#marc spector fan fic

[boredzillenial]

Feelings after the hockey game remain jumbled as you, Jake and Marc head out for the party and everything comes to a head out on the dance floor 🕺

Themes: Moonbois in separate bodies, f!reader, drinking, dancing, ugly sweaters, things get steamy at the end 😘

Word count: 1.5k

A.N: not beta read, again so sorry about the prose in this I’m workin on it! Link to parts 1-4 here

Your trio head back to the boys dorm room, where a waiting bottle of vodka and an anime watching Steven are waiting.

“What’ve you three been up to?” Steven asks nervously, unable to pry his eyes away from where a hickey just barely peaks over your high collar.

“Just here to pregame and change then we’re out for the night.” Jake’s uninterested tone rings out dryly as he rustles around for the stashed contraband.

“Oh.” Steven nods and tries, unsuccessfully, to return to his show. However as the minutes and liquor pass you can feel his attention on you.

Once the three of you’ve down enough to satiate yourselves till the party you nod to Steven “You wanna come out with us?”

“It’s not really his scene.” Marc mutters, pulling his Fleece Navidad sheep sweater over his head.

“Maybe he wants to this time -��� You shimmy closer to Steven so you can murmur with a smile, “I’ll stick beside you. Promise.”

“No, you won’t.” Jake’s voice cuts through as he wraps an arm over your shoulder “you’ve got a very important job tonight. Marc needs all the help he can get tonight.”

You twist out from under his arm and look over his sweater. It looked, normal? Till you got a closer look to see all the reindeer in its pattern fucking. “Seriously?” You say flatly.

Jake just gives you a sly grin and a shrug. “Still counts as an ugly sweater. Come on we gotta go get yours.”

Marc leads the way out of their room with Jake behind him, tugging on your arm. You turn and mouth to Steven ‘I’ll text you the address.’

The immediate flush across his cheeks and smile he fails to bite back sends butterflies on high alert in your gut. You had to remember to text him.

Once in your room you quickly toss on Jake’s ugly sweater with a pair of thick dark jeans and boots. Jake sets a brisk pace toward tonight’s destination. By the time you three arrive The Hockey House (as it’s known across campus) is illuminating the dark street with bodies flowing in and out of the open front door.

Jake nods at the player on bouncer duty and shows him the text invitation. The player looks him over suspiciously then gives an unwelcome smile until he settles onto you. “You brought a friend.”

Marc wraps an arm around your waist “Our friend-“ His expression has the bouncer throwing his hands up.

“Whatever dude.” He chuckles as he steps aside.

“Relax.” Jake mutters as you and Marc move to walk inside. “You know she can handle herself if shit goes sideways.” He winks “although I won’t be far.”

“Good luck,” you chuckle and shove him into the throng. “Come on Marc, let’s get you loosened up some more.” You smile, leading the way to find the kitchen.

As you feed Marc a couple beers to relax you quickly send the address off to Steven. Jake is gonna be annoyed but you can’t shake the guilt of Steven all alone yet again.

But as you look up from your phone, in the moment your gaze meets Marc’s, there’s that familiar warmth in your belly. He goes to hand you a can but you scrunch your nose at the shitty beer in his hand.

“I’m good-“ you put a hand on his to set the beer aside when the warmth from it tingles into your finger tips. “-thanks though. You feeling better?” The shots from earlier has a smile tugging at the edge of your lips as you watch him sway a bit on his feet.

His gaze lands on your lips trying to focus on your words and he nods, “-think so.”

“Good, come dance with me!” The sentence leaps from you before you can stop it. While uncertainty lingers in your chest it dissipates when you note the flicker of excitement in his eyes. Lacing his fingers with yours you tug him toward the crowd.

Marc’s body language tightens as you find a spot to dance, “Relax!” You call over the music. As you sway your hips and try moving along with him he’s still stiff as a board. “What’s up with you I’ve seen you cut loose before?!”

“I ah - I dunno -“ his gaze shifts over the crowd “Still in my head a bit-“

“Then lemme help you out of it-“ you smile, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Immediately a blush blooms across his face as you lean to his ear “- put your hands on my hips, just move with me-“

The fast paced song has you both swaying and dancing, your laughter rings in his ears as you pull him closer. But can feel him grinning as his cheek presses against yours. “Attaboy-“ you praise and can’t quite stop yourself from placing a peck on his cheek when his hips churn in time with the beat.

Marc shifts his arms a bit tighter around your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck as the music shifts to something slower. His breathing turns to something slow and deep, while your heart hammers at the unhurried closeness.

As the music continues its steady pace you spot other couples grinding and making out on the dance floor - only intensifying the lighting in your nerves with just how close he is. So much of him pressing against you as he sways to the rhythm. “Marc?” You murmur in his ear. Though your intention was to get his attention your voice comes out as more of a sigh.

He grumbles a response, unmoving from his spot nestled in your neck. The warmth of him radiating and for a moment you lean into it before the realization that his hands have slid down your back and gently squeeze your ass. “Marc!” You jolt before shoving him off and bolting into the crowd. You can hear him call after you but panic and fire in your nerves pushes you faster and thoughts whip across your memory.

Cold rink, Marc’s warm side pressed against yours, the feeling of him and Jake gripping each of your thighs.

You squeeze between people until you make your way to a back wall, enjoying the moment of freedom tucked beside the DJs set up. Your eyes close as you focus on your breathing and the thump of the bass in your chest. Just need a second. I can’t be feeling like this towards Marc. I can’t-

Marc’s voice cuts through the music as he squeezes in front of you. The sound of your name exhaled from his lips sends your muddled mind further into its tailspin. “Look I’m sorry -”

“No I am -“ you blurt, heart hammering as he looks over your face in confusion. Your own eyes settle on his lips, what if-

“Seriously, I’m sorry about just then, and the other day I didn’t mean to see you-“ his voice stutters as he realizes where your gaze has landed “see you like -“

Your sudden lunge forward silences him. Arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers intertwining in his curls as your lips meet. The kiss felt simultaneously foreign and familiar.

The way his lips soften against yours, how his body goes from rigid to relaxed, pulls a whine from the back of your throat. His hands transition from back in alarm to your waist.

It was his step forward and the pressure of the wall against your back brings you to reality. “Shit,” you try to turn away, having nowhere to wiggle off from his grip “I’m sorry -“ you go to dip to the side when his arms shoots out to cage you in.

“No-“ he places a soft kiss along your temple “please-” He gently tips your chin up to face him, “please let me - ” His gaze and low tone heats something even lower in your belly “let me kiss you - I need to.”

All it takes is one nod from you and his lips are against yours again. It’s soft and languid, as if he wants to savor every part of this.

For a moment the only thing in your world is him pressing against you and the thrum of the bass pounding in time with your heart. His hands shift slowly from cupping either side of your face down your body. Barely brushing your sides until he makes it back down to rear. “C’mere.” He nearly growls as he sweeps his hands behind your thighs and lifts.

Your body moves in time with his motion, legs wrapping around his waist as he pins you completely against the wall.

The press of him against you pours gasoline on that already out of control feeling inside you. His deliberate kiss and rut of his hips has you ready to jump out of your clothes the moment he asks.

What you and he haven’t realized in your own little world is that the crowd had dissipated with the commotion of a keg stand contest out on the lawn. But standing in the emptying doorway is Steven, phone in hand and eyes locked on the scene in front of him. Beside him Jake grits his teeth so hard he’s surprised he hasn’t cracked one yet as he hands Steven a beer, “Drink this, you’re gonna need it…”

—————-

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m @ierofrnkk @ingoldthewizard

[bisexualcoltseavers]

Final chapter of "Who's In Control Now" posted FINALLY!!!!

Fandom: Moon Knight (2022)

Tags: Post Canon, Jake Lockley Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Marc Spector, Protective Jake Lockley

Read it from the beginning HERE

[jujapaya]

ROADTRIP DISASTER — Start >>> Previous Page >>> Next Page

LONG Sidebar: I love the fact that everyone just knows MK's name. His name has been plastered everywhere; it is NOT a secret. My man does NOT have a hidden identity. Do you remember Ellis' run?? Where he was plastered on every TV known to man?? Can the common citizen of New York (in cannon) not put the two dots together that this weird "Marc Spector" guy may or may not be Moon Knight based on the mass amount of evidence seen on TV, newspapers, etc? New research topic: How bad is the common Marvel citizen's media literacy??

[pedroshotwifey]

Badly described WIP poll

Ty for tagging me @nerdieforpedro!! ❤️

Gonna cheat a bit and use some of my idea that aren’t 100% in progress yet

Tags: @kewwrites @princessanglophile @superhoeva @sweetercalypso @survivingandenduring @callachloe @yorksgirl

[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.

[bluemoonperegrine]

WIP Wednesday: The Return of the Cawfords

"Moon-Crossed Lovers" is winding down!

-------------------

The late morning sun felt good on Jack’s face and arms as he approached the Cawfords’ oak tree in Bird Park. The crows’ vocalizations ranging from simple calls to the hisses of squabbling relatives brought a wistful smile to Jack’s face. Despite everything, he missed his family.

Jack’s phone buzzed in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out and found a notification of a new text from Marc, who was meeting with Mr. Sader in a nearby cafe. It had required working all Sunday evening and into Monday, but his diligent partner had gotten the translation done. 

“U ok?” Marc texted.

Jack smiled as he sat on the bench under the Cawfords’ tree. He replied, “yes hanging out with the crows. pay attention to ur client. love u bebé”

Marc’s reply was instantaneous. “Ok. Love u too”

Tears welled in Jack’s eyes again. Marc wanted the two of them to take a trip somewhere, traveling either by Air Moon Knight, by airplane, or a road trip. He’d pay for everything, Marc had said, since he’d be a few thousand dollars richer once Sader’s check cleared.

While tempting, Jack knew he couldn’t do more than a day trip or two. The moon wasn’t a factor—it wouldn’t be full for another 12 days—but he needed to reach out to Ana and see if he still had a job. If not, he’d have his work cut out for him.

[iamthejam]

This can apply to so many men it's not funny

i dont care if he killed people hes still my babygirl‼️💥💥💥‼️💥‼️💥💥‼️

[boredzillenial]

Writing Masterlist

🥰 : fluff , 🥵: NSFW

🌙 MoonKnight Bingo🌙

🎃 Fawktober 2023 🦇

Series: all 🥵

A Gift Horse and His Mouth: Doctor Strange x afab!reader (Word count: 3k)

You came to Kamar-taj for help with your mental health. Little did you know your dreams would work against you and make things a lot more complicated.

Yes Sir: Part II to "A Gift Horse and His Mouth" (Word count: 2.8k)

Dealing with the aftermath of your dream Stephen has an idea on how to work through some issues.

Attitude Adjustment: William Tell x afab!reader (Word Count: 3k)

A friend of your fathers pays you an unexpected visit you aren’t likely to forget.

One-shots:

🥵Bad Bet: William Tell x F!reader (Word count: 2.6K)

William beats you in a poker tournament, but you just can’t accept defeat, not yet…

🥵 Sweet Relief: Laurent LeClair X F!reader (Word Count: 1.1K)

Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.

🥵 Stronger Than I Look: Steven Grant X curvy f!reader (Word Count: 2k)

You and your coworker Steven are doing inventory late at night. Being a bigger girl you hadn’t worked up the courage to make a move. But an artifact hidden amongst the trinkets in stock changes things.

🥵 A Simple Arrangement: Jonathan Levy X f!reader (Word count: 1.3k)

Jonathan wakes you in the night for some much needed relief.

🥰 That Damn Smile: Matt Murdock fluff x afab!reader (Word Count: 1.6k)

You’re new to Hells Kitchen and there’s a stranger who’s caught your eye, but you’re not sure if you’ve caught his.

🥰Giftshop Steven: Steven Grant with gn!reader (Word count: 1.4k)

Steven comes to your rescue in the crowded museum.

🥵Caught: Marc Spector x afab!reader (Word Count: 1k)

You get bored while housesitting for Marc and are caught in a rather compromised position.

Drabbles/Thots/Ficlets:

🥰 Drunken Confession: GN!reader X Miguel O’Hara (Word Count: 517)

You snoop around Miguel's office and confess to the "empty" room.

🥵Blue Jones Thots: just some HC and a quick drabble on this very unstable man. gn!reader (WC on drabble: 552)

What I will and won’t write

Messy masterlist for Kinktober 2023 here

[jujapaya]

ROADTRIP DISASTER — Start >>> Previous Page >>> Next Page

Side bar from the creator: this is one of my favorite pages.

[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.

[bluemoonperegrine]

In which Marc and Jack go on a date

Rest assured that Marc does not have a heart attack nor a nervous breakdown, and Jack does not have Cassandro hair in chapter 4 of "Those Who Wander," "Fight or Flight."

(Cassandro is excellent, but I can't deal with that hairstyle on Gael. No offense, real-life Cassandro. You're awesome.)

An excerpt:

[Jack] cant his head to the east. “This way. Lots of restaurants.” They walked together to the sidewalk, easily falling into step. “Do you like Middle Eastern food?”

Marc nodded.

“Great! I’m thinking Tahini Kitchen. We’re a little overdressed,” Jack stated, giving Marc a blatant once-over, “but I’d like to go there.” With a flirtatious grin he added, “I want to hear you speak Arabic.”

Marc found himself matching his date’s expression. In Arabic he replied, “For you? Of course.” Then he realized what he’d said and how he’d said it and nearly choked. 

Jack frowned, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just had something in my throat. Fine now.”

They walked quietly for a few moments. Then Jack asked, “What did you say?”

“I said ‘Yes, of course.’” The white lie wouldn’t hurt anything.

Read the rest on ao3.

[steve-hen-grant]

Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

[luv-beam]

okay i need to add the mcu to my fic rec tags navigation thing but OH MY GOD (´Д⊂ヽ this is the holy grail everyone !! the way u portray steven and marc and even jake (!!!!! IDEK THAT MUCH ABT THIS MF) IS LIKE PERFECT AND ISTG IM GOING TO GO THRU EACH ONE OF THESE BLISSFUL FICS AGAIN TO REBLOG THEM BC — screeches

Astroboot’s Masterlist

SERIES

RED FLAGS  | 🔞Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. Or alternatively: You get to use that ankle restraint on Steven and sit on his beautiful face.

Moon Knight Smut Anthologies | 🔞A collection of smutty one-shots (loosely set post-Red Flags universe but can be read as stand alone).

Hamster Days | Your cozy days and adventures with Hamster Steven!

ONE SHOTS

Fit to Burst | 🔞 Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector | 3.5k words {AO3} | co-written @thirstworldproblemss

Marc decides to teach you a lesson when you mistake him for Steven.

Mirror’s Edge | 🔞 Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant | 6.4k words {AO3} | co-written @thirstworldproblemss

You ask Marc to edge you, but quickly realize you’re way in over your head.

Gift of Min | 🔞 Steven Grant x female reader | 8.2k words {AO3}

Marc brings back a trinket from his trip that may or may not contain an ancient sex god/aphrodisiac. Either way, Marc’s not telling, and it’s for you and Steven to find out.

Min Redux | 🔞 Marc Spector x female reader | 12.8k words

Marc is possessed by a horny ancient sex spirit and refuses the help you’re willingly offering. Sequel to Gift of Min but can be read as stand alone.

Miscellaneous

The Mummy Universe

Meet Doctor Steven Grant

DRABBLES

My Funny Valentines | Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant

I need some sleep 2.0 | 🔞 Steven Grant x reader

Sick as a dog | Marc Spector x reader x Steven Grant

Date at the Cinema | Marc Spector x female reader

[tiptapricot]

What Remains

Fandom: Moon Knight (Comics)

Relationships: Marc Spector/The House of Shadows, Marc Spector & Original Character(s)

Word Count: 1,588

Summary: Marc returns for what he left behind, for what the Mission’s emptiness still cradles in its silence.

———

This is a fic born both from the care for the fan child I stumbled into making for MidKnight Mission (it’s a cabinet. Or. Well it’s a box but it grows up into a cabinet) as well as the emotions I felt after catching up with the current MacKay Vengeance run. Have to carve out my niche and my niche is House And Man Make Family. Enjoy!

[blackkatmagic]

hi kat! i hope this doesn’t sound weird but what are your favorite pairs you’ve written (apart from star wars fandom)? and which fic would you want more people to read?

also, how do you write so fast? you’re like updating everyday! talent like yours must be natural to be that seamless! (im a fan obvs)

Aww, you are super sweet. It's not talent, though, it's just practice - I set a minimum word count for myself every day, and I've been doing it for so long that writing is a habit now. That lets me write even when I'm not super motivated, so I don't often get completely bogged down. Even if I have spells where nothing feels good, just bulling through the block, or switching to another story that doesn't feel so sticky, keeps me moving.

Ooh, aside from SW stuff? Probably...Steve Rogers/Marc Spector for the 616 Marvel universe, closely followed by Kaien Shiba/Bazz-B for Bleach. As for a fic I wish more people would read...hm. Either Light It Up or heart's ease, which I am both stupidly fond of.

[excitedcurtain864]

#my fanart

(fun fact: it's all moon knight)

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Latest ↑

Lonely Is A Man Without Love

Marc

Super Mario x Moonboys (& Khonshu)

Marc “give me a break” Spector

Cozy Steven by the window

MKtober2022 | Day 12 - Layla (ft. Tiny Taweret)

MKtober2022 | Day 8 - Jackal

Tiny Khonshu + Moon Knight & Mr. Knight

Tiny Khonshu + Steven

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Fan Art for Fan Fics

Steven - Fondness for Breaking Apart by @jake-g-lockley

Steven & Philbert - The Ferris Wheel by @soonknight

Goldfish - Red Flags Part 6 by @astroboots & @thirstworldproblemss

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