?" 

Marc met this with a snicker and a shrug, 

"Just wanting you to talk to me." 

Simone didn't think very fondly of her mamá by any means. The woman was as much to blame for the torment she endured as a youth as her uncle was. Estie opened the door for her  own  daughter to be ripped apart by her peers, the church, everyone. Her mother—the one person left on the planet Moni was supposed to count on—refused to protect her.

Knowing what she knew now after years of education, she knew her mother had severe religious psychosis, and she knew not to blame someone for their psychological issues. Simone felt her mom was the one exception to that. She used to hope against hope that her mother would miraculously die, crossing her fingers that it would solve her problems.

Now, after  coming back  and being forced to think everything over, she was ashamed of those thoughts. 

"I would feel like shit for waiting this long." She finally answered after what felt like forever of debate with herself.

"Like I do?" 

"So you're here out of guilt?"

"I guess so. What does it say in your books about that?"

"That you really  are  human, after all." 

"Oh, joy. I was beginning to have my doubts." Marc quipped back at the snide remark, which garnered a laugh, but he wanted to get away from the subject of himself and back to Moni's feelings. "So, if we find out that your mom's dead, then what?"  

"Figure out what they did with her remains , see  if a last goodbye is possible." 

"You gonna cry?" 

"Fuck you!" Moni shouted with a giggle and false offense, meeting his shoulder with a playful backhand. 

Their moment of peace among each other would end just as soon as it began when Simone's phone  began  ringing from her pocket. The song  'The Joker'  by Steve Miller Band grew louder once she pulled the device out and saw it was a video call from Miggy, whose name in her phone was affectionately changed to  'Space Cowboy.'  "Shit, I gotta take  this " She announced as she began to stand up to take the call outside.

"It's okay, you can answer it," Marc said, idly placing his hand on her back to stop her. "Pretend I'm not even here." 

For a moment, Simone hesitated and felt a rush of panic overcome her before a sense of calm. She had nothing to hide from either of them. Any other time, she would have bitten Marc's head off for the intimate gesture he  committed,  but noted the understanding in his eyes as he removed the hand and thought better of it.

She placed herself back in the dining chair and brushed her thumb over the green button to answer the call, feeling immense delight when the face of her affection appeared on her screen, thankfully wearing his glasses in case Marc happened to see.

"Hey, what's up?" She greeted with a million-dollar smile.

"Not much, I actually started looking into where your mom might be, and I believe I got a hit."  Miguel began, sounding confident. Marc couldn't help but cross his arms sternly at his words, feeling a hint of jealousy that the other man made more progress.  "There's an Estefania Fredrick at Greenhurst Retirement in Aurora. Ring any bells?" 

"That's probably her. Send me the details; we'll look into it." Simone responded, still smiling. Miguel's, on the other hand, seemed to falter.

"'We' as in?" 

"Marc and I. We've been looking, you know."

"Right."  Miggy's tone grew cynical.  "You and Marc." 

How he spoke puzzled Simone and caused her to feel slightly concerned. She attempted to save the mood.

"I  really  appreciate you using your resources to check on this, Miggy. I do." 

"I guess I just assumed we'd go at this together." 

"You're still welcome to help , the  more the-" 

"No,  no  it's cool."  He interrupted, vocal inflection revealing that it was clearly  not  cool.  "I have a lot of work I have to do, anyway. Let me know what comes of it." 

This wasn't a direction Simone was expecting this call to take by any means, and she couldn't stop the tightness in her chest that came with her rising anxiety. She felt embarrassed taking this call in front of Marc now as if she had been putting on a ruse and was being exposed in real time. She refused to look in his direction for fear of him seeing right through her.

Marc knew the envious man's attitude well. It spoke of insecurity and doubt, and he would  be lying  if he said there was no reason for him to feel that way. Even then, he didn't appreciate how he was speaking to her as if she had already done something wrong.

If he isn't scared yet, he's about to be. 

"Hun, really, I want you to help." Marc heard Simone say, the pet name pulling him out of his thoughts before he realized it wasn't directed at him.

"I did, but you obviously don't need me for the rest  of it ." 

When Miguel said that, Moni began to stand up and head toward the stairs, being sure to avoid Marc's gaze  who  would  surely  find how nervous and frustrated she was. She felt she  would be able to  turn the tide if she continued without an audience. 

"Maybe not, but I'd like you to be a part of this. It seems like you wanna be, also. It's fine." 

"Don't do that." 

"I'm not  doing  anything," Simone said defensively, tilting her phone  a bit  towards the ceiling as she walked to capture as little of her frown as she could. 

"He was back there when you answered, wasn't he?"  Miguel asked, clocking the fact that she was moving. She didn't see the significance and rolled her eyes,

"What of it?" 

In her distraction, she  didn't notice  Marc following her at a distance, feeling the need to stay nearby and growing irritated with the  man,  himself.  Given how highly Moni spoke of Miguel,  this felt like a  major   fall from grace.

"Just seems sketchy that you'd take my call away from him now." 

"Why are you being like this?" Simone questioned, hands becoming visibly shaky now with agitation. The possessiveness was annoying her.

"Simone, you really can't blame me for being concerned.  You act like this is  a  normal  thing  for people to do  and  I can't help but feel like there's something shifty happening."  

"So  now  you wanna tell me you have a problem with this?" Simone nearly shouted. "If you're so worried, come make a shiva call. See for yourself." "Nope, he's absolutely  not  welcome here. Not a chance, Moni." Marc finally spoke up. This caught Simone off guard  and  she whipped around to find him taking a couple steps closer. She wasn't sure who to disagree with now as his name barely left her mouth before being cut off by an equally pissed Miggy.

"Moni ?" The old nickname that only Marc used spewed from Miguel's lips like sludge and sounded just as disgusting.  "That's fucking hilarious."  "That's enough of that," Marc said cooly before swiping the phone from her hand and pressing the end call button before his face fully registered on the camera. Simone didn't realize what he had done until she successfully took the phone back and saw the face of a woman with rage seeping from her pores staring back at her on the black screen. 

"Why would you do that?" She asked unbelievingly, the only sign of Miguel being the candid photo of him on her lockscreen. She was  sure  that would be the final straw for them.

"You might be okay with him talking to you like that— which,  you  shouldn't  be—but as your friend, I'm not." Marc stood firm.

"As my  friend ?" Moni spat in a way that told Marc she didn't think friendship had anything to do with it. She stomped up the stairs and back to the bedroom once more, closing the door with a ferocity  that was  near slam territory. 

From inside the bedroom,  Simone sat in front of the door, barricading it with her back for lack of a lock.  She tried to call Miggy back, whispering to herself as she heard it ring and ring before going to voicemail.  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

With the phone pressed to her ear, she leaned her head back and hit it hard enough to rattle it on its hinges. She tried to call  once more , but it only half-rang this time before going straight to voicemail. "Fuck!" She roared into the open air.

Though Marc couldn't take it back now ,  and admittedly wouldn't if he could, he didn't care  for  how stressed out she was  acting  over it.  He wondered if he was too hasty. 

Of course not. The guy's an asshole.

"Moni?"  He spoke her name in the form of a question  upon hearing her exclaim the expletive as he stood outside the bedroom door.  The shadow  that was  shown through the crack told him she was directly in front of it to avoid him. 

"Just leave me the hell alone." She replied with a heavy exhale. She was pissed, and it wasn't his right to tell her she shouldn't be. It got under his skin how desperate she sounded to get back in touch with Miguel  and  it reminded him of how she sounded when she yelled his name in the face of Jake after he retreated with no sign of coming back.

The sound of shuffling feet grew further away after Simone expected more  pushback,  but didn't receive any. 

"You're being childish."  She typed  out  a message to Miggy, feeling her stomach lurch as her thumb hovered over the little 'send' button. The fear of only making it worse overtook her and nearly caused her to erase the text, but the sound of his  condescension,  when he repeated her  nickname,  echoed in her brain. 

Simone sent the message without another thought to spare and stared at the bubble until the 'delivered' receipt changed to 'read' with the time following it. The sight made her crave the taste of burning tobacco and that sweet sting in the back of her throat, but going back downstairs surely meant crossing paths with Spector, and she had had her fill of him for the night. 

I shouldn't have come here.   She  thought before tossing  her  phone. The device skated across the floor and disappeared under the  bed  where she heard it hit something solid. Out of curiosity, she got on her hands and knees and retrieved her phone to use as a flashlight, investigating to find a wooden box. 

Is it rude to snoop through dead people's belongings?  She thought to herself.  Nah.

Simone had to reach  pretty  far under to get a good grip on the container to pull it out. The caked dust made her nose itch  and  she questioned the last time a broom touched this portion of the floor, but she was successful in its retrieval.

In her hands was a dark-stained, heavy chest with golden hinges and clasps with the word 'Memories' etched into the face. Simone ran her fingers over the letters as she  questioned opening  it, feeling the rough woodburn. It was beautifully made, likely the work of Mr.  Spector,  himself. The click of the clasps coming undone made it all the more satisfying.

Inside was an unorganized metric ton of old photographs, and as she picked them up and examined them, she realized why they were hidden away. Most of them were of Mrs. Spector, some of her alone, some with her husband, some with Marc, some with Randall, but she was happy in all of them.

Simone realizes she hadn't seen Marc's mom smile  at all  during the last few years she was in Chicago when she saw her at all, which was rare. She had forgotten what it looked like. Mr. Spector put all these away, likely after Randall passed. She closed the box back up but didn't put it back where it came from before climbing  up  into the bed for another night of sparse sleep.

[athenaderiva]

The Blood Lake - MK!system x F!OC

So I’ve been working on this first chapter for a little while. If people want more, I’ll keep going with it.

The world is based off the Witcher (games) universe, at least a little bit.

Chasina has long been gifted at controlling Chaos, having been blessed by the Gods as a child. Moon Knight rescues her without realising that it’s her who works tirelessly to stop him from causing an apocalypse.

Enemies to lovers, redemption arc, the works.

This is chapter one

Next Chapter

Chasina winced as she woke up, her ears ringing and her head pounding. She reached to touch her temple but couldn’t move her arm close enough. She tugged her arm again and the sound of metal clanking made her finally open her eyes. Her wrists were cuffed to the damp, dark wall behind her. She could taste iron in her mouth and she spat blood onto the floor. “Hello?” she called out. “Where am I?”

“You’re awake.” An amused voice. She looked up to see a tall, lithe figure in the doorway. “Took you long enough. My Master was getting impatient.”

“Your Master?” Chasina scoffed as the elf stepped closer. “Who are you? Where am I?” She asked again, tugging on her restraints.

“Don’t you remember?” Chasina shook her head. “Oh well.” He turned to leave but paused, looking back at her with a toothy grin. “Don’t go anywhere.” She scowled at his back as he left.

“Don’t go anywhere.” she grumbled to herself with a roll of her eyes. She glanced around the room. There were no windows, the only light sources being the candles and a large fireplace. There was a sketch of a girl on the table and Chasina thought she looked vaguely familiar, though she had no idea where from. Long, curly hair fell down the girl’s shoulders, her eyes catlike, her skin covered in freckles. A shelf of glass vials that were filled with a glowing purple liquid. A syringe that seemed to have traces of the same liquid was also on the table. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath and focusing on the air filling and leaving her body.

“You look calm for someone who’s chained to a wall.” The voice was like nails on a chalkboard and Chasina couldn’t remember where she knew it from or why it annoyed her so. “Before you think about using your gifts to leave here, keep in mind that I’ve been looking for you for a very long time. Although the poster on the table may have given that away.” I’m the girl in the poster? She thought and she heard a chuckle from the elf who had been watching her.

“Master? She didn’t recognise herself in the sketch. I think that when your bounty hunter found her he did too much damage.” Chasina opened her eyes to stare at the new man in the room, her hazel eyes beginning to glow gold as she analysed him.

“Easy, easy. I just want to talk.”

“If you just want to talk, then why am I chained?” Chasina asked, her eyes closing again as she focused on the bubbly feeling coursing through her veins towards her hands. Her head tilted back slightly as her lips pursed.

“Think this through, Chasina. Do not use your gifts or I will be forced to use mine!” The man warned, his cane tapping against the floor. Her fingers wrapped around the metal on her wrists as he began to chant in a language she did not recognise. A tingling feeling ran through her body as her fingers got unusually warm. A sizzling sound overtook her senses and her eyes opened as what remained of the metal cuffs fell to the ground, burning bright orange. The man was kneeling on the ground with his cane in front of him but she batted it away, holding his chin up with her hand.

“Who are you? Why were you looking for me?” She asked quietly, the heat gone from her hands and her words.

“My name is Arthur Harrow. I was looking for you because you are extraordinary and I want your help.” He whispered. His guard stepped forward and Chasina’s gaze snapped to him, daring him to move closer.

“My help with what?”

“Making our world a paradise. Pulling out evil at its root, rather than watching it reign and then trying to do something about it.” Chasina let go of him, stepping back. He smiled and the ground behind him appeared to open and what appeared to be a hellhound leapt out. “You can help me with that. With your gifts nobody would oppose us.” Chasina swallowed, her gaze darting behind the advancing guard and hellhound. “Of course, you can choose not to help us. But you aren’t wearing your armour, you have no weapons and you’re not strong enough to use your gifts on us yet, not after melting the cuff, given what we injected you with a mere hour ago.”

“The purple liquid. You made a Chaos suppressant?” She whispered, stepping back again.

“So you’ll help us?” Arthur asked with a small smile. Chasina’s gaze hardened as the hellhound pounced and knocked her to the ground. Her arms instinctively blocked her throat and face as it lunged again, teeth tearing her skin.

“No.” She said through gritted teeth. Arthur sighed.

“I didn’t want to have to hurt you. You’re so talented. You could do so much good.” He said as the hellhound moved away. “You’ll change your mind, with time.” He murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Kenneth. Lock her up.” Arthur instructed as he stepped away. “And give her another dose of Ammitryne. That should keep her out of trouble for now.” The guard, Kenneth, nodded with a smile and moved toward her, picking up the syringe from the table. His movements were surprisingly graceful as Chasina stumbled over herself to back away from him. “It’s alright, it’s alright, little songbird. The Ammitryne won’t hurt. I don’t intend to hurt you.”

“Then don’t hurt me.” Chasina said after a pause. “It’s not difficult to not hurt someone. You just don’t hurt them.” Arthur chuckled, shaking his head.

“I wish it was that simple, songbird.” Arthur’s voice assaulted her. Kenneth smiled as he gripped her arm and pushed the needle through her skin. She grimaced and Arthur sighed as Kenneth pushed down on the syringe. “There we go. That’s better. We’re all much safer now.”

“Not all of us.” Chasina slurred, her head swimming as the room around her became blurry. The last thing she saw was Arthur smiling and Kenneth pulling her into his arms.

Marc stared through the window as the girl pounded on the door of the small room she had been locked in. She was screaming obscenities and threats in a language Marc didn’t understand. Jake laughed from within the headspace. Marc moved around the side of the building and hauled himself further up. He wasn’t there for random girls. Cmon, Marc, we can’t just leave her here. Steven’s voice cut through his thoughts and Marc huffed. “We’re here to do a job, Steven. Not to rescue anyone.” He’s right, Steven. We don’t help other people’s victims. We have a reputation to uphold. Jake’s voice added. Marc nodded as Steven huffed. Marc paused as he heard the familiar scratching of Arthur Harrow’s voice and he pushed himself against the wall of the building.

“The songbird will join us eventually. If we keep dosing her with Ammitryne, she’ll rely on us for her Chaos.” Fuck. He’s found a way to suppress Chaos? We need to get that girl out of there. Marc groaned. Marc, it’s not about helping her. It’s about stopping him from gaining another ally. Damn it. He has a point. Marc rolled his eyes.

“You two are agreeing on something?” He hissed, scoffing. He carefully climbed back down to the window of the room with the girl. “Hey.” She flinched and turned to look at him. “Why does he want you?”

“For my gifts. He thinks I can help him. But I refuse to kill innocent people for something that they might do one day.”

“Who are you?”

“Chasina.” She paused, and Marc watched her as she analysed him. “I need my armour and my weapons. I can’t leave without them.” She said and Marc groaned, jumping gracefully through the window and into the room.

“Fine. Where are they?” Chasina shrugged and Marc took a deep breath as Jake chuckled. “Of course you don’t know. Why would you?”

“They haven’t dosed me in a while. If you unchain me I can find them myself.” Chasina hissed.

“And if they see you?” She paused.

“Then I’m back in here with a few more bruises?” Marc rolled his eyes as he reached forward, easily breaking the cuffs open. “Thank you, stranger.” She said with a small smile, placing her palm flat on the door and after a moment it blew off of its hinges. She turned, winked at him, and vanished into the darkness of the corridors. We need to keep an eye on her until she’s gone, Marc. Otherwise they could take her again. Marc rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, following the woman as she darted through hallways seemingly at random.

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Let me know what you think and if you want to see more of this story!

[athenaderiva]

Road trip

Jake Lockley x OFC

Word count: 500ish

Fluff, estranged family

“Pleaaaase,” Cassie begged. Jake sighed, mumbling under his breath as he gave in. Cassie grinned when she realised she had won and she ran over to him, jumping into his arms and peppering his face with kisses.

“One condition, mi vida.” He easily supported her weight, his arms wrapped under her thighs and around her waist. “You wear a blindfold until we leave the city and on the way back in. I don’t want Marc and Steven to know where I keep the limo, and I don’t want to risk you telling them.” Cassie nodded eagerly, just wanting to go on the roadtrip she had planned out with him.

True to his word, Jake blindfolded Cassie to take her to the garage that he kept the limo parked in. She had absolute trust in him as he led her through the city and eventually helped fold her into the passenger seat. He checked the route planned on her phone and he smiled, realising she had organised a roadtrip that would end with them in her northern hometown. He never expected her to share anything with him, let alone her home. He took the blindfold off her once they left London and she looked at him with something he couldn’t name.

Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off him as he drove them up the country, the 5 hour journey stretching to years. She watched the way his hands flexed around the wheel and occasionally one of them found its home on her thigh. They kissed at every traffic light and Cassie almost told him. But the words never quite made it past the lump in her throat.

They eventually pulled up outside her childhood home and she rolled the window down, smiling at the moving silhouettes in the window.

“Aren’t you going to go in?” Jake asked, his voice quieter than she expected. Cassie shook her head, not looking away.

“They haven’t seen me since before everything started. I don’t want to put them in danger. But sometimes I come up here to look in on them, to make sure everything is okay.” She sighed, finally tearing her eyes from the house to look at Jake with a small smile. “Thank you for coming with me. We can go find a hotel now or something.” She mumbled. Jake shook his head, turning the engine off and rolling her window up.

“You should speak with them. You think we don’t notice how much you miss them?” He said and Cassie shook her head. He ignored her, getting out of the car and coming round to her side. He practically dragged her out of the car and up to the house. “I - we - love you. And you’re hurting. You should let them know you’re okay at least.”

“I love you too, Jake.” Cassie mumbled as he rang the doorbell for her, putting his flat cap on her head. He wrapped his fingers around hers as the door opened and the man who answered it clapped his hand over his mouth.

“Cass… you’re here.”

“Hi, dad.” Cassie mumbled. Jake squeezed her hand and she took a deep breath, knowing she would be okay with him there next to her.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 19 - affection

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Modern!Miguel O'Hara

Summary: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |   Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Angst, heavy reference to smut, mention of death, reference to violence, mentioned use of tobacco, miscommunications, (mild) emotional cheating, (mild) self-harm, distrusting, and intrusive thoughts.

Words: 4.4K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List and AO3 saw it first!

" You're saying what you want right to me No filter on your mouth We know you talk in your sleep Remembering the times, they won't remember me Our nights melt into sequels , you  sink into  me " -"affection" by BETWEEN FRIENDS

Stirring awake from another night where she got a minimum of four hours of sleep total, Simone once again had to assess her surroundings to remind herself of where she was and why. 

Spector house. Marc's parents' room. Mr. Spector passed away. The bed is comfy, though.  She thought to herself before closing her eyes, attempting to get a grasp on sleep once more, but fell back to earth when she heard a sniffle to her left, causing her to sit stark upright in the bed.

From this vantage point, she could see Marc sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him with photos from the box she had found the night before spread sporadically and a few more grasped in his right hand. His eyes for red and puffy, like he had been sitting there for a while, weeping as quietly as he could so as to not disturb the woman sleeping in the same room he sat. 

When he noticed Moni, now aware of his presence, he turned his face in the direction of the door and wiped away stray tears onto his shirt. He expected to be told to leave or be given the third degree right away after the events that transpired and prepared to explain why he was there, to begin with. 

Simone only eyed Marc for a moment, the previous day's rage dissipated the moment she saw his watery eyes. All ill-will: gone like it wasn't even there. No grilling about coming into the room while she slept, no demanding him to leave. If there was one thing she could never escape, it was her inability to stay mad at Marc Spector.

Though she had feared crossing any lines, she gravitated to sitting on the floor next to him, rubbing his back gingerly to console him. 

"I found those last night." She explained, knowing the question of how they got there might arise. Marc shuffled between the photos he had in his hand, each one of his mother with the biggest grin, surrounded by her boys.  Another warm tear fled down his cheek before disappearing into the crease of his lips. 

"I don't think I even remember her like this." He croaked as the back of his free hand brushed over the eye that continued to shed water. Looking at the pictures made his heartache, and though he could never forgive her for putting him through what she did, each and every one of these pictures was taken before she became the monster under his bed. 

Moni rested her head on his shoulder, still tracing her hand over every square inch of his broad back as if looking for some button to press to stop the sadness. 

"I know, babe." She whispered, the old pet name slipping out before she could catch it between her teeth. Marc caught it and allowed it to lightly lift his spirits, but didn't mention it. Moni cleared her throat and decided to move forward.  " You know,  I spent my whole life calling her Mrs.  Spector,  or Marc's mom, but I never knew her name was Wendy until the shiva."

Marc responded with an airy chuckle that Simone felt reverberate in her soul. The memory of the interaction played in her brain like a movie: she simply told Mr. Spector that he had no idea her name was Wendy, and he chuckled through his sorrow the same way. 

Even though he felt like he didn't deserve it, Marc appreciated Moni for making an effort with him. After a moment of debate, he figured he would return the favor. 

"Did you get back in touch with Miguel?"  He asked, both wanting to know because he felt bad and because he was curious as to where they stood.   It was then that Moni realized she never checked her phone again after finding the pictures and she practically sprung up and belly-flopped onto the bed to grab her phone from under the pillow.

The spontaneous burst of energy made Marc laugh more and stand up, grateful that she was too engrossed in her current action to notice him admiring her backside. His hard stare was broken only by her rolling over and exhaling sharply, telling him what he needed to know. "I take it that's bad?" 

"It's not particularly good." She groaned before making another attempt to call, which provided the same result as before: instantly sent to voicemail.

I don't know what I was expecting.  He obviously hates me now.   She thought to herself. 

"Don't get mad at me for asking  but ... do you two normally argue like that?" Marc wondered. That question had racked his brain all night as he replayed every move made and every word spoken. On one hand,  he knew the guy had no right or reason to speak to Moni the way he did.  On the other, he believed he would feel threatened in Miguel's position, also.   

"No, not at all. Last time anything like that happened was after-" Moni started but abruptly stopped. She didn't want to revisit the topic of the mark, or her dreams, any of it. She didn't have to, though. Marc knew exactly what she meant. "Breakfast?" She asked, switching the subject. 

"Great idea," Marc replied. Without skipping a beat, he left the room and booked it to the hall bathroom, an extra pep in his step and Moni's use of the word  'babe'  on his mind. To him, it was a Freudian slip and worth getting excited over.

From in the bathroom, he picked up a handheld mirror from beside the sink and stood in front of the much larger looking-glass that hung from the wall. “Guys, this is our way back in!” He said with a newfound pep that still translated through the quiet tone he was forced to take due to the thin walls.

“Are you fuckin' mental? You  never  make a move of a gal in her situation.” Jake spoke with a twisted face from the hand mirror. “It's a recipe for disaster.” 

“But she was ours first! It could be a sign.” Marc replied to the stern face that looked back at him in the hand mirror. He was surprised to be getting this much resistance already.

“Yeah, I don't think so. We haven't even fixed this yet, Marc! We can't muss it up by jumping to conclusions.” Steven said, voicing his own disagreement from the other mirror.

“Correcto, she'll hate us forever again, and I dunno about you, boys, but I like havin'er around.” Jake continued. "Be fuckin' patient, Spector. Let her come to us, but not too soon.  If she comes around too soon and we jump at the opportunity,  it'll make things even worse.  The second she realizes she screwed around with us before resolvin' the shit with the other shmuck, we'll have another winter of beatin' off in a coffin.”  

“ Sarcoffigus. It's a Sarcoffigus.” Marc corrected. Jake stared back at him with a slack jaw and squinted eyes that gave away his disbelief at how far from the point Marc veered. He was stone silent, thinking that his host hadn't listened to a word they just said,  and could have fooled Marc into thinking he was alone again if not for Steven raising an eyebrow on the other side.

“Whatever, prick." Jake finally said, dismissing rather than entertaining the argument. "Grant, you're up."

As the day passed, Marc watched and took note of each time Moni checked her phone, which was every few minutes. She made sure the volume was still up and would step outside occasionally for a smoke, leaving the device behind as if a moment away would change the fact that Miguel wasn't speaking to her. Though Marc couldn't stand the asshole, he felt bad for causing Moni to feel this way. 

"What was the last thing you sent him?" Marc finally asked after the seemingly ten-thousandth time she picked her phone up from the coffee table just to sit it back down, face up. She had her wireless earbuds in, listening to  'The Recipe'  by Kendrick Lamar loud enough for the lyrics to be audible from the outside. 

"I be living in the sky every time I ride by them hoes..." Moni mumbled along softly to herself, having not heard Marc from the couch opposite where he sat. He waved his hand and snapped his fingers until she finally looked up and asked again. The query caught her off guard and garnered a  'Huh?'  expression and sound when she removed one of the buds. 

"I know you tried to reach him again after I hung up the call. What'd you say?" 

A bit of annoyance rose in Simone's mind at how well Marc knew her, but she reluctantly paused the song, pulled the message up on her screen, and passed the phone over to him.

"I called him childish. He wouldn't answer when I tried to call back." 

As Marc studied the bubble where the message resided, it was exactly as she stated. 

"You're being childish."

A  simple,  but rather insulting thing to say to anyone. It reminded him of when she called him petulant long ago.  The way he felt after she threw that at him stuck with him from then on, but he accepted that it was true. 

"Must've bruised his ego," Marc stated as his eyes lingered on the previous texts above the one he was meant to see, skimming much more than he admittedly should have. 

"Pizza and a movie tonight?"

"Whatever you wanna do  mi  conejito ❤️"

The pet name and the messages made Marc want to vomit. Envy was a dangerous and confusing animal.

Why can't you just be happy for her?  He asked himself.

"Should I apologize?" Moni asked, pulling Marc's attention from her screen once he realized the question was directed at him.  As his eyes met hers,  it was clear she was looking for real advice. The kind of advice you would only ask a friend for. Still, the question puzzled him.

"The fuck do you have to apologize for?" 

"I called him childish!" She quickly defended herself with an expression that showed she found his question humorous. It proved to Marc that she didn't actually believe that she needed to apologize,  but would do so if it meant getting past the silent treatment. It didn't seem like something she would do.

"He is!" Marc rebutted. "You didn't do anything wrong, but he's so beside himself with the idea of you doing something wrong that he's treating you like you already did!" 

"He's beside himself because I told him about what happened in your office, and then a month later, I'm suddenly ready to live with you for a week. So, in his mind, I  did  do something wrong." 

Why are you making excuses for him, Moni?  Marc asked himself, pondering speaking his mind aloud before she added to her point with an exhausted groan. "He's being cautious, and I can't blame him for that. I'm just not sure what to do." 

While Marc wondered why Simone wanted so badly to blame herself for Miguel's behavior, she was having an inner conflict over that very same thing.  She didn't want Miggy to be mad at her and she didn't want to wait to try and patch things up until she got back home. 

She feared her impatience would get the better of her and she would assume he threw in the towel. What would that mean for her? Would she be able to resist the desires of her demons long enough to confirm that they were truly over, or would her bad habits prove too powerful?

In moments like these, Marc wished he could read her mind. Something in her eyes told him that she felt it would be a waste of time, but she was never one to give up. The phone between his palms grew heavy as he remembered what Jake and Steven had told him and realized what he could do to make this right for the both of them.

"You won't get anywhere apologizing for something that isn't your fault.  You  didn't hang up in his face; I did." 

"So  you're  gonna tell him you're sorry?" Moni asked with a raised eyebrow, wondering if she had heard him correctly. She expected more pushback.

"I'm trying to take responsibility." He stated. No detectable hints of chagrin or malice in his tone. She wanted to believe there was an ulterior motive to this, but all signs pointed to positive intentions.

Once the camera app was open and Marc could see his face on the screen, he took a breath to gather his thoughts and pressed the red  'record'  button. As the numbers counting upward appeared, he began to speak. "I'm sorry, man. It was rude of me to intrude and hang up on you last night. That was on me, not  Simone ." 

The woman's face contorted as Marc spoke her full legal first name with volition. He did it because of Miguel's clear disdain for the nickname he used. It sounded dirty as it was spoken in Marc's voice. 

As he ended the video, he went back to the messages and hit send without a shadow of a doubt on his face. "There. Not sure if it'll be worth anything, but it is what it is." 

Simone was nothing short of baffled and could have doubled over with how nervous Miguel's possible reception of the video made her, but all the while, she appreciated Marc for trying. It was more than she could have asked for, and regardless of how Miggy might take it, it meant a lot to her. 

"Thank you for that." She said almost absently. It rocked her how easily he was able to do it. Maybe friendship could be in the cards for them, after all.

Hours pass without so much as a peep from New York. Simone began to wish she hadn't rescheduled her first few days' worth of patients, hating spending so much time in her own head over this. She hoped she would get a call for an emergency session, finding it easier to deal with other people's problems than her own.

It became clear to Marc that there was no way around it. He could tell where Moni's mind was, absently staring off into space, overthinking every move she made up until this point, wishing something could have been different.  She would make an effort in conversation, obviously trying to be there for him, but talking to Marc was different than talking to any old patient of hers.  

After a little while, Marc found himself sitting on the floor in front of the entertainment center, looking through the treasure trove of movies his father had collected over the years to find something for the two of them to do that would get both of their minds off of Miguel.  During this venture, Simone had made popcorn and polished off half of it with how long he was taking. She would have gotten through a lot more of the snack if not for the sharp, spent pieces of kernels getting stuck in her teeth.

"I don't know why I'm bothering to look. I know what you wanna watch." Marc spoke up in realization, closing the door of the DVD cabinet and standing up before swiftly disappearing up the stairs. The pads of his feet were loud with how quickly he scrambled to grab whatever it was he was after, but he had certainly gone to his own bedroom for it.

Thankfully, Simone didn't have to wait very long before the man descended the steps with an old, dusty Star Wars box set in his hands. She had to give credit where it was due: he knew her well and always had. As he pulled out the disc for A New Hope and examined the shiny side for scratches, it hadn't crossed her mind that she had forgotten about her phone and its lack of activity. It was happening again, right under her nose.

The intrusive thought painted a picture in her mind that showed her waiting patiently until he sat back down next to her. She would give in to these urges and pouce like a feral cat. The depraved demon that resided in her wanted to take a bite out of Marc Spector, chew, and relish in the flavor. The idea alone made her break a sweat. 

Stop it!  The sensible side of her mind said, but the image wouldn't fade. The taste of his tongue, the sensation of his calloused fingers tracing down her bare back, the smell of Old Spice in his hair. She would straddle his lap,  needily and sink her teeth into his shoulder as she came closer to her conclusion. 

As the pornographic fantasy played in her head, she felt a delicious ache in her loins that only one thing could calm, and her knees clamped together so tight that not even a crowbar could pry them open.

He could will them to open with a word, though.  The perverse part of her said.  God fucking damn, I would ride him to the ends of the Earth and back again.

When Simone realized exactly what was happening, she got up and scampered off to the bathroom,  wordlessly, leaving Marc to his own devices. Once the door was closed behind her, she rested both of her palms on the sides of the sink and stared at herself. Her heart was racing, her eyes were dilated, and though she created distance between herself and Marc, the animal would not calm.

Why prolong the inevitable? You knew what would happen, coming here. The devil on her shoulder whispered seductively.  Why lie to yourself anymore, Moni? You're a slut  and you know it. Marc always knew it. Now Miggy knows it.

An image of herself smashing her forehead into the mirror interweaved with the sexual fantasy. She couldn't get her mind to clear up no matter how hard she tried, and the bathroom walls as well as her skin felt paper thin. Not even a cage could contain this beast. The rational side of her flooded the pit of her stomach with nauseating guilt and tried to replace Marc's face with Miguel's. It was fruitless. 

Her trembling hands turned on the tap and gathered cold water in her palms. She broke her gaze away from the mirror and began to douse her hot skin, rubbing in the water like cleansing away the sin. She repeated this process over and over again until her cheeks began to sting from the chill and friction and her fingers felt numb.

Settle down.   She thought to herself in a voice that wasn't her own,  but that of her most recent tormentor. Like a switch, everything returned to normal and the dripping face that looked back at her held eyes that were no longer frenzied. 

Miguel's right to hate me.  She thought, shamefully.  He's better off.

After securing a hand towel from the cabinet under the sink, she patted herself dry and assessed the damage. Her face was red and patchy and would have easily been rubbed raw if she had not stopped. As she thought of an excuse to give to Spector if he pointed it out to her, her phone began to ring from the pocket of her sweatpants. She thought her heart would leap from her chest, but the caller ID confirmed that it was Jen calling, not Miggy. A cloud of disappointment rained over her,  then disappeared as soon as it shone.

"Hey," Simone greeted through her dry throat upon answering. 

"Hey, girl. How's Chicago? How's Marc?" 

"Same old, same old, I guess." She spoke. "And he has his moments, but we're cordial." 

"Look at you, already doing better than I thought!"

"Good to know you have faith in me," Simone replied with a biting tone of offense. 

"From how you described your previous hatefucking, I'm just shocked he's able to keep his hands to himself. Don't be mad at me!" 

"Hilarious. But really, we're trying to mend a friendship, and I think it's going as well as it can." 

"Nice, so you haven't even thought about putting his dick in or around any of your orifices?" 

"You're disgusting," Simone said sarcastically, not wanting to make a liar of herself.  This was Jen she was speaking to, though , and that  fact was not lost on her.  Her friend wouldn't let it go without a clear explanation. 

"That wasn't an answer!" 

"I haven't." She responded defensively, knowing the way she said it wouldn't get past Jen. The next move would be to walk with honesty. "I  did  accidentally call  him babe this morning  but  I don't think he noticed." 

"Don't get his hopes up, hot stuff. You have a cute scientist to get home to."

"Miggy's actually ignoring me. He jumped to conclusions, and Marc stepped in and hung up the call. He apologized to him, but still, nothing."

There was a brief pause as Jen went back over the information Simone just provided to her, but the final detail was the one that stuck.

"Marc apologized? Holy shit!" 

"Yeah," Simone confirmed, suddenly growing tired of standing. With that, she put the lid down on the toilet and sat. "It was actually really nice of him." 

Another stint of quiet from the other end of the call confirmed that Jen wasn't sure how to reply. Simone felt it best to ask the question that plagued her mind. "Am I making a mistake being here, Jen?" 

"Do you think you are?" 

"I dunno. I know Miggy is worried, and I don't want to dismiss his feelings  but ... being here has made me see  a lot of  things that I didn't before." She cut herself off, wondering if she said too much before the memory of how upset Miguel was replayed in her mind. "I mean, you should've heard the way he tripped out the other night. He was possessive and jealous and I get it because it's Marc, but this was over the top. It wasn't like him." 

"Then you're not making a mistake. You have to do what's best for you sometimes." 

"Even if it's slowly sending my relationship into the shitter. Got it." 

"You know the ball's in his court now. He can either talk to you, or you can move on."  Before Simone could find something productive to say in response, Jen appeared in her ear again.  "Actually, you said he works at Parker  right ?"  

"Yeah, what of it?"

"My firm represents them.  I bet  I can find an in and see how  he's  doing." 

"You don't have to do that."

"It comes with the best friend package," Jen said smartly before another voice in the background, seemingly further away, spoke.  "I gotta go, though. Still on the clock." 

Simone didn't get a chance to say anything else before the line dropped abruptly. Just in time, the classic Star Wars intro music began, which was her cue to rejoin Spector in the living room. 

"Are we binging?" She asked when she found the man in question on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. 

"May as well." He shrugged.  Simone stood for a moment, assessing the seating arrangement before she realized she was overthinking it.  If she sat on the other couch, it would be awkward. There was nothing wrong with sitting next to him.

As long as you don't climb into his lap.   She thought, scrutinizing herself for her previous thoughts. She shook it away and joined Marc, taking the middle cushion. 

The night went on as expected. They started with the original trilogy, then moved on to the prequels, which was Marc's preferred order of watching them. Quotes, debates, and laughs were passed back and forth until Simone's lack of sleep caught up to her and her eyes grew heavy, dozing in and out until her eyes refused to open again. 

It didn't take long for Marc to realize Moni was conked out, the factor that gave it away being her head resting on his shoulder. He was a bit tired himself but would have continued to watch the movie if it weren't for her passing out. His options were to proceed on his own or call it a night. To avoid Moni's wrath, he chose the latter.

Once he turned off the movie, he shifted to lie her down, gently pulling himself with her with the intention of not shifting her too quickly so she wouldn't be woken up. Marc's plan to move to the other couch was foiled when, in her sleepy state, she pulled herself onto his chest and nestled her body comfortably into him. After a moment of consideration, he nudged her slightly.

"You want me to take you upstairs?" He asked her softly, ensuring the option of putting her to bed was known. She responded with a quiet  'Mm?'  but her eyes didn't open. As he did earlier that day, he repeated his question, but she didn't respond. Her movements ceased, and a deep sigh of content left her nostrils.

I guess that's a 'no.'  Marc thought as he assessed the position he was in. His legs were still hanging off of the couch, but his body was twisted to the side from the hips, and the base of his neck now rested on the arm of the sofa. It wasn't the worst circumstance, but he would likely feel it in the morning.

Another soft sigh fell from the woman and  Marc realized how safe she must have felt to have drifted off so early. It warmed his heart in a way he hadn't felt in some time. He hadn't felt at home in his house until right then, wrapping his arms around the woman he was sure he lost so many times before.  There was no telling if he would be falling asleep, not wanting to miss a second of this.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 17 - Rain

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Modern!Miguel O'Hara

Summary: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |   Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Angst, reference smut, reference to non-dubious consent, mention of death, reference to violence, use of tobacco.

Words:6.5K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List and AO3 saw it first!

" And I don't wanna get in your way But I finally think I can say That the vicious cycle was over The moment you smiled at me " -"Rain" by Sleep Token

The weeks that passed were a blur and hard to count, knowing what had happened to Simone and how Marc tried to justify it. There was no contact and Simone felt it was for the best, though it probably didn't matter much. They were bound in heart, mind, and soul, as she was told. 

In an interesting turn of events, Jennifer and Matt were arriving at the Mission as she was leaving. They expressed concern with the cryptic phone call and subsequent sending to voicemail after the fact. The obvious question came up-

"Did you sleep with him?"

Simone was happy to give them the answer they hoped to hear, but she felt she didn't have it in her to gossip about that right then. They asked what happened, and why she stopped by in the first place, but she was already beyond tired of talking about the mark. Still, she knew she owed Miguel an explanation and this would have to suffice, as it was the only answer she got out of the whole meeting. 

At first, when she called Miggy, she didn't expect him to pick up. Once he did, her stomach did cartwheels, and she nearly forgot what she called for upon hearing his voice simply say-

"Hey."

From there, it was a matter of meeting up. Simone didn't think Matt's place was a good idea, so she stopped by Miguel's apartment. Everything was the same except for a TV now placed on the front room floor, propped up against the wall with the cord shoddily strung to the nearest outlet. She wanted to make a joke about how he must be spending more time at home but decided against it.

Even given the circumstances, Miguel was still happy to see her. He knew she wouldn't have come around if she didn't have good news regarding her feelings for him. The warm smile he gave her slowly faded as she explained everything she knew about the situation she was in. Moon gods, celestial attachments, symbols, sneaky ex-boyfriend, everything.

"The situation's changed a bit, but I won't lie to you: nothing happened when I went to see him. The thought crossed my mind, and I hated it, and there was a moment when he got close to me, but I don't entirely know what's real because..."

"Because of some  divine bind ." Miguel finished her sentence when she trailed off, at a loss for  what  exactly to call it. Simone met this with a soft nod, knowing it all sounded absurd, and if she hadn't lived with absurd for so long, she would agree. To her awe, Miggy believed it all. "I'm not gonna say I understand it, but crazier things have happened."

Simone's eyes grew wide, suddenly not knowing what turn this conversation would take. By all rights, he should have said-

"Alright, at least we know now, but I'm calling it a wrap here. Have a nice life."

"I won't lie to you, either. I haven't stopped thinking about you." He admitted. Simone's heart began doing flips, but she waited for him to finish as he looked down at his sneakers. "I would prefer not to get hurt." He said with a slight, airy chuckle.

Miggy knew it was crazy to even consider, and though the pain of the morning they last saw each other lingered, he felt bewitched upon seeing her again. Simone wanted to speak but felt compelled to wait for him to finish so as to not sway him. "So, how about we take this  much  slower than before, test the waters, and see if we can render better results?" He suggested.

Are you nuts?  Simone thought, holding herself back from asking the question aloud. Every reasonable fiber in her told her to close the book on this and leave, spare him any future heartbreak while all the other bits just wanted her to be pulled into his chest like before, drinking in his scent, wanting it to work out. 

"I've never been good at slow," She spoke absently, eyes drifting to the slightly ajar door to his bedroom, the last place they saw each other before this. She knew Miggy would be just around the corner from disappointment at any given time, especially now that she  knew  she couldn't be free of her own thoughts, maybe even actions. 

Miguel expected rejection after that sentence and stood looking at her pondering what to say within the everlasting silence that followed. Once her internal battle settled, she met him with a smile that he imagined would have killed thousands by now, if it could. 

"I'd like to give it a try." 

Simone hoped that would be the proper beginning to her officially moving forward, but of course, this is the life of Dr. Simone A. Fredrick. The revolving door of tragedy never ceased. 

She wasn't surprised to see Jake posted up outside of her office building just a matter of  weeks  later. There wasn't a moment that day when she thought about the troublesome trio, so he wasn't drawn to her by cosmic design. There was something else that brought him here. Regardless, she wasn't concerned in the least.

" Jake ." She said with a hint of disdain. The cabby beamed at her,

"You can't  seriously  be mad at me too!"

A disbelieving chuckle sounded from her plump lips as she reached into her bag and started rifling around, 

"I  absolutely  can. Don't pretend you didn't know about that shit and didn't fucking tell me. The other two I can understand being too scared to say something to me but  you ?" 

She stopped on the rhetorical question when she realized she was digging around for a pack of cigarettes that hadn't been there in ages. An impulse that seemed so long gone, back now out of the blue. She let the bag drop back down to her side as she continued. "I expect  you  to be unapologetically honest with me, even if I don't like it."

"Bite my head off all you want, Chi-town, I still thought it was a good idea to draw that moon on your forehead." Jake replied in his usual 'devil-may-care' demeanor, which bought an eye-roll from the woman he stood before.

"That's fuckin'  fantastic  of you! Seek help." 

Jake liked the obvious sarcasm in her voice but even more so loved the accent that shone through with her attitude. It was one of the many things he adored about her—she was foxy when she was like this. It made him want to push her a bit further, but he was here on business, not pleasure. 

"I didn't come find you to talk about this. Let's get outta here, so we can chat." He said, gesturing toward the yellow taxi he leaned against. As Simone crossed her arms and her eyes grew darker, he realized he was just about to get what he wanted without really trying. 

"You're outta your goddamn mind if you think I'm going anywhere with you! You've proven I can't trust you for shit! I can't just go hopping into cabs with you anymore!" She barked. A silent beat passed as she waited with a clenched jaw for a response, but Jake stood staring at her with his hands in his pockets, completely unbothered. 

It dawned on Simone that she was waiting for him to plead or try to convince her, but this wasn't Marc or Stevie she was speaking to. Jake wasn't about to  beg  her to give him the time of day. In his mind, he had already gotten it the second she stopped for him.

"Ya done?" He asked after they quietly stared each other down. Simone's heart started to thump harshly in her chest at this response and her face felt hot. She was pissed already, but the uncaring reply made her blood feel like ignited kerosene. She knew she was physically showing signs of bitterness, but more pathetically, she was at a loss for words and stood looking like a bumbling idiot. 

What Simone  wanted  to say was that she  wasn't  done, or better yet, that she  was  done before taking off down the sidewalk and not looking back. Instead, her mouth stayed slightly agape, and Jake took that as answer enough and opened the passenger side door. "Get in the fuckin' car, doll." 

With balled fists, she did so in a huff and with a silent vow to never speak of how easily she folded to anyone. 

God, I'm never gonna live this one down.

The ride was silent for the first few minutes. Jake's eyes drifted over and studied her face often, trying to catch her looking over at him. Simone could see this in the corner of her eye and, in turn, kept her eyes glued to the windshield. 

"Eyes on the road, Bronx." She called him out, refusing to let her poker face falter as she lightly tugged the bottom hem of her skirt. It suddenly felt far too short. Jake took note of it all before readjusting his right hand on the wheel and relaxing the left.

Simone always held a strange fascination with watching Jake drive. Even on the hectic streets of New York, he was in total control. As memory served, he had that in check no matter how distracting she was to him while he drove. 

This made her think of how she used to toy with him; speckling kisses all over the right side of his face and neck or moving his free hand, normally the right, higher and higher on her thigh. Sometimes, when she felt particularly adventurous, she would take it a step further and see how he faired on the roads with her lips wrapped around his dick.

Get your head out of the gutter, Fredrick.  She told herself as she made an effort to hide the blush rising to her cheeks by shifting her stare to the window next to her. She cleared thick saliva from her throat before she asked the golden question of the evening. "So, where're we going?" 

"Just drivin'." Jake answered with what she assumed was a shrug as she could hear his coat rub the fabric of his seat. 

Just driving , because all good ideas with Jake Lockley begin with  just driving .  She thought, feeling her stomach leap into her throat like a teen about to go on their first date. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling these days, but experiencing it with  this  individual and the others swimming around in his brain juice, probably watching and waiting, was a different animal entirely. 

"In my experience, with  you , that lands me in an empty parking lot of an abandoned building or a random pull-off from the highway. Or a Macy's." 

Jake remembered the late-night encounter at Macy's fondly. They had just left a diner after quenching their hankering for breakfast in the evening, then he just happened to look over as she hit him with  the eyes  and the closest place to seclusion was as far away from the rest of the cars as he could park. 

Hell of a time.  He thought, suddenly feeling the need to readjust his length, and reconsidered as he found that the look on her face was very different from then. Still, the temptation to get under her skin was immense.

"I  do  know a spot, if you're interested." He suggested, letting her know that he knew she was thinking about it. Air erupted loudly from her nostrils as an expression of false disgust spread on her face.

"In your dreams." 

The last thing I need is any Jake Lockley in my diet these days.

"In yours, too, apparently." He retorted. Of course, he had been watching and listening to everything that went down with Spector about a month prior. Simone had walked right into that one. She wished she hadn't.

"Fuck off." She growled, trying her best to not sound too defensive, and feeling like she failed miserably. A jovial chuckle burst from Jake's chest at this. It might not have been the kind of banter he was used to with her, but it still brought a bit of comfort. It was good to have her close again, especially now.

"Well, we're goin' there anyway, but not for the reason ya think, so don't get a big head." He explained.

"Right,  I'm  the one with the best head here." 

The rest of the drive was hushed and awkward as Simone pushed away thoughts of similar situations of yesteryear. She did everything she could to seem unfazed, unwilling to let him know just how deeply affected she was by his very  presence  and the prospect of being secluded with him again.

Jake always knew how to read Simone. He knew there was nothing she could hide from him, not truly. Even if she didn't realize it, he would bet everything that he knew exactly what was going through her head, and he would be one hundred percent correct every time. That being said, he also knew not to push it if he didn't want their time together cut short.

The cab pulled into an empty brick warehouse with not another soul in sight. It seemed much cloudier in this area than where they previously traveled to get there. The moody gloom did little to ease Simone's nerves as her throat dried up, and her heart pounded so harshly that she swore it echoed in the vehicle. She hoped beyond hope that whatever Jake had to share with her, he would just make it quick, so she could be done with this as soon as possible.

The sound of the rough handling of the gear shift pulled Simone's attention from the window she aimlessly gazed through. Her eyes followed his right hand as it went from the shift lever to his newsboy cap as he pulled it from his messy hair. She pictured him flicking it away like it meant nothing before she watched him grip the hat between his hands, fists balled with a single, shakey deep breath. This concerned her more.

"What's going on, Jake?" She asked, trying her best to take an uncaring tone and just barely passing. She prepared for a bullshit speech about missing her and feeling he was the only one who wasn't being a chicken about it. He turned his body to face her, and as his eyes misted over and his throat cleared, she gathered that it was more serious.

"Pops died," Jake said in a low tone followed by another breath that she knew only as the kind that was intended to still someone from bursting into a fit of tears. As the face of Mr. Spector formed in her mind, she suddenly wished she had been right about her previous hunch.  Anything  was better than this.

"Holy shit." She spoke with disbelief. The last time she saw Mr. Spector, he seemed completely healthy and by all means had plenty of life left in him. It had been years since she had spoken to him and her heart swelled knowing this. Even worse, it broke knowing he was likely alone when he passed.

"Yeah-" Jake began but stopped when he heard his voice trying to crack. He cleared it again and continued. "Marc can't bring 'imself to tell ya. Knows ya wouldn't let him even if he tried, so I figured I had the best chance at keepin' it together,"

"Why?" Simone asked, unable to peel her eyes from his stoic face this time.

"Well, it couldn't'a been Grant to tell ya. He woulda messed it up in just the amount of time it took me to getcha in the car." Jake explained, not understanding her question. Simone frowned, ashamed at how childish the query sounded upon realizing she used the wrong word.

"I mean, how did he die? Sorry." She clarified, apologizing for the misunderstanding. Jake couldn't think of a thing she had to be sorry about at that moment but brushed it off.

"Aneurysm. 'Said it happened quick." He told. Simone could only mouth the word  'wow' , the sound barely leaving her throat at an octave just below a whisper. "But, uh, from what we've been able to gather, we'll be the only ones sittin', and a week alone in that house might just drive Marc coco puffs." He spoke further, then released an airy chuckle. " More  coco puffs, I should say."

Simone knew how to take a hint, especially when it wasn't so subtle. She knew what was being requested of her.

"You're asking me to spend a week in Chicago with Marc." She stated the obvious, followed by a heavy sigh that expressed her inner turmoil. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face this kind of commitment, but as it stood, she would never let anyone she cared for do something like this by themselves. 

"I know it don't sound great, but we agreed that even if you're fuckin' fightin' the whole time, it's better than havin' to do this alone." Jake attempted to justify before making a face, realizing how dumb it sounded aloud. 

Though it did sound awful, Simone felt herself sinking into the passenger seat of the cab, wishing she could just seep through the cracks and disappear entirely. The way she saw it, it was the only reasonable way out of this conversation. Unfortunately, she knew she couldn't escape the situation as her hands began to tremble.

"I'm so screwed." She muttered more to herself than to Jake. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she balled her fists together to stop the involuntary quivering. The surrounding air suddenly felt too thick.

"So you're comin'?" Jake asked, not surprised by the response itself, but the obvious meaning behind it. He was prepared to be turned down, but seeing how Simone was reacting to the simple guilt of it all, he would have  preferred  rejection. He tried to speak and tell her not to worry about it, but the words were stuck in his throat.

"I'd go even if you guys didn't," Simone explained, making sure to highlight that there was a possibility that they wouldn't show, like at Marc's mother's Shiva. Mr. Spector was a bit of a surrogate father after Simone's was locked up, but she would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't going for Marc's sake more than his father's.

Jake didn't realize that it was Marc holding his tongue, spending every bit of energy he had to keep his alter from saying what he wanted to say. To Jake, it seemed like nothing more than hesitation, even if he was never one to filter himself.

After a beat of quiet, Simone spoke again. "When do you head out?"

"Tonight, actually. Service is first thing in the mornin'. I know it's short notice, bu-"

"Then I'll go in the morning." Simone quickly cut Jake short, knowing he'd offer to see if she could fly in their company. It felt like the one decision she could truly make for herself. "Who do you have watching the mission?" She asked out of curiosity, and to veer Jake from the previous topic.

"Reese and Hunter's Moon." He said. Simone was familiar with the former, but the second name was lost on her. Before she could ask, Jake started again. " Other  fist of Khonshu. Long story." 

"I'll take your word for it." She replied, pretending to be uninterested. 

I gotta pack a bag for at least 4 days. I can do laundry while I'm there.  She thought to herself before remembering that she was in the middle of moving her belongings out of Matt's apartment. "I'll have to see if Jen or Miguel will be able to finish moving my stuff." 

"You got a new place already?" Jake asked with a cocked head. "Where at?" 

"None of your business, Lockley." 

"I  meant  so I could take you there when we're done here." 

Yeah, right. More like, so you can show up at inopportune times like you famously do.  She thought with a snicker to herself, thinking of the date with Miguel he so rudely interrupted what felt like ages ago. As the memory manifested in her mind, the harsh reality of having to explain this all to the man she recently patched things up with dispelled it.

" Shit , how am I supposed to explain this to Miggy?" She asked the open air, letting her head fall back before realizing she was doing that thing she did and wished she didn't: working things out aloud, welcoming Jake's input.

"You two work things out?" Jake questioned as he positioned his cap back on his head. Simone sat back up at this, surprised by the maturity of the question after expecting Jake to make a snide remark about just leaving Miggy in the dust.

"We're working on it." She said hesitantly, watching Jake buckle his seatbelt and turn the key in the ignition. Though his straight face didn't falter, she knew he wasn't happy about the news. "He won't be comfortable with me going." 

As Jake wrapped his arm around the passenger seat and shifted his body and head to look through the rear window while backing the cab up and out of the spot he parked in, he reminded himself that he didn't bring this woman here to convince her of anything and wouldn't be doing so. He wanted her for moral support, not a tryst. 

"I'm sure he'll hate it." He said carelessly, putting the car in drive and taking off out of the lot. It was a classic Lockley response, but Simone found herself still reading into it a bit more than she normally would. 

"He'll either fully end things or he'll get over it. Either way, I'm still going." She responded, wondering to herself if she truly meant it. 

Of course, I do. It's not his business where I go.

"Atta girl, that shmuck don't own you," Jake responded with a hint of pride in his voice. "So, where'm I takin' ya?"

"Drop me off over at Saul's, and I'll walk from there."

Miguel was indeed  not  delighted with the news. Needless to say, he insisted he would take time off work and go with her, but Simone made it clear that it wasn't for a good time, and she most certainly didn't take pleasure in it. As much as she would have loved to have Miggy there, inviting someone—especially a stranger to Mr. Spector—to something like this was not her place.

"In many ways, he was there when my parents weren't," Simone explained as she stared into the deep red eyes of her companion. She knew she needed to hold strong and not let the glimmer of betrayal behind his irises push her in the opposite direction. Simone needed to do this. 

The last thing Miguel wanted was  this .  This , of all things?  Now , of all times? They had just reconnected and ever since, he had felt rejuvenated and elated with the possibilities. He had grown used to seeing her just about every day and knowing she would be just a phone call away. 

"It's just weird after everything that happened." He spoke, diverting his gaze now and turning it to her hands. They were poised in her lap, short nails picking away at the skin and scabs surrounding them until they inevitably bled. It was a subconscious tick he had observed her doing while anxious. In a fucked up sense, it showed him she cared about his reaction. 

A breathy sigh escaped his nostrils as he scooted the red lawn chair up closer to where Simone sat, their knees nearly touching as he took her hands into his to halt the picking. She was familiar with the action at this point, and it never ceased to make her heart throb, among  other  things. 

It was one of the few means of physical contact they engaged in these days. Hand holding, hugging, kissing, heavy petting, and not much else. They hadn't slept together since the dream incident, but not for a lack of wanting from either party. Slow was how they decided to take it, no matter how painful. There was a moment when they came close to breaking the mutual celibacy just a few days prior. Simone had made Miguel sit through a couple of Star Wars movies with her, but they ended up making out like high schoolers in a movie theater about halfway through Attack of the Clones. She allowed him to peel her shirt off but asked the million-dollar question with bated breath.

"Are we doing this?"

Though Miggy's body felt like it was on fire and nearly made him proceed, something in her eyes was daring him to wait. The feeling of holding off, pushing this further, and starving the yearning for just a bit longer. It was what Simone wanted. She wanted to keep this up until there was a mutual understanding that he would take what he wanted when he couldn't take it anymore.

As Miguel studied her face after coming back from the memory, though, he couldn't help but feel the nagging hint of regret that came with holding back. He feared Simone may seek to have her needs met in Chicago. The rational part of him knew that if sex would be the thing to make or break this, so be it. He had lived without her before.

The truth was, Miguel had wised up to the most painful fact in all of this: he was in love with Simone. He wasn't ready to say it to her directly, as his understanding of the word  slow  didn't call for such seriousness. It didn't negate the unrelenting pain he felt at the thought of her changing her mind. It hurt even now, and it hadn't even happened yet.

It was clear to Miggy that Simone's mind was made up about going and that his opinion held no weight on this matter. Though she would never admit it, he could sway her much easier than he knew. In reality, the shame of skipping out on this event would follow her like a bad smell. 

"I may not like it, but I get it. I trust you." Miggy spoke, almost choking on the last part knowing it was nearly a full, bald-faced lie. Simone even knew that much but appreciated the effort and thanked him for his support while he silently pleaded to her to prove him wrong.

It was a terrible day for rain in the windy city and the breeze was cold enough to cut through each layer you wore like a hot knife through butter. Marc managed to make it to his father's burial on time, but Moni didn't arrive in Chicago until almost an hour later. 

The one thing Marc didn't expect was for everyone to be so accepting of not only his return after so long but also his willingness to sit Shiva for his father. He was sure there would be questions, but given that he was the only close, living relative, everyone else likely felt it necessary to keep quiet. 

The guests suspected Moni's appearance before Marc had a chance to say anything due to her presence at his mother's Shiva. After he confirmed that she was on her way, the speculation of their relationship took off, and it was shockingly easy to avoid the questions. After all, the gossip was the same as always.

To Simone's surprise, there wasn't a single face at the Spector home that she didn't recognize right away. Everyone who had shown was much older than she remembered them and just as open to giving her a welcoming hug as they were back in the day. It wasn't just the Jewish community, but many others of different backgrounds coming together.

Once she got through a gaggle of people, one by one telling her how long it's been since they'd seen her and asking how she'd been, she made her way to the modest living room where Marc sat silently on the sofa, seemingly awaiting her appearance. She could tell by how he stood once they saw each other that he was glad she finally showed.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Not easy getting ready in an airport bathroom." Moni apologized as she met Marc with a loose, one-armed hug, the other arm securing a duffle bag close to her body.

"Don't mention it, you look great," Marc replied before absentmindedly brushing his lips lightly against her cheek in greeting. He wasn't lying, either, as it was clear she did her best to look presentable despite just getting off a flight. She had straightened her hair, put on a nice black button-up shirt, and even almost successfully covered the scars on her face and neck with makeup. 

Given the situation, Simone let the kiss on the cheek slide and shrugged off the comment. It only took one passing glance at his face to clock that Marc was uncomfortable and trying his best not to cry. 

She felt terrible about not making it to the final half of the actual burial due to the amount of time she spent at Chicago O'Hare obsessively packing color corrector and foundation onto her face to avoid stares and questions from those in attendance. 

What she didn't bank on was that there would still be stares and questions, but they remained among themselves and were regarding the nature of her relationship with Marc.

Together after all this time?

Didn't she say she hadn't heard from him when we saw her last at Wendy's Shiva?

Did she convert?

Why didn't they arrive together?

It became clear that no matter which end of the house Simone migrated to avoid awkwardly sticking to Marc's side, she ended up right back where she started and still amid gossip galore. 

She looks too skinny. Must be dieting.

He looks so tired. Must be taking it pretty hard.

What is she? 36? No kids?

Should we ask if she's seen Estie lately?

Once Simone finally had enough of listening to people make presumptions, she snuck out the back door and lit a cigarette from the fresh pack she nabbed once she got off the plane in a fleeting moment of familiar anxiety that came with being back here. 

As she took a long, desperate drag from the stogie, the door she came out of opened lightly, and out stepped the man that she could tell was being controlled by Jake from the way he strode. He first looked to his left, then his right, to find her leaning against the wall with the butt between her lips. She gave him a gesture that said  'Welp, you caught me.'  as she expelled a stream of smoke.

"Thought you quit those things." He stated as he held out his right hand. Simone rolled her eyes before passing the cigarette to him, feeling finished with it already.

"I'm in Chicago."

"Good an excuse as any, I 'spose," Jake said as he took a hit from it with a chuckle. Simone studied him as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up dress shirt, having shed the blazer he wore at some point between the last time she saw him and now. He held the cotton filter between his teeth as he did so and the action alone made her crave another drag, but she steadied herself and shook the desire away. "It's obvious you're avoidin' him." He spoke again, as clearly as he could. She let out a single chuckle,

"Did he send  you  out to talk about it?"

"He got a li'l overwhelmed. Mrs. Jacobs, in there, brought up that it was good to see you two still had each other. He didn't know what to say."

Simone watched quietly as Jake took one more puff and passed the smoke back to her. She took it and stared at the red ember that burned in what would be the middle of the stick.

I know, we need each other now more than ever.  She thought to herself before bringing her eyes up to the other set of brown irises that stood a couple feet away.

"Marc?" Simone spoke up. A beat of silence broken only by the breeze sat between them for a moment, prompting her to repeat the name. The man's trance was broken instantly at the second mention. 

"Yeah." He finally said in the form of an answer. He was back, his posture and eyes shifting along with the alter's exit. A much sadder individual stood before her now. She tore the butt away from the burning end of the cigarette and tucked it into the pocket of her slacks before tossing the other part into the wet, dewy grass.

"Let's just go in, put up a united front, no need to confirm or deny anything. I'll stick with you—we'll smile and nod—get through this until the very last person leaves. Deal?"

Marc felt his shoulders relax as Moni set the plan in place. He knew it would make this whole thing so much easier, and if something were to make him feel uneasy, they could shift the topic. 

"Deal." He voiced his understanding before opening the back door and gesturing his other hand toward the entrance, "After you."

As the Shiva calls drew to a close, it became easier to settle into their roles. Simone stayed on Marc's arm, squeezing it gently for reassurance where it seemed needed. Subjects shifted from questions and assumptions to stories of old, no longer about the pair but about Mr. Spector and how he touched the community. His last few years on our Earth were spent doing volunteer work. This brought Marc comfort.

Just as they agreed, they kept up appearances until the very last person—Mr. Wilson—left. After that, it was back to quietly considering how to continue to tolerate each other, only this time, they had to keep the whole  week  in mind. 

We're stuck together. It's either talk or suffer in silence.  Simone thought as her eyes drifted to the duffle she had carried in and dropped onto the floor next to the loveseat where Marc sat. 

"I, uh, never took my stuff upstairs." She spoke followed by a nervous laugh. The bag then caught Marc's eye, and he began to stand, 

"Oh. I got it," 

"Don't worry about it." She said quickly. "I'll keep it there and just take the couch."

"Don't be ridiculous. Take my parents' room." 

"Are you sure?" Simone asked. There was nothing she hated more than putting someone on the couch in their own home, even if they didn't live there anymore. Marc looked particularly tired around the eyes and would likely benefit from a nice bed to sleep in, but still protested, 

"Trust me, I can handle the couch." 

It's far cozier than the sarcophagus but would feel like rocks to Moni.  He thought.  Not that I'll be getting much sleep, anyway.

Even though she hated it, Simone knew better than to argue over this matter and gave in with a nod. As she began gathering herself to her feet, she spotted a framed photo on the entertainment center across from them. 

In the picture stood twelve-year-old Moni and thirteen-year-old Marc on an old dock with a large body of water behind them. Judging by their wearing bucket hats and shorts, she knew right away when and where the photo was taken and smiled at the memory. 

"I remember my mom was so pissed we didn't tell her your dad was taking us to the lake." She laughed as she pointed to the picture. Marc looked confused for a moment before picking up the frame, the event clicking in his brain right away. 

"I'll never forget the sound of that woman bickering at us in Spanish. Thank god I didn't know enough of it then to know what she was saying." 

"Imagine if you all would have drowned! Nobody would know where you were! Thoughtless, both of you!"  Moni thought, hearing it in her head but in her mother's voice and native tongue. 

"It was mainly directed at me, don't worry." 

Her saying this made Marc chuckle, and she laughed along with him until his smile faded and his laughter died down into a soft weep. His father took the photo of them and kept it right there in that same spot all this time. 

Moni's face began to crease as tears pin-pricked her eyes, watching Marc stumble back and sit back on the loveseat. She found herself scrambling over to his side, running a caring hand over his shoulders while he hunched over and hid his face in his hands. The guttural wail of a man now orphaned echoed through the empty home. 

"I'm so sorry." She continued to repeat in a soft whisper until Marc's body unfolded and puffy, red eyes met hers. 

"I think I wanna be alone now." His voice croaked. All Simone could do was nod before she stood and took her duffle bag up the stairs slowly in case he changed his mind. When she was sure he wouldn't call for her to come back, she closed the door to the bedroom behind her.

As Simone sat on top of the covers of the bed in her pajamas, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had forgotten something back in New York. 

Socks? I got those. Phone charger? Have. Laptop? Of course. I still have patients who need me.

She eventually settled on it just being the feeling of forgetting to let Miguel know she landed and made it safely. To be sure it was, she went ahead and called his number but was met with a voicemail box after a few rings, meaning he wasn't near his phone. A message would have to suffice. 

"Hey, hope you're sleeping well or staying safe out there. I miss you, and I don't want you to worry so much. Call me when you get the chance." 

The remainder of her night was spent tossing and turning, unable to sleep in the unfamiliar environment, refusing to take her sleeping medication to remedy this, and being surrounded by the smell of the Spector household that took her back to her childhood. 

In turn, she thought of her mother, where she was, if she was still alive, and if it was too late to find out. She considered if she even  wanted  to find out and if she was just setting herself up for disappointment or heartbreak. After seeing how Marc handled his dad's death after not speaking to him for so long, she realized she may need to bite the bullet.