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bigbadripley · 25 days

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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.

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satisfiedmoonwatcher · 2 years

Text

Perceived in French

Summary: Sure gets lonely being a mercenary. Especially when no one knows you exist. But someone has noticed. And that someone has been dreaming about getting close to that body for years. Could there be more there than midnight meetups?

Mild PWP.

Warnings: 18+. Contains: Male x male. Oral, rim job, hand jobs, fingering, thigh fucking, anal, swallowing, throat fucking, cum shot, mild somnophilia (sleep grinding), cuddling.

Some depictions of violence and blood (fighting). Minor talk of drugs, alcohol and self harm. Lots of bad language and swears. Gets a little gritty. (These boys are mercs for crying out loud.)

Word count: 8,777 - Rub one off.

Pairings: Jake Lockley x Jean-Paul DuChamp (Frenchie).

MCU/Comics. Chose your fantasy.

~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*

Marc always forgot how dark it got out in the desert. Far away from any cities or major towns. There was nothing to see but the silhouette of the sand dunes on the horizon.

Now and then movement would catch his eye, reminding him that the desert was not a wasteland of nothing. There were birds, insects, lizards, foxes, and various other things looking to hunt away from the heat of the day.

Behind him in the distance he knew his team was sitting around the fire by their tents and laughing about things that didn’t matter. If he was back there, perhaps he would laugh too. Perhaps he would feel included.

But it was Thursday and he had watch duty. They didn’t really have anything in particular to watch for. It just meant that directly after a mission, there was a higher chance of someone following them back to base camp with an idea of revenge or taking any spoils.

So here Marc sat, on the hood of his jeep in the cold and in the dark, looking out into the desert at nothing.

Admittedly today was probably not a good day for him to be on watch. He had been feeling tired and strange all day.

It had started in the early morning when they raided a camp set up by some people who may or may not have been raiding local villages. They never looked into the claims. All they knew was that the money spoke louder than any claims to the contrary.

They stormed the camp. He took a misstep and a bullet grazed his arm, leaving a bloody gash for him to clean up later. It had rattled him. If he hadn’t of tripped the bullet would have gone right through his head.

He still wasn’t sure what he had tripped over. It was like his leg had just decided to stop working.

Marc distantly heard his radio crackle. Someone was talking back at camp. It didn’t sound important and he didn’t bother to get up and check it. If it was urgent then they would call him.

His radio crackled again and he stared up into the star filled sky. It was so empty out there. So big. So alone.

He felt his eyelids droop and his body sink down.

“OYE!” Someone was suddenly at his side yelling.

He felt his body jerk in alarm and-

“Hey hey hey!” Jean-Paul lay pinned on the ground, hands up in surrender with a large knife held to his throat.

Jake blinked and stared down at the man he was straddling. “Idiota.” He slowly withdrew the knife and slipped it back into the holder at his side.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Jean-Paul smiled up at him. “Tried to radio you but you didn’t pick up. Thought I better make sure you aren't dead out here.”

Jake looked up and around as if just now noticing it was dark. “What time is it?” He sighed and rubbed his temples, fighting off a headache. The act made him feel the ache in his shoulder where the bullet had grazed earlier. “Please tell me this has been properly taken care of.”

“Well it’s fuck-o-clock is as much as I know.” Jean-Paul shifted under Jake and grinned. He had been around Marc long enough to know when the man he was talking to was not Marc. Marc was a very secretive and private man who never talked about his past.

This was not abnormal when it came to fellow mercenaries. You either got the guys that wouldn’t shut up about their dark and troubled pasts, or the guys that barely strung two sentences together.

After so many years of working together and trusting one another, Jean-Paul had started to notice what he called ‘the other’. He came out in stressful situations, in dangerous situations, or when he felt Marc was taking bad risks.

Usually ‘the other’ was not around for long. He would handle the situation and Marc would blink back in, quite literally, and be none-the-wiser. He suspected that Marc was not fully aware of ‘the other’ but that Marc was hiding some form of mental problem that possibly explained it.

This was the first time Jean-Paul had actually gotten an up close and personal look at the other man. A very up close look. He flushed deeply and shifted under him.

Jake looked down, suddenly aware of sitting on top of someone. He blinked in confusion for a moment but didn’t move. “Lo siento. Sorry. Just… Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes tightly and appeared to be struggling with something internally.

“Are you leaving so soon?” Jean-Paul reached up and lightly touched the injured shoulder. “Let me take a look at that. You know Marc won’t do shit to tend to it.”

Jake blinked and looked down at him in surprise. “Sure.” He shifted and slowly climbed off him, kneeling in the sand.

Jean-Paul sat up and brushed himself off. “Fucking desert. I miss South America. Never thought I’d be missing that humid jungle, huh?”

“Better food there.” Jake got up and went to his jeep. He started to peel the layers off, tossing his scarf, jacket, and hat into the passenger seat. He pulled his shirt off and set it aside while looking at his arm.

Jean-Paul stared. He had always admired Marc’s body. The lean build, the muscles defined so nicely on his arms. His pecks that made Jean-Paul wonder if he didn’t have mommy issues with how badly he wanted to squeeze them.

What caught him off guard was how differently this person seemed to carry himself. Marc was so compact and tight. He was a bundle of tension that took up a space of his own and radiated deep ‘don’t touch me’ vibes.

This man let those muscles stretch as he slowly rolled his shoulder out, testing the tension. He stood up tall and almost seemed to lengthen the body. He moved with a grace and confidence that Marc lacked.

The vibes were still incredibly deadly and if what Jean-Paul had seen on the battlefield was right, incredibly skilled in more than a few ways in causing death. Yet there was a loneliness there.

“It looks like it isn’t deep.” Jake glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow. “Por favor.” He held up the medical kit and a roll of bandages.

Jean-Paul felt his knees go weak as that look and that phrase bounced around in his head. Por favor…

He licked his lips, suddenly very aware of how dry it was there. “Yeah.” He moved to him and took the kit. “You uh.. Saved his ass back there. Good move.” He carefully applied some antibiotic ointment to the gash and some gauze before he started to wrap it.

Jake only nodded, watching him intently. There was an unspoken question there that was weighing heavily between them.

“You don’t work this closely with a man for this long without noticing the little things. If you miss these things, you can wind up dead, no? So I notice when Marc is not Marc. At first I thought it was a coping thing. I’ve seen a few of those. Go somewhere else so you don’t have to remember the violence. But this is different. I don’t care what this is. I don’t need you to explain it to me. Marc seems to not want to talk about whatever this is… But I hope you know that I see you and you are welcome in my books.” Jean-Paul taped off the bandage then patted it gently into place. He looked up at Jake then ghosted a soft kiss over the wound. “For luck.”

Jake glanced down at the bandage then looked back up into Jean-Paul’s eyes. “I notice the little things too.”

Jean-Paul kept waiting for him to look away. To say something else. To push him away or to get dressed in a hurry. All things he had seen before when he got too close. But this man stared into his soul and didn’t flinch.

“I forget how cold it is in the desert at night.” Jake at last looked away, breathing out slowly. “I don’t think anyone is coming. Not from this direction anyway. We would have seen movement on the dunes by now if they were.”

“Uh huh.” Jean-Paul shook his head and glanced around, anywhere but at the man before him. “Yeah. Do you want to head back to the camp?”

Jake opened the back of the jeep and climbed in, stretching out across the seats. “I think I’ll be fine out here. I prefer the privacy one gets out here.”

Jean-Paul swallowed hard as Jake stared at him from the jeep, a small grin on his face. “I can… I can offer some company. If you like.” He was suddenly nervous. He felt like a boy again back in school when he first looked up in the locker room and realized that perhaps his desires lay here and not in the locker across the hall with the pretty ladies.

Jake’s smirk widened and he slid a leg over, opening up a seat.

Jean-Paul moved so fast that he nearly fell out of the jeep on the first attempt to get in. Once inside, he shut the door and sat back in the seat. The situation got to him and he started to laugh.

“Christ.” He put his face in his hands and felt like crying. “Look at me. So desperate for anything. I follow this man around like a dog, hoping he will notice me. Hoping this Spector sees me as a comrade he can trust. A friend. Maybe more. Now here I am with hopes so high and for what?” He muttered to himself in French, feeling miserable and sorry for himself. “I am sorry, my friend. I don’t even know your name.”

He moved as if to get out of the jeep and a hand caught his elbow. “I see you, Jean-Paul DuChamp.” There was a tug and Jean-Paul was spun around slightly. Lips found his and a hand snaked up into his hair, pulling him closer as the lips explored and a tongue pressed for access.

The taste of old cigarette, stale coffee, and mint gum came to him. His hands explored up and down the bare back, tracing the muscles and feeling how they moved and flexed with each shift of positions.

Jake moved and straddled his waist pushing them back into the seat further and making the jeep creak under them.

Jean-Paul pulled back, catching his breath as he gazed up at the man on him. His heart pounded as this man stared back at him with such intensity and focus. This was not a man used to doing things half-assed.

“Wait… Mon ami…” He was flushed and glad it was too dark for this man to see the redness that was surely spreading across his face. “You are not Marc. How can I have this body if I don’t even know who is inside?” He reached up and hesitantly slid a hand across the bare chest before him.

It was everything he thought it would be. Firm and soft all at once as he traced a peck and ghosted a thumb over a pert nipple.

Jake closed his eyes and parted his lips, letting out a soft shuddering sigh that made Jean-Pau deeply regret stopping.

Jake arched his back and pulled Jean-Paul’s head in, letting it rest against his chest. “Amigo… You can call me Jake. If you breathe a word of me to Marc then you will never see us again. Right now, this body is mine to do with as I please and what I please is you.”

Jake shifted and Jean-Paul felt something large and firm press to his stomach. Glancing down he realized it was Jake’s erection straining against the tight jeans that Marc loved to wear.

A string of french dirty enough to make a saint weep left his mouth as he buried his face back into the chest until his chapped lips found a nipple and sucked.

The sounds Jake made with each suck caused his own erection to grow and twitch in desperate need. It had been far too long traveling in such tight company. Sweet release only came in wet dreams and hurried sessions out behind the hole in the ground they called a shitter.

This was hardly a romantic setting or ideal ‘bed’ to maneuver around on, but the sound of a zipper being undone was an angelic chorus in itself.

Jake shifted and groaned in relief as he freed his dick. “Mierde. Marc needs to stop wearing such tight pants… Ah…” He shifted again and Jean-Paul felt the weight of his dick against his stomach.

“Oh sweet angels in heaven.” He looked down and stared at the pulsing monster between them. “Jake…” He tried the name softly. “I am going to worship this body now and you can believe that I will never breathe a word of this to Marc in my life… this has got to be a dream.”

He didn’t wait for Jake to respond. Cursing the confines of the jeep, he shoved Jake back into the seats and sank down between his legs. He pulled till the jeans and boxers were down fully then struggled till they were off and clear, tossed aside carelessly. He took a moment to admire the naked adonis before him.

“Where to start…” Jean-Paul laughed breathily.

Jake looked up at him with that same knowing grin as before. It occurred to him that perhaps Jake had been watching him all these years. Somewhere behind Marc’s eyes this man before him had been watching him and waiting.

Jake reached down and gripped his dick, giving it a few strokes for good measure and arching his hips up. “Not exactly swimming in the lube here or condoms. I think our options are a little limited.”

Jean-Paul gave a breathy laugh and shivered. “There is no way in hell I’m taking that up my ass without some vigorous stretching first.” He reached out and dared to slide his fingers across the tip, making Jake hiss and jerk his hips.

Jean-Paul flushed and sank down, daring to brush his lips where his fingers had just been. He was rewarded with another breathy gasp and twitch of the hips. He exhaled across the tip and slowly slid his tongue around the head before wrapping his lips around and giving a hard suck.

Hands slid through his hair and gripped, urging him on, then loosened and stroked gently, trembling in need. The spanish that followed as Jean-Paul sank lower and pushed to take his whole dick in was enough to make him groan around the girth pushing into his throat.

He bobbed, slowly working his tongue down the underside of the length and daring to take him in up to the base then pulling back out to the tip again. A hand moved up and cupped Jake’s balls, slowly rolling them and massaging them with each stroke of his lips. His other hand slid down to his own groin and fumbled with the zipper and button.

“Ah… Corazon.” Jake groaned and pulled him off after a moment. “Strip. I want you on your hands and knees.”

Jean-Paul never stripped so fast in his life, only slowing down as he sat back and struggled to get his shoes off so his pants could follow.

Jake watched him like a cat, waiting patiently and looking over every part of him. He waited as Jean-Paul rolled over to his hands and knees, looking down at his own erection that was already wet with pre-cum across the tip.

“Press your thighs together.” Jake moved behind him, hunching down to avoid hitting the ceiling in the small space. He leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I want to fuck you someday, but this will have to do for now.”

Jean-Paul shivered and squeezed his thighs together as tightly as he could. He felt the push and watched as Jake’s dick slipped between his thighs to nudge and slide against his balls. “Oh god.” Was all he could say as he felt Jake’s hips smack into his backside.

He could imagine that dick pushing into him, stretching him open further than he’d ever gone before. The pain and then the pleasure of being filled. Of how it would have found his prostate so easily and just about destroyed him.

Jake reached down and slowly wrapped his fingers around Jean-Paul’s dick and started to stroke, matching the pace of his own thrusts that moved them forward roughly.

He knew right away he wouldn’t last long. The jeep rocked with each forceful shove forward, making Jean-Paul groan as he too bucked into the hand gripping him.

He came hard, arching back into Jake and letting out a string of curses in any language he knew.

Jake gripped his hip tightly and bucked hard, shooting his load down the front of Jean-Paul heavily.

Jean-Paul half collapsed, burying his face in his arms, panting as he felt Jake lay across his back fully. He felt the thick cock slip from between his thighs and Jake slowly pull away.

“Fuck.” Jean-Paul rolled over and slowly sat up in the seat. “Jake… Please tell me this was not a one off. I don’t think I can stand knowing I could never touch you again.”

Jake sat back in the seat next to him. He looked Jean-Paul over and moved to grab a stash of tissues from behind the seat, holding them out to let him clean up.

It was easy to see that Jake was thinking. He looked like he was always thinking and analyzing everything.

At last Jake started to pull his clothes on. “If we meet again. It might be nice to… talk.”

“If we meet again?” Jean-Paul sighed and cleaned up then moved to get dressed. “I know a dismissal when I hear one.”

Jake reached out and grabbed his arm. “Amigo. I do not take time from Marc. Marc has enough trouble with… Other things. When I am here, I am here. If we are together and not fighting for our lives… Perhaps someone else saying my name for a change might be nice.”

Jean-Paul smiled. “I can live with that. I hope we meet many times.” He grinned and leaned in to steal a kiss before slipping out of the jeep. “Perhaps Marc will come around too.”

Jake frowned. “Doubtful. He is…” He didn’t want to say it.

“An idiot.” Jean-Paul sighed deeply. “I know. And I am a hopeless romantic who is willing to wait forever for what will never be.”

Jake shrugged and grinned, moving shut the door. “Good night, Jean-Paul.”

“Good night, Jake.” Jean-Paul watched as Jake’s body flinched and then stretched and changed posture. He would know those square shoulders anywhere. “Good night, Marc…” He sighed and headed back to the camp.

–

It was only two weeks before Jean-Paul saw Jake again. Fleeting, though it was.

Marc always took the lead when running into battle. It was something the whole team had come to rely on. The man acted as if he were invulnerable and he was good at what he did.

Only Jean-Paul saw the flinch as someone ambushed him and engaged in a quick up close attack. The knife came out and there was a flash of blood. The assailant went down and Jake looked up at him, panting and wild as if looking for the next fight. Their eyes locked and Jake smirked and gave a wink before Marc’s brows furrowed and he looked down at the would-be attacker. He put the knife away and continued on.

It happened many times over the course of that mission. It was a mediocre job full of bad intel and worse assignments, but it paid well and at the end, they were happy enough to collect and get out.

When night fell, Jean-Paul lay in his tent thinking about how he would spend his money. There was talk of heading to Morocco and that meant fancy food, drugs, and paying too much for a pretty face to follow you to bed. It was the usual life for men that had nothing left but time and money.

He heard a rustle at his tent door and sat up quickly. It was uncommon to have anyone visit him in his tent, let alone in the middle of the night.

He blinked as a familiar form stepped in and took a casual stance, hands in pockets and head cocked to one side.

“Jake? What happened? Is everything alright?” Jean-Paul moved to get up, looking for his gun holster.

A hand went out and caught him, holding him steady. “Everything is fine. Marc had a… A bad dream. If we try to sleep now, it will just be a night of stress. I saw your light was still on so…” He waved a hand as if the implication was obvious.

Jean-Paul sat back down and sighed in relief. “Is that what you do? Take over when he’s in danger and having nightmares? Not much of a life, huh?”

Jake considered as he glanced around the tent, seeing what sorts of things Jean-Paul considered important enough to keep. “I take over when the stress is too real.”

“I wish I had something like that.” Jean-Paul sighed and slouched back on his cot. “What horrors does one have to go through to get someone certified enough to handle this shit?”

Jake gave a small laugh that was filled with bitterness. “Childhood ones. Not this shit. This shit gives you other problems.”

Jean-Paul nodded. His childhood horrors had turned him into a mercenary for hire. “Is this shit what gives him the nightmares? Sometimes we hear him screaming at night. Sometimes we all scream at night, honestly…” The song of the soldier. They all learned to ignore the shrieks and cries that came from the tent nextdoor.

Jake frowned and slowly walked around the small space, glancing at the folding table with journals and maps on it. His eyes flitted over pictures of various people that once mattered and a few current ones of the people that had fought at his side.

“No. The nightmares are what followed from a previous life. This shit just reminds us why we’re out here.” He leaned back against the table. “I hear we’re going to Morocco. Marc is going to get drunk and spend the next few days in a stupor. What are your plans, DuChamp?”

Jean-Paul mulled it over. “I had planned on getting drunk with him the first night. After that… I know an opium den that usually welcomes me in with open arms.”

“Hmm. Things Marc doesn’t need.” Jake sighed. “I was hoping that perhaps you had other inclinations… Perhaps visiting the hotel room of a man in need of a good proper fucking.”

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow and swallowed. “Will you be available in Morocco?”

Jake laughed. “If Marc had his way he would drink himself into the ground. I give him one night and then take the rest away before he throws himself off a building or…worse.”

Jean-Paul thought about all the other times they had gone out to blow through their money. How Marc would disappear after a day or two and return looking pissed and with no memory of the rest of their excursions. He had thought it was from being blackout drunk.

He looked up at Jake fully. The more he learned the more he needed to know about this mysterious man. The more he wanted to be the one letting him work out his stressful life.

“I’ve got some time on my hands now… You know, if your dick is feeling a little….dry.” He licked his lips and shifted on the cot.

Jake shifted and smiled. He slowly undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. “Tonight your mouth is mine. Tomorrow I own your ass.”

“Merde…” He was on his knees faster than a catholic in church. “God, Jake… You are going to split me in half…” He crawled to him and slowly slid his fingers over his dick, coaxing it into full hardness.

Jake only grunted as Jean-Paul placed a wet kiss on the tip and a sharp suck that made him hiss in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“DuChamp…” A warning slipped out with a hiss. “Ah… No marks. Save those for later. I can’t…”

Jean-Paul laughed and turned his kisses into delicat licks. He loved the idea of Marc getting up in the morning for his first piss and wondering why he had a fat hickey across his dick. A secret marker to claim the body as his own.

He wanted this body. He wanted to lick every part of it. To know the taste of him.

He kissed his balls gently then sucked each one in, rolling them over his tongue before moving lower.

Jake’s breathing hitched as he spread his legs. As powerful and controlling as he seemed, Jean-Paul wondered just how experienced this man was.

His tongue found Jake’s puckered ass easily and probed, slicking it up and slowly pressing past the delicate tight ring of muscles he found there. “God you’re so tight…”

A whimper escaped Jake’s lips and control was quickly leaving him as he gripped Jean-Paul’s hair, pulling and digging in tightly. “Ah… Oh god…”

“I think your ass is mine tonight.” Jean-Paul smirked and pushed his tongue inside, running it around the muscles that clenched and trembled there. He could leave marks here, he thought with a grin. Pulling back he slipped down and sucked the back of a thigh sharply and bit down.

“Ah!” Jake’s body jerked and he looked down at Jean-Paul with wide eyes. “Hijo de puta. You want to play rough? You think you can own this body?”

Jean-Paul smirked up at him. “I think I know what I’m doing and you’re here for the ride.” He swept Jake’s feet out from under him and maneuvered him till he was on his hands and knees.

Quickly shifting to get behind him before Jake could protest, he spread his ass and dove in, licking and sucking at the tender flesh there with renewed vigor.

The string of spanish that filled the small area was likely to be heard in the next tent over.

Jake’s hips jerked and Jean-Paul was pleased to see the fat cock hanging down twitch and start to drip precum heavily. He reached down and collected the fluid, letting it slide over his fingers.

“Relax, mon ami.” He pressed a finger to Jake’s entrance and slowly wiggled it and slipped it inside. He could feel how tense he was, clenching and pushing against his finger desperately. It was nothing compared to the panting whimpers that started to come from the man’s lips.

“Never been penetrated before, hm?” Jean-Paul groaned. “Did I just take your virginity?” He pushed the finger in deeper and slowly moved it around, exploring him. “I wonder if I can make you cum from just this… You are so sensitive… Are you close?”

He curled his finger as Jake started to groan. “Fuck… Fuck fuck fuck!” His hips jerked and it was more than clear that he was trying to stay in control of the situation.

Jean-Paul moved to lay on his back, sliding down between Jake’s legs so he could watch that big beautiful dick twitch and bob above him. He kept his finger wiggling inside him, sliding in and out slowly and stretching him. “Cum for me. Cum for me, Jake. I want to see you cum.”

His finger pushed deeper and curled, searching…searching… “There.” Jean-Paul found his prostate and stroked across it hard.

The sounds that Jake made would haunt every wet dream Jean-Paul would ever have again. He pushed again and again, stroking and nudging the ball of nerves until Jake’s hips bucked hard, his dick jerking as it started to shoot out thick ropes of cum.

Jean-Paul gripped his dick with his free hand and was instantly on him, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking out the fluid, swallowing each load down eager.

Jake thrashed as his prostate was probed, forcing his orgasm to stretch out as he shot out more than he ever had before. His arms trembled as he struggled to stay upright. “Mierde… Ah… ah!” He rolled, the finger at last leaving him but his dick did not escape the starved mouth.

Jean-Paul rolled with him, now on top and between his legs as he sucked his dick in to the back of his throat easily. It had been too long since he had tested his gag reflex and he was pleased with just how full Jake filled him. He felt the head nudge the back of his throat and he swallowed, humming around him deeply.

Fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving deep marks that he would cherish. Hips arched, fucking into his mouth wantonly, pushing deeper and nearly suffocating him with each thrust.

Hands moved down to his own zipper eagerly pulling his dick out as he sucked. His hands were shaky as he stroked, he could feel Jake working up to another orgasm.

Jake arched his whole body, drawing blood with his fingernails as he shoved his dick to the back of Jean-Paul’s throat and came. He could feel the throat muscles working as the man sucked him down, desperate not to lose a single drop.

Jean-Paul groaned as the dick in his mouth stopped twitching. He slowly released it, pleased at the angry red color of his swollen head. Moving up, he straddled Jake’s mid section and let his own dick slap down on the well defined chest there.

“Oh god…Jake…” He gripped handfuls of Jake’s pecks and started to squeeze, pinching the nipples and pushing them together. “Such a dirty body… Begging for me… Begging to be fucked… Ah… Ah!” He came hard, letting his cum splatter across Jake’s chest.

Both collapsed, panting and trembling together. Slowly, Jean-Paul rolled off him and lay next to him on the floor. “Christ… I think I blacked out there.”

“DuChamp…” Jake groaned and glanced down at his chest, taking in the mess. “I think if this had been Marc I would have been triggered out about halfway into that. Been thinking about doing this long?”

“Since I first laid eyes on that body of yours.” Jean-Paul laughed. “You have spectacular tits… and that ass… Oh fuck.” He looked over at him with a smile. “Was it too much?”

Jake sat up slightly and groaned as his dick flopped to the side, still partly hard. “I’m starting to worry about Morocco. Maybe I will let Marc go on a bender.”

Jean-Paul pushed him back down and moved to slowly lick his own cum off that beautiful chest. “Mnh. You know you want to fuck me.” He smirked as he licked over a nipple slowly. “I bet you’ve never had an ass before. You’ll never want anything else again. I’m going to let you pound me so fucking hard.”

Jake groaned and shoved him away. “I’m not letting that mouth of yours near me again for a while. Marc’s going to wake up sore tomorrow and you are going to have to be the one to explain it to him.”

Jake slowly got up and grabbed his clothes in a bundle. “Good night, Jean-Paul.” He smirked as he left the tent.

Jean-Paul laughed and lay back. “Good night, Jake.”

True to his nature, Marc drank enough to kill a man. He staggered around the bar until Jean-Paul sipped the empty bottle from his fingers and escorted him back to his hotel room.

“Christ, Marc.” Jean-Paul glanced around the room. There was overturned furniture and all reflective surfaces were covered by curtains and bed sheets. He looked down at the man passed out in the bed and sighed. “What is your pain? What hurts you so much that you become two?”

Jean-Paul took a seat, watching to make sure his friend did not suffocate on his own vomit in the night. So much for his plans at the opium den. His own pain was a dull ache that would have to be worked out later.

When consciousness returned, he helped Marc to the bathroom and held him up while his body rejected the poison inside. Expensive bottled water was drained, but they could afford it for now. Aspirin was taken and a shower was had, Jean-Paul respectfully helping his friend up so he wouldn’t slip and fall as he leaned against the wall in the too hot water.

When Marc was finally able to stand on his own, a towel wrapped around his waist, he blinked as if finally seeing Jean-Paul for the first time.

“Fuck. Frenchie? How much is left? I think I can get some of that expensive shit. Bartender wouldn’t crack it open for me yesterday. Bastard’s gonna open it today. Buy the whole fucking bottle.” Marc took a staggering step towards what was left of the mini bar then stopped.

His hand fell to his side and the glass fell to the floor, rolling away. “Hijo de puta. Mierde. Feels like a puta took up residence in my head.” Jake glanced around the room and groaned. “What day is it?”

Jean-Paul sighed and moved to pick up the glass. “Wednesday. We’ve been here three days. He hasn’t had anything today but I’m afraid the past two days were uh… I don’t remember the first day.”

Jake gave him a look and moved to curl up on the bed. “Asprin?”

“Just took it.”

“I want the bottle. Put me out of my misery.” Jake groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “Just take me out back and put two in me. It’s gotta be better than this.”

Jean-Paul sat next to him and held out an ice pack. “So you feel what he does?”

“It’s the same goddamned body. Of course I feel what he does. Aye pendejo!” He snatched the ice bag and rolled over, letting it sit on his forehead. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be getting high or some shit?”

Jean-Paul sighed and lay back next to him. “You know, Marc is my friend. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Not just here waiting for a fuck?” Jake glanced at him. “I’m not fucking anything right now. You can go do what you want.”

Jean-Paul stared at the ceiling for a bit. He remembered the first time he had found Marc passed out in his hotel room, face down in vomit with a bottle of cheap whisky in his hands. He remembered the first time he had spent a night sobbing into Marc’s arms, he himself utterly blitzed out on some bad shit he had gotten from a shady man in an alley. He remembered having Marc’s back and feeling confident that Marc had his after their first few missions together.

How they had silently promised to always work together. To maybe one day retire if they lived that long. To buy mansions and try to find peace.

“I think I’ll stay.” He grabbed the side phone and ordered a meal heavy in grease and bread. “My treat.”

Jake only groaned and rolled over.

When the food came, he filled a plate and set it down in Jake’s lap. “Eat. I don’t know when he ate last.”

Jake glared at him, not used to being cared for. He took a bite and sighed as his body slowly stopped clenching up. The bite was soon a ravenous intake as he realized he didn’t know when Marc last ate anything solid either.

He managed to slow down as he was handed seconds. “What am I to you?” Jake chewed some flat bread slowly. “Just a way to fuck Marc? A way to have his body without having to confess how you feel to him?”

Jean-Paul stared down at his own plate and pushed around some heavily spiced meat for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know what you are, honestly. I’ve seen stranger things. The broken men I come across in this work… Some with god complexes and others with lord knows what sort of mental illness that keeps them away from the regular people. I once met a man that insisted I call him Prince Dafrekie. He was a white kid from New Jersey, thought he was an alien sent to earth to free us from the oppression of the sun.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What happened to him?”

“Took a knife to the throat.” He stared off at the far wall, suddenly not hungry anymore. “He spoke beautiful French. Learned it in high school. Did he really believe he was an alien? I don’t know. Maybe it helped him get through the day. He liked to read poetry to us at dinner time. None of us ever complained. We sat there and listened…”

Jake sipped his water then set his plate aside. “Marc had a brother. Then he didn’t. He was young and Marc was supposed to take care of him. The water rose and only Marc came up with it.”

“Is that why…?” Jean-Paul gestured vaguely to Jake.

“No.” Jake pointed to the mini bar. “It caused that.”

“So what made you?” Jean-Paul moved to clean up the remaining food.

Jake watched him for a moment, considering. At last he shifted and pointed to an old faded scar running down Marc’s side. “Maybe the picture frame that landed on us when we hit the wall.” He pointed to another scar at his temple. “Or the glass that hit our head when we made too much noise.” He pointed to a small white mark under his left eye. “Or the belt buckle that went wide when we flinched.”

“Deadbeat father.” Jean-Paul nodded.

“A mother that didn’t know how to handle the loss of her favorite son.” Jake sat back again.

“Maybe not much. Maybe not as bad as some have it… But he was young. It was how we coped. Now I’m here taking his shitty hangovers while he tries to kill himself slowly in misery.” Jake angrily tossed the ice pack across the room.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jean-Paul shrugged. “Maybe I’m using you to get at the body. Maybe I’m pretending you’re Marc. I don’t know what goes on in my own fucked up brain… But I like you. A little something that I can hold onto. Like I know the cheat codes.”

Jake glanced at him for a moment then laughed. “I forget sometimes… You have to be pretty fucked up to work in this line of business.” He held out an arm and pulled Jean-Paul down to lay next to him. “Help me sleep this thing off. Right now I’m pretty much in agreement with the whole oppressive sun shit.”

“What if Marc wakes up?” Jean-Paul slowly relaxed into his side.

“Tell him he got drunk and fucked your brains out. Maybe he’ll stop drinking.” Jake closed his eyes and relaxed.

“If only…” Jean-Paul sighed and rested his head on Jake’s shoulder, smiling to himself as he breathed in the scent next to him.

–

He had fucked up dreams. Dreams of fucked up images filled with blood and gunfire. When he woke, it was getting darker outside and Jake was still asleep beside him.

Or perhaps Marc. Could he tell the difference? He sat up and stared down at the man next to him.

A glance down and he realized the body was naked, the towel long gone and the blankets kicked off. Not just that, but the naked body with a raging hardon.

Jean-Paul lay back down for a moment, hands clasped tightly over his chest. “Mon dieu.”

If it was Jake, he would slip down and lovingly take that offering into his mouth and give him a fantastic wakeup call.

If it was Marc…

He sat up again and stared. Was there a way to tell? Did he take the risk? Maybe he could pretend to be drunk or high. It wasn’t the first time Marc would have seen him at his worst.

But then there was the matter of consent.

“Fuck.” Jean-Paul lay back down and buried his face in the pillow. “This is why you are like this. You no good piece of shit. Horny as hell. Always have been. Get a fucking hold of yourself!”

The body next to him shifted and an arm and leg draped over him.

Jean-Paul froze. “Merde.” His heart missed more than a few beats as he felt hips slide against his side. “Merde…” The hips pressed and he felt that thick dick push against his hip.

“I am not a strong man, don't test me like this…” He trembled as the hips next to him moved again in slow dreamlike motions. “Oh god. Oh god.” He moved to sit up but found himself entangled in limbs. He was just going to have to ride this out.

HIs heart pounded as he looked down and watched that throbbing member slide against him. “Jake…” his voice trembled as he tried to wake him up. “Hey…Jake?”

“Mnh.” The body next to him moaned and ground his hips against him harder, seeking more friction.

Jean-Paul groaned and reached down, letting his fingers ghost across the throbbing cock. “Oh come on… Wake up already… Please…” He rolled as much as he could and turned away.

The position was too familiar as he felt hips push against his backside fully now and that cock slid down his ass and between his thighs. “Oh god!”

He sat up and fell out of bed.

He could hear shuffling in the bed above him and a tired blinking face peered down at him. “The fuck?” Jake glanced around then sat up. “Was having the most wonderful dream…”

“Yeah. I gathered.” Jean-Paul slowly got up. “You are going to give me a heart attack. How am I supposed to respond to that!” He looked down at the still hard dick that now lay against Jake’s stomach.

“Well you could be polite about it and help a guy out.” Jake shrugged and reached down to lazily stroke his dick, in no hurry to get himself off.

Jean-Paul groaned and watched the hand work. “Consent, asshole. I’m a gentleman when I want to be.”

Jake smirked. “I consent. I think I was promised one ass in Morocco.”

All english left him as he looked around the room, hoping against hope that Marc had thought ahead for any chance of having sex.

Jake watched him, still lazily stroking his dick. “Bag. By the door. Outer pocket.”

Jean-Paul stumbled and dove for the bag, practically ripping into it. Condoms. Lube. Check.

He tossed them to Jake and immediately started to strip. “You’ve never done this before. If you fucking tear me…”

“I’m going to guess you aren’t as much a tight ass as I am.” Jake smirked. “Been practicing?”

Jean-Paul smirked. “All my life.” He watched Jake roll the condom down over himself and groan.

“Fuck. Get over here.” He got up off the bed and waited for Jean-Paul to crawl onto the bed, presenting his ass up for him.

To his relief, he felt Jake slide the lube over his waiting entrance then start to slide a finger into him. A fat thick finger that curled and moved curiously.

“Yes…” Jean-Paul forced himself to relax and pushed back on the finger. “Go ahead. More.”

“So impatient.” Jake leaned over him and kissed his spine lightly. A second finger slid inside and started to scissor, spreading him and stretching slowly. “Oh.. You are ready, aren’t you?”

“One more.” Jean-Paul whimpered. “Just one more…”

Jake laughed and pulled his fingers out then slowly pushed in three, testing his ring of muscles and stretching him more than he had in ages.

The fingers pulled out and he felt Jake move behind him and slide his dick across his ass slowly. “Oh yes… yes… Jake…”

“Say my name again.” Jake groaned and pushed the head to his entrance. “You aren’t fucking Marc here. Remember that.”

“Jake… Fuck me Jake.” He gasped. “I want you to fuck me, Jake.”

Jake’s hips hitched and slowly pushed the fat head into him with a pop then held still. “Yes… Again. Louder.”

“Jake!” Jean-Paul moaned. He could feel the thick girth waiting to stretch him. His hips trembled as he waited for that delicious push and stretch he knew was coming. “Jake fuck me goddamn it!”

Hips were slammed together and Jean-Paul saw stars as Jake pushed into him all at once to the base. He was pretty sure if Jake had asked, he would have spoken in Spanish for the rest of his life just to beg him to keep going.

Luckily he didn’t have to beg as Jake gave a shuddering groan and started to move. He pulled out to the tip then pushed back in, testing the feel and deciding how he liked it. He pushed in and held it then pulled out to the head and waited. “Damn… Fucking damn….” He seemed to have short circuited as he felt Jean-Paul clench around him. “Mierde!”

“Fuck me.” Jean-Paul looked back at him. “Do it, Jake. I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you fuck me into the ground like I know you can.”

Jake gave him a flushed smile and gripped his hips, holding him steady. “DuChamp, shut up and moan.”

He slid into him, slowly picking up the pace, occasionally changing angles to see which agreed with him more. When he angled down and hit Jean-Paul’s prostate he gave a wild laugh and let loose, bucking into him like his life depended on it.

All language left him as Jean-Paul clutched at the bed sheets. He could only groan and babble incoherently with each inward thrust that rubbed against his prostate roughly.

He felt his own orgasm build and gasped as his dick splattered his cum over himself. Still, Jake did not stop, grunting and rutting into him like a beast.

He reached his second orgasm and screamed out, thrashing on Jake’s fat cock each time he felt the pull and push against his sensitive muscles. “Jake! Jake! Oh god!”

He felt Jake’s hips hitch and jerk then the feel of his dick twitching and pulsing inside. Mercifully, Jake slowly pulled out of him and flipped him over.

Jean-Paul lay back, staring up at Jake with wide eyes. “Adonis…”

Jake was still fully hard, the condom full of his cum. “I’m not done with you, DuChamp.”

He slid his condom off and smirked. “Fuck me.”

Despite coming twice, his dick practically jumped to full attention at the command.

“Are you sure? It’s going to be different than a finger and Marc might notice if he can’t sit for a week…” He had no idea why he was protesting.

Jake laughed and bent over the bed, spreading his legs. “Payback for the hangover. Besides, it’s my body too.” He smacked his own ass and looked up at him. “Fuck me.”

Jean-Paul pulled out another condom and slipped it on quickly. He leaned over Jake, stroking his hands over his ass and hips lovingly. “Amazing. I don’t know which of you worked hard to get this perfect ass, but I applaud you.”

“That would be Marc.” Jake laughed softly. “Who needs emotions when you can just do a million squats every day.”

“Emotions are overrated. Ass is all you need.” Jean-Paul gave a slow lick over his entrance then pulled out the lube and applied a generous amount. “Relax.” He slid a finger in and gently worked around the rim.

Jake’s back arched and he clenched tightly then slowly forced himself to relax. “Another… I’ve got this.”

Jean-Paul laughed and kissed his bottom gently. “You have amazing control of your body.” He slipped a second finger in and slowly spread them, stretching and pushing.

Jake gritted his teeth and started to breathe heavily. “I’ve had to. Keep going. Ah… I think I got this now. Just…Just gotta relax…”

Jean-Paul made sure to slick up his dick heavily. He lacked the sheer girth that Jake had, but he was in no way short.

He positioned himself and started to push, keeping a steady pressure until he popped through and held.

Jake dug his fists into the bed and groaned, his arms trembling as he put all his effort into relaxing. Jean-Paul held still, waiting till his muscles stopped clenching down so tightly, no matter how good it felt.

Finally he felt Jake’s body relax. He pushed and slid in easily.

Jake cried out and groaned as his nerves lit up all at once. “Oh holy shit… That feels… Oh god!” He squirmed and rocked his hips back to meet him. “Do that again.”

Jean-Paul smirked. “Someone’s a little sensitive.” He slowly pulled out to the head, not wanting to force him just yet, then pushed back in.

Jake’s ass swayed and he squirmed, slowly lowering his face to rest against the pillows as he lifted his ass up. “More… Nnh… Harder.”

The pace picked up, keeping long strokes each time as he felt the muscles flutter and squeeze around him. He wasn’t going to last.

From the sounds Jake was making, he wasn’t going to last either. A hand snaked around and gripped his dick tightly, stroking with every thrust.

The room was filled with panting and groans as their hips slapped together, harder and harder until Jake’s hips bucked and he came hard.

Jean-Paul wasn’t far behind as he buried himself deep inside and released.

They both collapsed forward, completely spent. It was a struggle to move enough to pull out of him and get the condom off.

Jake found his towel from before and used it to try to clean up a little then just rolled over. “Marc isn’t getting his deposit back.”

“Does he ever?” Jean-Paul nuzzled in,

“Sometimes.” Jake mumbled. “If I’m in charge.”

“Not this time.” Jean-Paul laughed. “I think you might be an ass man.”

Jake groaned. “And what does that make you?”

“I’m still all about those tits.” He rolled over and nuzzled his face into Jake’s chest.

To his surprise, Jake didn’t push him away. He simply wrapped his arms around him and held him, moving a hand to stroke his hair.

They lay together in silence for a while then Jake sighed. “You know this can’t last, right?”

Jean-Paul thought about it for a moment. “I think I knew that coming into it. It’s the nature of our work…Of our life. If we don’t die, we eventually move on. Follow some other self-destructive path or if we get lucky, we hit a big job and disperse with all the gold and riches we dreamed of…”

“I hope you find someone that isn’t broken, Jean-Paul…” Jake looked up at the ceiling, stroking his hair gently. “I hope you get out and do whatever makes you happy with someone that has great tits for you to cum all over.”

He laughed and looked up at Jake. “I hope you find happiness, Jake. Someday when you don’t have to hide or worry about Marc swallowing his misery into an early grave. I hope Marc can sit on a beach somewhere peaceful and let you watch a beautiful ass swim in the waves.”

“Till then, I don’t mind this.” Jake gave a light hearted smack on Jean-Paul’s backside. “Marc will always be an idiota that needs saving. I’ll see you here and there…”

Jean-Paul nuzzled his chest and wrapped his arms around him. “There’s always the next payday…”

Jake searched inside for a moment. “We still have this payday. Marc’s going to be out for a while and I’ve only just learned how good it feels to be properly fucked.”

Jean-Paul laughed and shoved him away. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Mnh. You corrupted me with that amazing mouth of yours.” He leaned in and kissed him deeply. It was slow and intimate, the immediate fire had burned down. In this moment he could feel all the insecurities, fears, and needs of a man that did not get enough time being alive.

“Jake…” He whispered against his lips. “Mon amour.”

“Te quiero....Te amo…” He whispered back, feeling at peace for just this little while.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Moon Knight smut #Jake Lockley #Jean-Paul Duchamp #Frenchie #Male x Male smut #Moon Knight comics fic #Jake x Frenchie #They fuck #They also cuddle

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watsittoyah · 1 year

Text

Watsittoyah Master List!

Here are some of my fan fics that have either made it to the internet and prospered or just got the axe for lack of interaction. (I will update this later but please don’t expect it soon I sometimes forget to charge my lap top and I’ll get to editing)

Marvel Roster (These guys are cooler than the other side of the pillow)

1. Namor- Sitting on the throne (one shot?) NSFW

2. Namor- Hate that I love you (Still typing?)NSFW

3. Moon Knight- Anchors (Still typing)NSFW

4. Miguel O’Hara, Spider-man 2099- Along came a spider 2099 (Completed)NSFW

ch.1- Don't I know you?

ch.2- Bites & Fangs

ch.3- Tinted Windows

ch.4- Just To Put My Mind At Ease

ch.5- The Skeletons In His Closet

ch.6- The Calm Before The Storm

ch.7- Everything Is Not What It Seems...

ch.8- In A Snap

ch.9- And The Puzzles Fall Into Place

ch.10- Arachnophobia Behavior…

ch.11- Perfection Can’t Be Obtained…

ch.12- Pumpkin Pie Is Best Served Cold (Pt1)

ch.13-And The Truth Comes To Light…

ch.14- Pumpkin Pie Is Best Served Cold Pt.2

5. Miles Morales Spider-Man- A Glitch In the universe (To be announced)

STRANGER THINGS (Don’t look at me like that…)

1. Eddie Munson x Blk Fem Reader X Steve Harrington- Heartbreaker (Still typing) NSFW

ch.1- Rule Number One

ch.2- Rule Number Two

ch.3- Rule Number Three

ch.4- Rule Number Four

ch.5- Rule Number Five

EUPHORIA (You knew this was coming)

1. Nate Jacobs x Blk Fem Reader -Mixtape (Still Typing) NSFW

Track 1

DC Comics (My Best boys, and all of their smutty glory!!)

Dick Grayson X Blk Fem Reader- Prayers Of A Sinner -(Currently typing) NSFW

Ch. 1- Thou Shall Not Kill...

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Blk Fem!reader -Before the Snow, Came the Flame.. (Nsfw/ Currently typing/posting)

Ch. 00-Just Say Yes

Ch. 01- A Rose With Thorns (Pt. 1)

An Obsessive!Qimir X Blk Fem!reader (oc, star wars smut fic) - The Devil's Playpen (nsfw currently typing)

CH. 01- When The Predator Becomes Prey...

CH. 02- Fear Is Only A Four Letter Word...

CH. 03- When He's Good, He's Great. But When He's Evil...

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sunflowersteves · 2 years

Note

Sending hugs and wishes for a speedy recovery!

Prompt: “surprise . send an unexpected nsfw image to my muse” with Marc Spector

thank you, love!!! heheh I hope you enjoy <3

warnings || nudes, SMUT THEMES, dom marc, 18+ only

Marc makes his way into the small convenience store near your flat. After his patrols as moon knight with Steven and Jake, he always made a routined last minute stop to the store.

He picked up a couple of items that you needed, and making sure to grab some of your favorite ice cream that you had forgotten on the list.

His lips curled slightly at the long list of different chocolates and caramel on the label, affection blooming inside his chest.

His concentration stops when he feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket. He picked it up, immediately knowing it was you.

He expected some kind of message saying that you forgot something on the list or telling him to get home faster. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was a picture of you—brightly smiling—with a perfect view of your breasts.

His eyes comically widened, and he felt himself choke on air. “Jesus fucking—” He fumbled his phone, grabbing it quickly and smacking it against his chest.

He was breathing heavily, before practically sprinting to the checkout line. He stops, hurriedly placing the items onto the conveyer

belt. He impatiently thumped his index finger against his thigh as the old woman in front of him. She shakily, and at a snail’s pace, scans one of her items. His eyes flickered to her basket and sees that there’s still about nine more items.

He sighs, a hand over his mouth as the ache of his raging hard on sets in. He felt his cock twitch at another vibration of his phone.

Bed’s getting cold, Marcy :(

Oh, fuck. Another picture of you. This time, you were spread out on your shared bed. You wore his favorite lingerie—a deep red that caressed each and every curve.

He could feel his chest spark, a flush of lust against his cheeks. His eyes flickered once again to the woman filling ip her basket, just now on item five.

“Fuck this.” He muttered, taking the object out of the woman’s hand and scanning it quickly. She gasps, but he pays no mind, scanning all of the items at lightening speed.

“Thank you, kind sir.” He nodded, short and sharp. He scans his own items, cursing left and right before bolting out the door.

By the time he got home, it had been well over fifteen minutes. You were perched on the bed, patiently waiting for Marc to burst through the door.

You smirked to yourself as you pictured his disheveled figure, hands running through his raven hair—eyes wild with a certain gleam in them as he sprinted through the streets of London.

You hear the jostling of keys and a certain click of the lock before Marc busts through the door. His face was in a usual frown, maybe one a bit deeper than normal.

"Hi, baby." You say, almost purred it out of your plump lips. Marc doesn't say anything back, just pants. His chest heaved up and down as he took in your almost naked for.

He made long strides across the flat and onto the bed, not wasting any time to put his arms around you. "Did you think you could send that and get away with it, sweetheart?"

His voice was dripping in anything but sweetness. Instead, it was drowning in a promise. He presses a harsh bite to your collar bone, making you jump. "Marc—"

He doesn't give you time to react, hands squeezing your breasts and his lips kissing every part of your supple skin, making his down to your aching core.

He laughed at the high-pitched whine that escapes your throat. "You shouldn't have done that, sweet girl." He looks up at you, a stray curl springing in front of his face.

He knew you weren't sorry what so ever, despite the sheepish look that you conjured on top of your face. It was cute, that he'd have to admit.

He pried open your thighs, pressing a kiss to your clothed center. You gasped, jolting your hips forward. You could feel the wet patch almost becoming more as he rubs small circles against your clit with his thumb. "Marc!"

"God, are you getting dumb on me already?" He chuckled, already knowing the answer.

"I'm gonna eat you out until I say so, okay?" He paused for a only a second, running a hand up and down your thigh, "I mean it, sweet girl. I don't think i'm going to be able to stop."

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, head dizzy from the quick contrast of Marc barely even touching you.

He smirked, "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He shoved your lingerie aside, relishing in the glistening of your sweet pussy. "I should get started then, shouldn't I, sweetheart?"

God, Marc could be such a cocky asshole sometimes, but you would be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

#vic’s spring time sleepover ˚ ༘♡ ·˚#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x reader

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 year

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Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Thousands of years ago, you were his greatest treasure. Robbed away by a culprit never found.

Separated by life and death, you were destined never to see one another again.

He was doomed to walk an Earth without you, cloaked in silvery shadows as he dispensed justice, returning to guard your tomb like a hulking ghost, a slave to his grief with only his soft words spoken into the dank air of your resting place to provide a break in the painful monotony of his haunting.

He would always mourn you.

He would always love you.

The only mortal to ever make his cold heart beat.

TW/CW: Death, mentions of death, violence, pain, blood, injuries, murder, betrayal, exhaustion, depression, loneliness, mourning, some historical inaccuracies here and there (for plot, and I obsessively read about Egypt on my own but I am by no means an Egyptologist), implied/shown incestual marriages/relationships (c'mon guys it was Ancient Egypt, I'm not gonna pretend those canon events never happened), Some fudged canon MCU!Moon Knight mixed with a few elements from the comics (it's fanfiction, what do you expect?) NSFW, smut, eventual smut, pining, memories, reincarnation, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy, some OOC Khonshu (depending on how you look at it)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N:

This is something that came to me in a mix of a disassociation listening to this song (from which the story gets its name) and a plot facilitated by a Khonshu bot on c.ai (are you guys even surprised at this point?)

The main thought was, "Hey, what if Khonshu is an incorrigible douchebag because of some reason he hasn't disclosed? To anyone, for thousands of years? Why does he look so different from how reliefs depict him in scriptures and tombs? Does he secretly hurt inside and feels so much rage at failing in his duty to dispense justice on the one person he feels deserves it the most?" And this stemmed from all that.

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog @themostegotisticalgirl124 @patchesofwork @lialiwasneverseen

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 1: Dust And Echoes

Chapter 2: Stressing My Mind (Mind)

Chapter 3: Knowhere

Chapter 4: Strange Places, Old Faces

Chapter 5: Pomegranates

Chapter 6: Trust Issues

Chapter 7: Modus Operandi

Chapter 8: River's Flow

Chapter 9: The Book Of The Dead

Chapter 10: Guilt

Chapter 11: Styx and Stones

Chapter 12: Forgotten Graces

Chapter 13: The Before

Characters:

Chapter 14: Starting Lessons

Chapter 15: Old Friends

Merit (Picrew)

Human Khonshu (My Artwork)

Merit, Anippe, and Heba (My Artwork/Animated by Me)

Character Lineup (My Artwork)

#khonshu #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #layla el faouly

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yoditopascal · 6 months

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•°✧ introduction ↓↓

★彡[ THINGS ABOUT ME ]彡★

↪ eren | she/they | late 20s | infp | probably high 🍃

┊ ➶ masterlist

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - EXTRAS- ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ➶ hello! welcome to my page! it’s a bit of a mess but I'm trying my best to keep it organize it!

┊ ➶ status: working 🫡

┊ ➶ inbox status: open!

┊ ➶ fandoms I write for: jujutsu kaisen, demon slayer/kimetsu no yaiba, dc comics (specifically jason todd, roy harper and dick grayson), overwatch, marvel (specifically wolverine, the moon knight boys, bucky barnes, venom/eddie), star wars, james cameron’s avatar, chainsaw man, d.gray-man, final fantasy, fire force, bungo stray dogs, hell’s paradise, naruto, one punch man, aot, k project

┊ ➶ what I won’t write: extreme/unnecessary violence (including r*pe) , underaged smut (not even aged up), g*nplay, incest

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - More About Me - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ➶ pisces ☀️ | pisces 🌙 | leo ⬆️

┊ ➶ currently watching: rewatching all the x-men/wolverine movies!

┊ ➶ listening to: daisy by ashnikko

┊ ➶ currently playing: overwatch

┊ ➶ who i'm a slut for: pedro pascal, oscar isaac, hugh jackman, jason todd, wolverine, bucky barnes, venom, din djarin, sanemi shinazugawa, and chobei aza

┊ ➶ please send asks if you'd like! whether you wanna pop in to drop a request, talk about imagines or headcanons, vent or just wanna have a chat, feel free to stop by!

┊ ➶ please be mindful when reading my works, some of my posts are 18+ and are not meant for minors

┊ ➶ my socials: Aequitas on ao3, yoditopascal on twitter and uzu.makii_ on ig!

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ Thank you for your time ] ࿐ྂ

#yodito speaks #introductory post #blog intro #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #so’lek x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #gojo x reader #getou suguru x reader #sanemi shinaguzawa x reader #din djarin x reader #kenny ackerman x reader #attuma x reader #Mikoto Suoh x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #black reader

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thedevilsoftruth · 8 months

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Sometimes I just be chilling and then I remember Marc Spector is also an astronaut.

He's pretty much anything at this point. He's the barbie of the Marvel Universe

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marvel smut #moon knight comics #marvel comics

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connorsbunnyx · 1 year

Text

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎:

hi! my name is rain, i go by they/them pronouns <3.

my age is unknown because i don't feel comfortable saying it. please don't force me to say it. you will be blocked if you try to. i am still 18+, i just don't want creeps approaching me, please respect my choices <3.

i will write almost anything but i do have limits. i'll list the fandoms i'll write for and the kinks/things i'm comfortable writing, along with the ones i'm not comfortable writing.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒 / 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒:

FNAF (Five Nights At Freddy's):

- William Afton

- Micheal Afton

- Foxy (any Foxy except for Phantom Foxy if it's smut)

- Montgomery Gator

- SunDrop & MoonDrop

- Roxanne Wolf

- Glamrock Bonnie

- Glamrock Freddy

- Glamrock Chica

Marvel (MCU or a different universe)

- Wanda Maximoff / The Scarlet Witch (ugh, marry me😩)

- Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier

- Peter Parker / Spider-Man (any spider-man except ones from Across The Spider-Verse, i haven't seen it sadly)

- Steve Rogers / Captain America

- Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow

- Loki

- Pietro Maximoff

- Tony Stark / Iron Man

- Yelena Belova

- Scott Lang / Ant-Man

- Marc Spector / Steven Grant / Jake Lockley / Moon Knight

DC (can be the comics or cinematic universe):

- Bruce Wayne / Batman (Christian Bale Batman is so hot😩)

- Damian Wayne / Robin (aged up)

- Dick Grayson / Robin / Nightwing

- Jason Todd / Robin / Red Hood

- Rachel Roth / Raven

- Heath Ledger's and Joaquin Pheonix's Jokers (Pheonix plays in the 2019 Joker movie if you didn't know)

- Harley Quinn

Twilight:

- Jasper Hale

- Alice Cullen

- Carlisle Cullen

- Rosalie Hale

- Emmett Cullen

Stranger Things:

- Eddie Munson

- Steve Harrington

- Jim Hopper

- Billy Hargrove

- Robin Buckley

Extra Characters (characters from lists that had less than four options):

- Joel Miller from The Last of Us

- Ellie Williams from The Last of Us II

- Rodrick Heffley from The Diary of a Wimpy Kid series

- Hiccup Haddock (aged up) from How To Train Your Dragon series

- Connor from Detroit: Become Human

- Tengen Uzui from Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

- Kyojuro Rengoku from Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

- Rei Suwa from Buddy Daddies

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒:

kinks / sexual actions i'm okay with:

- mommy / daddy kink (not the dd/lg or md/lg type tho, sorry)

- breeding kink

- choking

- dom / sub dynamic

- degradation kink / praise kink

- bondage

- pet play

- hair pulling

- CNC

- spit kink

- knife kink

- blood kink

- dacryphilia / getting aroused when a person is crying while having sexual intercourse

- exhibitionism / public sex

- lactation / breast feeding kink(?) (usually for wlw)

- somnophilia / sexual actions with a sleeping s/o or person

kinks / sexual actions i'm not okay with:

TW: the r word is mentioned

- ageplay

- underage sex

- foot fetish

- fetishes, i don't want to write about fetishes, they make me uncomfortable

- rape

i will definitely write fluff and angst, not just smut !!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐑𝐎:

i hope you'll like my future writing and have fun reading the posts <3! i truly wish that you have an amazing day/night, remember to take care of yourself!

wishing you well,

rain [ they / them ]

#intro post #smut writer #minors dni #marvel smut #connor dbh smut #dc smut #fnaf smut #hope you enjoy #buddy daddies smut

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fictionalmenmistress · 2 years

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The Private Library

... Of Fictional Men Mistress

Welcome! This post serves as my digital private library... my most beloved collection. None of these works are mine, and all credit is due to the lovely and incredible minds that created these works of art; (which you will find next to their titles, once you choose a category). This is the home to my personal most favorites, and most beloved stories and fanfictions and blog posts I have read. I think about these daily... I adore these. They've made my life better. They've changed my life. They've kept me going during my lowest points in life, and I mean that. I reccomend all of these. These were written by the best writers in the world; true to character, perfectly immersive, so imaginative, feels like you are there.

All of these fanfictions, stories, character & show analysis, random tumblr posts, headcannons, and beloved writings of all types, will be listed in no distinct order, inside their categories. Please Enjoy; explore them all! 🖤🗝☕🥂

The Majorety of these reccomends are for mature audiences, 18+, so if you are a minor, please DO NOT read through these reccomends yet.

Choose a vinyl playlist!

What genre of fandom writing do you want to spin on the turntable???

NOTE: NO LINKS ON THIS LIST ARE CURRENTLY ACTIVE! LISTS ARE BEING FINISHED, AND LINKS WILL BE ADDED TO THIS LIST ALL AT ONCE, VERY SOON. PLEASE CHECK OUT MY OTHER MASTERLISTS, PINNED TO MY BLOG, AND SAVE THIS GOODIE FOR LATER! 😉

• Favorite STARWARS Reccomendations: (The Clone Wars, Prequels, Sequels, The Bad Batch) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite BTS Reccomendations: (mostly Taehyung, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jungkook, Jin, Hoseok) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite TMNT Reccomendations: (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Bayverse Turtles, 80s, 2003 TMNT, Rise of the TMNT, 2007 TMNT) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite MARVEL Reccomendations: (MOON KNIGHT, WandaVision, LOKI, Loki Laufeyson, Avengers, XMEN, Wolverine, VENOM) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite LIE TO ME* Reccomendations: (Dr. Cal Lightman, Tim Roth *actor*) Headcannons / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite THE BOYS Recommendations: (Billy Butcher, The Boys Team) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite MY HERO ACADAMIA Reccomendations: (Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Kirishima Enji, Dabi) Analysis / Headcannons / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite Good Omens Reccomendations: (Anthony J. Crowley *The Demon*, Aziraphale A.Z. Fell *The Angel*) Analysis / Headcannons / Fanfictions 🖤

• Favorite "Warden" Hwajin Na *Get Schooled Webtoon* Reccomendations: Analysis / Headcannons / Fanfiction / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite Tom Hiddleston Reccomendations: (Tommy Hiddles *actor*) Headcannons / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite What We Do In The Shadows Reccomendations: (Vladislav The Poker, Viago Von Dorna Schmarten Scheden Heimburg, Deacon Bruke, Stu, Nick "Twilight", Anton The Werewolf, Nandor The Relentless, Guillermo De La Cruz, Lazlo Cravensworth, Nadjia of Axtapos, Colin Robinson) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite SHERLOCK Reccomendations: (Sherlock Holmes *BBC*, John Watson, classic sir arthur conan doyle books) analysis / fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite DC COMICS Recommendations: (BATMAN, The Batfamily, Nightwing, Robin, The Teen Titans) analysis / fanfictions 🖤

• Favorite Impractical Jokers Reccomendations: (The Tenderloins comedy troupe, Brian "Q" Quinn, Sal Vulcano, James S. "MURR" Murray, Joe Gatto) Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite Portal Recommendations: (Portal, Portal 2, Wheatley, Chell, the Cores) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite Ghostbusters Reccomendations: (Dr. Egon Spangler, Dr. Ray Stanz, Dr. Peter Venkman, Winston Zeddermore) Analysis / Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite AVATAR (Na'vi) Reccomendations: (Jake Sully, Neteyam Sully) Analysis / Headcannons / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite Stranger Things Reccomendations: (Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington) Headcannon / Fanfictions / NSFW & SMUT 🖤

• Favorite Tumblr Posts: (random, deep & intellectual, movie, life, advice, or most comedic posts, that make tumblr the greatest platform of all) 🖤

>>> Return to Main Masterlist?

#fictionalmenmistress #personal #my masterlists #my reviews

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bigbadripley · 5 months

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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.

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satisfiedmoonwatcher · 2 years

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Rituals

Summary: Everyone has their pre and post rituals for battle. Isn't it time someone took care of Marc? Frenchie steps up to tend to his wounds and bring him back out of a post battle haze. Hurt comfort with some sexiness mixed in for fun.

Warnings: 18+. Contains: Oral , wound care, mild talk of battle and violence, mild mentions of blood. Some dissociation.

Word count: 8,700 - A pocket of love.

Pairings: Marc Spector x Jean-Paul "Frenchie" Duchamp

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~

They knew him at the strip clubs.

The ladies flocked to him, screaming his name as he stepped through the doors, arms spread to greet them with a grin.

He knew all their names. At least he knew their stage names. He would coo their names as they sat next to him, arms around his shoulders with a fancy drink in his hand. He often made a habit of ordering his drinks based on which lovely lady was sitting with him that night.

Stage names often were like that.

Lemon-Drop was the one that got him into trouble the most often. She was a pretty gossip who was far too perceptive for her own good.

She was the first one to notice that when Jean-Paul came into the club, he wasn’t there to grope the girls.

He came in on paydays. Any time he had more money lining his pockets than he was comfortable with, he’d hit the clubs and hand out the cash like it was nothing. He liked to think it was paying some girl’s way through college or helping a tired mom keep her kid off the street. Keep people from falling into his way of life.

More so, he did it for the company. He didn’t care about the skimpy g-strings or peekaboo lingerie. When the topless dancing started, he’d hand over his stack of cash and sit back, chatting with the ladies at his side.

Sure, he’d watch the shows. He found their dancing to be beautiful and far too talented. He liked when they spun on the pole and clapped when they did gravity defying stunts. But his whistles and cheers hardly held the lust that the other men in the club brought with them.

Especially the other men that came in with similar garb. The sand crusted rough clothes that smelled of gunfire and foul things that were better left in the desert.

The girls had long learned to ignore the blood crusted under the nails and the cuts and bruises across their faces. These were men of fortune and what did they care so long as the fortune ended up in their pockets?

The ladies had long learned which of the men to keep their distance from and which of them just needed a warm touch and gentle reminder that they were still alive.

Jean-Paul was absolutely on the side that needed that gentle reminder. His laugh and smile longed for friendship. His hands touched skin looking for softness and warmth and never dove for the places that made the girls cringe.

Only the more seasoned girls recognized a man with something to hide. What did a man that fought wars for money have to hide?

Lemon-Drop figured it out the second she saw the other man walk into the club.

Marc Spector. Marc never visited the club on his own. He only arrived when the unit came together, often dragging him along with them with instances of him loosening up and enjoying himself for once.

He was certainly a handsome one. The kind of face that broke hearts and left scars across young and naive emotions. His sullen dark eyes tugged at the desire to draw him in and hold him close. His frown that was desperately trying to turn into warm smile certainly made more than a few on-the-house drinks appear at his table.

When Marc walked through the door, the younger girls would flock to him with dreams of a fat tip and perhaps a chance to melt that cold shoulder. Lemon-Drop smiled as she thought about the betting pool that had been started to see who could get Marc to smile and crack open for them first.

Considering many of them thought Marc was secretly a millionaire looking to be someone’s sugar daddy, it was any wonder that Marc didn’t get every girl in the house suddenly fighting for his lap the second he sat down.

Marc was not as easy with his money as Jean-Paul was. Marc stayed in the back near the bar and only nodded to the ladies on stage if they happened to catch his gaze. When a girl snuggled up to him for a little one on one attention, Marc would sit back and give her his full attention, his dark eyes taking her in like she had a spotlight on her.

Lemon-Drop had to admit that his attention was addictive. He would offer soft compliments and slide the bills gently across the table. If he had to touch them, his fingers would float lightly as he gently tucked a folded bill securely into place as if he were afraid she might lose it.

It was all a mask. You didn’t have to get that close to notice that Marc Spector often held more cuts and bruises than the other men. His hair was always wind blown and he tended to smell more like blood and gunpowder than the others. He was a man that got too close to the fire and didn’t know how to avoid getting burned.

So what did Marc have to hide? What made him sit in the booth time after time as he downed the booze and looked for all the world like a man that would rather be left alone?

Lemon-Drop was trying her luck with Marc one night, bent over and waiting for those gentle fingers to slide a large bill into her thong when she spied Jean-Paul across the room, his eyes locked onto Marc and filled with the lustful gaze that was often directed at her.

Oh. Jean-Paul fell into place in her mind. She had seen it before. The kind of man that visited a strip club or brothel with no desire to partake of the delights found there.

Yet there sat Marc, his eyes focused on her like she was the only thing left in the world. A centering point. Something that he could latch onto and try to be present with when he looked as if every ounce of his strength and concentration was being forced to staying where he was and keeping her in his sights.

Oh.

Her heart dropped and she kissed the betting pool goodbye. There was no use trying to win the heart of this man. Her youth had been wasted on broken men before. Men that were so fragile and shattered that it would take a miracle to reach them.

Lemon-Drop sighed and she forced a smile as she turned to him. “You boys staying in town much longer? You know it makes us so sad when you run off for so long.”

Marc nodded, not really listening. It took him a moment to realize she had actually asked him a question. He blinked and she watched as there was a visible struggle to pull himself back together.

“We’re out first thing tomorrow morning.” He ran a hand through his hair and she glanced over to see Jean-Paul look away, forcing a laugh as he chatted up the pretty girl to his side.

“Are you going to stay safe out there, Baby?” She sat next to him and pointed at a nasty looking gash that was scabbed over, running down his arm. “You gotta learn to doge, hun.”

Marc glanced down as if seeing the old wound for the first time. He ran a finger over it then shrugged and looked away. “Safe as I always am.”

“Mmnh. I think you could use a little backup.” She gently ran her fingers over the back of his neck.

“Think our bosses might frown at me bringing you out to the field with me.” He gave her a dashing smile that could have fooled anyone that wasn’t paying attention. He was a charmer and she was certain he had charmed his way in and out of many people’s lives.

“Oh honey, I’m not talking about me. As distracting as I am, I don’t think they’re going to take pity on me and simply roll over.” She chuckled trying to imagine where she might hide the gun. “I’ve got someone else in mind.”

Her fingers gently slid up into his hair and directed his gaze across the room. “Know him? He looks like he’s from your unit.”

Marc’s eyes glanced over Jean-Paul and he frowned. “Frenchie? Yeah he fights pretty good. Good driver.”

She sighed and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I wasn’t talking about fighting, hun.”

Marc gave her an annoyed look. “Then what are you talking about?”

“I make a strict rule not to get involved in personal life. As a matter of fact, I think it’s part of the contract I had to sign to work here.” She moved to straddle his lap and leaned back, giving him a full view. She doubted very much that he had intended to pay for the lap dance, but the prices were listed and he had paid for it.

To his credit, he did stare down at her chest. The haze in his eyes told her that he was not fully seeing it.

Lemon-Drop utilized her flexibility to bend back and caught an upside-down view of Jean-Paul. He was now watching them fully. Was he jealous? Was he watching to see if Marc was enjoying himself? Was there a chance that this was something he wanted to see?

She leaned back up and pressed into Marc fully and ground her hips against his lap. Normally it was all about the tease. The men wanted to feel thrilled and excited. They wanted to get worked up, but they didn’t want to be exposed.

It used to surprise her how controlled the men that came here were. It was rare to push a man to orgasm.

She slowly started to rock her hips, pushing the boundaries as she ground down against his groin. She wanted to know if it was possible. She wanted to know if Marc Spector could feel.

His eyes flickered and he let out a slow breath then suddenly put his hands to her hips and stopped her. “Thanks for the show.” He gently lifted her and slid her off his lap then stood up.

He pulled a wad of folded cash out of his pocket and held it out to her.

Oh there it was. A peak behind the mask. She smiled and took the cash then watched as he collected himself and left the club.

Lemon-Drop stopped by the bar and ordered the drink with her name then swung over to Jean-Paul’s seat.

“Hey stranger.” She smirked down at him and handed him the drink.

Jean-Paul looked up at her and patted the empty seat to his side. He whispered something to the girl on his other side and she quickly left them alone.

“Your last customer looked a little sour.” Jean-Paul took a drink. “Such a shame to not enjoy a show like that.”

She laughed. “That one? I don’t think there is much he enjoys. I think anyone after that piece of ass is wasting their time. That one is a heartbreaker.”

Jean-Paul took a long drink to hide the frown on his face. “I would rather have a broken heart than an empty one.”

He paid for his drink and her time then got up, gathering himself as he waved to the other girls. If he survived till the next pay day, he would be back to pretend that he was loved and with friends again.

She smiled and watched him go. With any luck, they would arrive at the same place together eventually. The heartbreaker and the broken hearted.

—

Jean-Paul sat up at the door to his tent. They were set to pack up and move out at dawn. The camp was going to stay with a relief group. Mostly the men that were too damaged to do much good in this mission. It was good land and there was no sense in leaving a perfectly good camp.

With any luck, they would all return before the week was out. Those that did not return had their personal items scavenged by those that did. It was an unspoken understanding and nothing was ever personal.

He was already packed. Always packed. There was no sense in unloading when they would just turn around and head out again in a few days. His personal items stayed in the tent. If he came back to them then they remained undamaged or lost. If he fell in the mission then they would be passed to the next young recruit.

In the tent across from him, another way of life played out. The guns were laid out, taken apart and meticulously cleaned before being loaded and placed into their holders. Knives were sharpened and cleaned and a uniform was dusted off and folded at the end of a bed that would not be slept in.

A man that did not let go of a way of life that pretended to be organized and have meaning.

Jean-Paul glanced at his watch. There was a rustling and Marc emerged from his tent in his boxers and little else. He was right on time.

When he first noticed the nightly wanderings, he thought it was some sort of sleepwalking. A dangerous thing to do when you lived and died by the bullet. Yet the more he watched him, the less like sleepwalking it seemed to be.

Perhaps a ritual? Marc seemed to always do it right before a battle. The tension in the air would buzz and everyone had their superstitious performances.

The guy in the next tent would count on his rosary for hours and hours, his sins stacking up till his fingers were blistered. The old man in the tent behind his would take long cold showers, believing it kept his senses sharp and body going. Jean-Paul could hear the water in the shower stall going. The man with a missing finger three tents over would eat a single hard boiled egg for dinner and wash it down with a bottle of sparkling water.

He’d yet to figure out the significance on that one.

Marc wandered. He would walk out into the night and stare at the sky, completely unaware of anything around him. Sometimes he talked to himself, sometimes he just stood in one spot and stared at everything and nothing all at once.

Eventually, Marc would blink out of it and sheepishly head back to his tent and pretend like it never happened.

Before Marc, Jean-Paul’s routine had been to smoke half a pack of cigarettes and look at the old pictures of men he had fallen for over the years. Now, he watched Marc.

“Heartbreaker.” He muttered around his cigarette. He could easily see the trail of carnage that Marc left behind. He was certainly handsome enough. Tall, dark, mysterious, quiet, and when he put it on, he had the most dashing smile.

He had seen women cling to him, dance for him, beg and plead and demand to be loved. He had even seen a few men take their shot and leave wondering if perhaps they had guessed wrong.

None of it was malicious. Jean-Paul had spent a lot of time trying to figure out if he even had a shot with being this man’s friend. To be honest, he still didn’t know.

Yet as he watched Marc come to a stop and simply stare, he wondered how many people had seen this side of Marc. How many had simply let him drift without trying to tether him back down or lost their shit at him.

Sometimes it was only minutes before Marc would blink and become aware of things and head back to his tent. Sometimes he would stand for hours. On more than a few occasions Jean-Paul had followed Marc out into the desert at a respectable distance, concerned that Marc might wander into a mine field or enemy territory in the dark.

This time, Marc stood still for half an hour, his face blank as he stared at the stars. Jean-Paul had just finished a cigarette and was fishing out another when Marc turned around and started to head back.

He paused, looking down at Jean-Paul with an unreadable expression. “Backup.” He mumbled.

Jean-Paul blinked and glanced around as if expecting to see something that made sense of the word.

“When you fight. I trust you to watch my back if you trust me to watch yours.”

Jean-Paul swallowed hard and nodded, forgetting how to make any sort of sounds, much less how to form words.

It seemed to satisfy Marc as he nodded to himself and went back to his tent.

Jean-Paul slowly put the new cigarette away and stared at Marc’s tent. He had been working with this man for a couple of years now. They had gotten into and out of more situations than he could name. They had shared space, ridden together, covered one another, and sat comfortably next to one another in the mess hall each and every day they shared a camp together.

They had conversations about military tactics, training, weaponry, places they had been, places they wished to go, places to avoid, food, and languages they could understand. They had even touched on religion a few times.

How was this the first time he felt like he had ever really spoken to Marc Spector?

He ran a hand over his hair and cursed himself for not even trying to say something back. He went back inside to try to get some rest.

–

“That was a complete and utter shitshow.” Jean-Paul flopped back on his cot and stared at the ceiling of his tent.

He didn’t know how much they were going to get from this job, but he hoped it was worth the amount of crap they had walked into.

Some jobs were just like that.

He winced as he sat up and checked the bandage on his leg. He hadn’t bled through it yet. At least there was that.

A shower and some practice in first aid had cleared his head. Now he just needed to hope he could sleep it all away. There was still a ringing in his left ear that he really hoped would go away and every time he closed his eyes he still felt like he was moving.

A memory came to him of Marc sitting in the back of the truck with blood staining through multiple spots of his uniform. He’d taken a bad fall and gotten into a scuff with someone with a big knife.

There were two types of men after a mission. The loud and boisterous ones that were still high on adrenaline, and the quiet contemplative ones that were lost in what they had survived.

Jean-Paul was the quiet type that would simply sit and contemplate the fact that he had survived another day.

Marc appeared to be the quiet type as well, but there was something telling him that perhaps there was something more there. Something that said that perhaps Marc was lost in surviving a different battle.

One that only he knew about.

This particular one had been brutal for all the wrong reasons. There was no heavy gunfire or explosives or screaming. The fighting had all been very up close and personal. Fists had bruised up faces and knives had sliced through flesh.

When the battle could be won from a distance with bullets and quick thinking, it was easier to walk away and leave it all behind. When it was won with faces sneering into faces and knuckles breaking bone, it was easy to become lost in personal traumas.

Jean-Paul got up and before he knew it, he was standing outside of Marc’s door. Courtesy dictated that he announce himself before entering.

“Marc? I’m coming in.” It wasn’t a question. He gave it three seconds then marched into the tent.

Marc was sitting on his cot, leaning on his knees and looking down at his hands. If he noticed Jean-Paul, he didn’t show any indication. He was still in his uniform and he had dried and crusted blood on his face.

“Christ, Marc.” He sighed heavily and glanced around the tent. It wasn’t the first time he had been in there, but it was the first time he was able to really take it in.

There were no pictures up. No memorabilia or decorations. A gold necklace with the star of David dangled from a support pole next to a hand mirror where he probably shaved when he remembered to. The guns were all laid out and disassembled for cleaning. One knife sat on his trunk, wiped clean. The bloody rag was on the floor, cast aside.

There was very little of Marc Spector in there.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” Jean-Paul went back to his tent and gathered up supplies then stopped by the supply area and gathered up a few things.

Going back to Marc’s tent he was not surprised to find he had not moved an inch.

Pulling up a trunk, Jean-Paul took a seat before Marc and set down a bowl of warm water and a washrag.

“Come. Let me see.” He gently took Marc’s hands in his and turned them over.

Marc stared down as Jean-Paul gently wiped his knuckles with the washcloth. They were bruised and scabbed, covered in grime and dirt.

He couldn’t help but reflect of the first time he had come across Marc. A man taking a beating that no one deserved until he decided he had had enough and he fought back. He knew the damage those hands could do.

They had done their damage again today.

Jean-Paul cracked the instant cool pack and shook it to mix the chemicals then gently lay it across those bruised knuckles. They would heal and harden until they were needed again.

Next, he focused on the knife wound that ran across Marc’s forearm, just under his right elbow. A defensive wound. He could have easily avoided it, but ducking and moving out of the way would have slowed him down and prevented him from landing the left hook that had crunched in the attacker’s nose.

Watching Marc fight was an experience. The way he moved was always so confident. He was a man that understood how deadly he could be and he was not afraid to use it in the moment. He knew the limits of the body and chose to ignore them.

Looking at him now, Jean-Paul suddenly understood that Marc carried an unknown amount of pain and torment with him that he could unleash on the battlefield like a bomb.

The wash cloth dabbed at the deep gash and Marc didn’t so much as exhale or flinch.

Once clean, he gently applied a bandage. He briefly wondered if Marc would bother changing it daily or if he would have to do it himself. Glancing up at Marc’s dark eyes, he decided to just do it himself.

“Are you injured anywhere else?” Jean-Paul slid his hand gently up to Marc’s shoulder and sighed at the blood splatter he found across his shirt. The blood mostly belonged to the people that made the mistake of getting too close. No one that decided to fight Marc up close walked away.

Yet there was a fresh spatter along the collar that didn’t match the others.

When Marc didn’t respond, Jean-Paul looked up and leaned in, tilting Marc’s head back gently by his chin.

A split lip that was scabbed over. It would probably sting for a while. Nothing he could do about that now. Traces of dried blood around a nostril. The nose had been broken before, but this time it seemed to have withstood the barrage of blows. A black eye that needed ice to bring down the swelling along his cheekbone.

A gash just under the hairline. It was trying to scab over but probably needed more than that to heal properly.

The wash cloth was dipped back into the warm bowl of water and gently dabbed at the gash. Marc let out a hissing sound then at last flinched and pulled back, suddenly seeming to take in that there was someone else before him.

Fists clenched and his body tensed, lost in another time as he registered pain and closeness. There was rage and fear. Marc had just spent the day fighting for his life and unleashing everything in him. Unleashing the emotional pain that was always there, threatening to swallow him whole.

Jean-Paul recognized the look of a man trapped in a battle in his own head and knew he was about to take a punch to the face that would probably send him spinning into next week. Too close to safely backup without triggering the fight response he did the next best thing he could think of and moved closer.

He kept his grip on Marc’s chin and tilted his head back, moving in to capture the swollen lips in a tender kiss.

Years ago, Jean-Paul had learned that most manly men were inherently self conscious and insecure. When he found himself bullied and cornered, he would turn tactics and play into their insecurities. He’d honestly kissed more men than he could remember. It often left them stunned and gave him just enough time to get the upper hand before their rage came down on him.

Secretly, he liked to think that some of those men still thought about him as they discovered that perhaps they were experiencing self hatred and internalized bigotry. He hoped that the next time they kissed a man it opened new worlds for them.

Marc did not flinch or try to push him away. His breathing calmed and his body relaxed as Jean-Paul slowly explored the rough and chapped lips, tasting blood and salt there.

Pulling back, he found clear eyes looking at him in question.

“You looked like you needed some medical attention.” Jean-Paul shrugged and held up the wash cloth.

Marc looked down at the bandage on his arm then reached up and touched the gash on his forehead. “Did…” Marc’s voice trailed off and he glanced at Jean-Paul as if debating something. He shook his head then sighed. “Did the battle go well?”

Jean-Paul sighed. “Well, neither of us are dead.”

Marc looked off into the distance for a moment as if trying to decide if that statement was true or not. “No such luck this time.”

So he was that sort of soldier. Jean-Paul oftened wondered if Marc was a man out for fortune, glory, or death.

He never stopped to consider what type he himself was. He didn’t want to think about it. That would be admitting something he wasn’t ready to admit.

“Do you often black out in battle?” Jean-Paul reached up and brushed Marc’s hair back, gently dabbing at the gash again, wiping the dirt and grime from his skin.

Marc winced then laughed softly as he held still. “You have no idea.”

“Seems dangerous. Not knowing what’s going on around you. Do you just live off of luck?” He pulled out a special band-aid that would help pull the wound close to let it heal. It seemed a shame to mark up such a perfect face.

Yet, his face seemed to hold old scars well. His fingers dipped down to slide over the old gash in his eyebrow.

“Luck has nothing to do with it. There… Let’s just say there’s a part of me that disagrees with death and knows how to fight.” Marc smiled and it was dashing beyond belief.

Jean-Paul swallowed as he stared at those lips. “You should take your clothes off.”

Marc’s smile faltered then turned into a teasing grin. “Pretty forward of you.”

“I mean. They’re filthy. It is unsanitary to wear someone else’s blood. Not to mention the smell.” Jean-Paul tried to recover. “Plus there could be other wounds on you. I think it’s clear you aren’t going to take care of yourself at this point. Someone has to watch your back.”

Marc sighed and he stood up. He tossed his coat to the side then started to undo his shirt buttons from top to bottom.

Forget the strip club. Forget the acrobatic and flexible girls that defied gravity and lustful gazes. Each slow button was enough to send Jean-Paul’s heart pounding. He felt dizzy as the shirt was shrugged off and tossed aside.

Of course he had seen Marc naked before. The joys and pain of having to share a shower tent with his fellow soldiers.

It also didn’t help that Marc seemed to lack any sense of the word ‘modesty’. When it was time to shower, he would often drape a towel over his shoulder and walk to the tent completely nude. Why waste time stripping there?

Then how could he forget Marc’s pre-battle wanderings?

Yet there was something completely intimate and soft about watching a man strip in his personal space.

The blood left Jean-Paul’s face as Marc’s hands dropped to his pants and he undid the button and zipper. His mouth fell open to tell him it was fine to leave those on, but no words came out.

Shoes and pants were kicked aside recklessly and Marc held out his arms for inspection.

It took Jean-Paul a solid minute to realize that he was supposed to be inspecting Marc for injuries and not just admiring his body.

“Uh… Looks…Looks good. Spin. Let me see your back.” He felt light headed as Marc turned and glanced back at him.

“My shoulder hurts a bit.” Marc rolled his shoulder. “I’ve dislocated it a few times. Do you know if I had to pop it back in back there?”

Jean-Paul shook his head then tried to think back. He pictured Marc after he had taken the blow to the head. The utterly savage look that came over his face as he took the attacker down. How he had gotten back up and stood there, dripping in sweat and blood before he moved on to the next target.

“You stopped using that arm for a bit. You must have popped it in mid battle. You took out a whole group that got the drop on us. Probably saved my life.” He got up and moved closer, reaching out a shaky hand as he longed to touch those muscles.

“Hm.” Marc sighed.

“Do you really not remember?” Jean-Paul slowly looked the back over and lightly touched a few abrasions with feather light fingers. How he wished to brush his lips across them. To taste the salt of Marc’s skin again.

Marc was quiet a moment then glanced back at him. “I’ve known you a long time now.”

“Longer than most.” Jean-Paul had hopped companies for years. He would stay long enough to almost know the names of everyone there, then move to the next. His secrets were his own and the less he knew, the less likely he was to have his heart broken.

The reason for staying in this company for so long was now standing before him in his skivvies and he cursed his weak heart as it pounded inside with such need.

“I was kicked out of the Marines because I have a disorder. I lied about it to get in and they found out about it.” Marc shrugged.

“We all have disorders out here.” Jean-Paul let his fingers ghost over a forming bruise on Marc’s side. The man was lucky he didn’t have any broken ribs.

Marc chuckled softly and glanced down at the bruise, laying his fingers across it to test how far it went. “Some more than others.”

“So what’s your disorder?” Jean-Paul flushed as Marc lay his hand over his and moved it down to his hip.

“Here.” Marc winced. “Feels like I rolled through barbed wire.”

“You did.” Jean-Paul held his breath as he slowly pulled down the hem of Marc’s boxers and found a long gash that traveled down into no man’s land. He turned to grab a tube of antibiotic ointment.

“I dissociate.” Marc pulled his boxers down and tossed them to join the rest of his bloody clothes. “Among other things…”

Jean-Paul nearly dropped the tube when he turned back around. “Mon Dieu…”

“You’re telling me.” Marc muttered as he followed the cuts down his hip and across his thighs. “That was fucking close.” He lifted a leg and ran his fingers along his inner thigh. “Nearly got castrated out there. Fucking hell.”

“Uh huh.” Jean-Paul was breathing hard. He could feel the sweat building up on his brow and he wiped it away with a shaking hand. He held out the tube to Marc and looked away at anything else but at the naked man before him.

Marc took the tube and started to apply the ointment to his cuts, his fingers moving where Jean-Paul could only dream of.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Marc.” Jean-Paul swallowed. “I would be torn up if you died from some stupid infection or an injury that could have been avoided.”

“Guess I’m going to have to start relying on you to patch me up, Frenchie.” Marc grinned.

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Honestly, Marc. I don’t call you ‘Americany’ do I?”

“I’m from Chicago.” He held out the tube of ointment. “Would you mind?” He pointed to the back of his thigh where the last of the scrapes ended.

Jean-Paul sighed and knelt down on his knees. He slowly slid his fingers over the gashes, working the ointment into them gently. His fingers traced the cuts over his inner thigh and slowly worked up higher. What he would give to touch and feel him. To feel the blood rush and pulse there. To feel any ounce of desire for once be directed towards him.

He exhaled softly and ghosted a kiss across the back of Marc’s thigh.

Marc’s legs spread slightly and a hand lay over his, holding him there. “Make sure to get it all, Frenchie.”

Jean-Paul’s heart was suddenly in his throat as Marc guided his fingers higher till they were brushing over Marc’s dick.

His hand was cupped and Jean-Paul let his fingers slowly curl around the shaft and squeeze.

Marc let out a soft sound that almost sounded like a moan and Jean-Paul nearly blacked out as the blood drained from his head and pooled in his suddenly far too tight pants.

He felt the cock in his hand twitch and he held his breath as it slowly hardened. He dared not utter a single word, terrified that he might break the spell and be sent out of the tent for luring Marc into such a situation.

Marc’s hand squeezed around his and slowly stroked up and down the shaft, letting him feel each bulging vein and how stiff he had gotten.

Jean-Paul slowly rolled his thumb over the head and gasped out as Marc shuddered and his hips jerked.

Guilt overcame him as he suddenly felt an inequality in the situation. “Marc…” He pulled his hand back and stood up. “You don’t have to do this.”

Marc turned to face him and looked him over. Marc’s face was calm and lacked any sort of hesitancy or embarrassment. “Did I misread the situation?” His eyes settled on Jean-Paul’s bulging groin for a moment then moved back up.

“You must surely know by now that I don’t fancy the ladies.” Jean-Paul tried to hold his gaze, ready to bare his soul and be abandoned and cast out again.

Marc raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a lady.”

“Neither am I.” Jean-Paul flushed. “This isn’t that kind of thing. I’m not looking for a pity fuck. I’m not looking to be some man’s substitute pussy.” An old wound torn open as he recalled his first mistake and first rejection.

Marc gave him a serious look. “I enjoy the ladies. I love their curves and I’m just as willing to get down on my knees for them as any one.”

Jean-Paul felt his heart drop.

Marc leaned in and breathed into his ear. “And I love men just as much. Are you going to stand there making excuses or are you going to let me suck you off?”

Jean-Paul blushed and moved his trembling hands to his fly, struggling to undo his belt and fly quickly.

Marc rested his hands on his and slowly pushed them away as he sank to his knees. He undid the belt slowly and parted his fly. “Keep your clothes on. I think I like this dynamic…”

Marc pushed him back to the cot and Jean-Paul sat down heavily. He looked down at the naked man that was slowly coaxing his dick out of his pants and groaned. “Marc… Are you sure? You don’t owe me anything for helping you…”

Marc cupped his balls and slowly massaged them. “I miss a lot of things, Frenchie. I know I’m an idiot at the best of times. I honestly would never have noticed if someone hadn't pointed it out to me just the other day. The idea that you would do all this for me and then go back to your tent frustrated and alone doesn’t sit well with me. This isn’t because I owe you.”

Jean-Paul groaned as Marc leaned in and slid his tongue across the head of his dick slowly.

Marc pulled back and grinned up at him. “When was the last time you got a proper blow job?”

Jean-Paul flushed. “I’m usually the one giving.”

Marc thought about that for a moment then laughed. “At least that means I don’t have much to live up to then. You’re my first.”

“Wait… What?” He didn’t have time to process that as Marc swirled his tongue around the head slowly then wrapped his lips around the head and sucked, sliding down on him with ease as he focused on relaxing his throat. He felt Marc’s throat clench around him as it threatened to gag then relax and push further until he was fully in.

“Mon Dieu… Marc!” His hands flew to Marc’s hair and dug in, gripping tightly as he arched his hips up. Marc swallowed and he felt every motion of Marc’s tongue and throat move around him. He groaned as Marc bobbed on him a moment then pulled off with a wet pop.

Jean-Paul gasped and stared down at his picture perfect wet dream as Marc licked his lips and looked up at him with a grin. He could see Marc’s pulsing erection begging for attention and slowly dripping in need.

A string of curses left his mouth as Marc gripped his dick and started to lick him over top to bottom while his other hand rolled and massaged his balls slowly.

If there was one thing to be said about Marc Spector, it was that he never did anything half-assed. The man took punishment like a sadist but he also strived to do anything he did like a professional. Perhaps he had some trauma in his past that forced him to want to do everything with such perfection, but at the moment, Jean-Paul could only thank his lucky stars as Marc was now setting out to give the best damn blow job in the world.

His tongue curled and twisted in ways that should not have been possible. He found sensitive nerves and teased them, feeling the way his dick twitched and pulsed as he neared his edge then was held at bay each time Marc pulled off to lick his lips.

He hummed and deep throated, learning quickly to breathe through his nose and then when to hold off his gag reflex when Jean-Paul couldn’t control himself anymore and bucked up, fingers tangled in the dark hair as he struggled not to force Marc’s head down.

Even more so, Marc was in his head. The beautiful naked body between his legs, untouched and in desperate need as Marc neglected his own wants. He could feel the heat as Marc’s body begged for any sort of tender touch. He could feel the way Marc tensed when Jean-Paul squirmed and brushed against him. He watched the way Marc’s hips twitched now and then each time he pulled off and looked up at him with that almost playful smirk.

“Marc… Marc!” Jean-Paul moaned and arched his hips as Marc once more pulled off to lick his lips and watch his friend squirm. “Cock tease!” He groaned and panted. “I cannot last much longer. I’m either going to die or I’m going to cum.”

Marc laughed softly and leaned in, slowly licking the tip. “Which do you want? I can swallow or you can cover me.”

Jean-Paul stared at him with wide eyes. Logically he understood that if this really was Marc’s first time, he didn’t know which was expected of him. Staring at that face, as sexy as it might have been, he didn’t want to mess it up more than it already had been in battle. Another part of him wanted to become a part of Marc. The idea of being his first…

He gripped his hair and pulled him back in. “Swallow!” He groaned as he rubbed his dick across Marc’s lips. Marc obediently parted his lips and took him in easily.

He came hard, gasping as he felt Marc swallow without losing a single drop. He sat back and wiped his lips.

“Shit…” Jean-Paul sank back for a moment, breathing heavily. He looked at Marc and immediately felt regret as he remembered the split lip that must have ached and stung the whole time.

He sat up and gently cupped Marc’s face, sliding his thumb over the swollen lips and tracing the fresh split. “Look at you… Not a care for yourself…”

Marc blinked as if just now noticing the state of his own body. He glanced down and shrugged. “I’ve been in worse shape.”

Jean-Paul could only stare at him, taking in everything that sat before him. If he could take a picture and keep it somewhere next to his heart forever, he would die a happy man.

“Let me take care of you.” Jean-Paul tucked himself away and fixed his pants before pulling Marc up into his lap.

Marc straddled him easily and looked down at him, a blank slate with no idea on what he was doing.

Jean-Paul looked up at him and slowly slid his hands over Marc’s chest. “Hey. Don’t drift off on me. This is your body. Let me take care of it for you.”

Marc frowned for a moment. He didn’t enjoy having a body. He much preferred to drift and not feel it. He didn’t want to feel the pain that he caused or the damage that he took.

His eyes followed Jean-Paul’s hands for a moment before he finally relaxed and took a few slow deep breaths. He shuddered and breathed out as the first sensation was of rough fingers rubbing across his nipples that sent shivers down his spine.

“Moan.” Jean-Paul leaned in and nuzzled his neck. “I want to hear you make sounds, Marc. Let me know that you’re feeling this.”

Jean-Paul dipped down and kissed across Marc’s collarbone, careful to avoid any of the dark bruises or scrapes that he had patched up earlier.

Marc’s breath hitched and he let out a forced soft moan. The moan turned into a whimper as Jean-Paul moved his hands down and slowly started to stroke over Marc’s thighs.

“Good… Just like that.” He draped an arm around Marc’s neck and pulled him in, kissing him softly as he slowly tasted him.

Hands ran up his thighs and teased around his cock slowly.

Marc squirmed and arched his hips, clinging to Jean-Paul tightly as he groaned into the kiss. Marc would not beg. He was a man that would rather suffer than beg. Jean-Paul had no interest in watching Marc suffer, but he did want to see if perhaps he could push Marc in a different direction.

He gripped his dick and gave it a gentle squeeze as his thumb rubbed over the slit and head slowly.

Marc whimpered and arched into him, nuzzling into Jean-Paul’s neck as he gasped and thrust his hips.

“That’s it. I liked watching you suck me off. Did you even notice how much your dick ached? Sucking me must have really turned you on. I could see your hips moving in need as you swallowed me. Look how hard you are, right now. How can you be this hard and not notice?” He squeezed softly and gave a tug.

Marc groaned and his hips twitched. “I’m used to it…” He gasped. “I don’t need anything.”

“I think you’re full of it.” Jean-Paul stroked him roughly, feeling his dick swell and drip his pre-cum heavily before he squeezed and released him. “Maybe you think you don’t need anything but you want this. It’s okay to want pleasure, Marc.” He kissed him gently. “To want a little tenderness now and then.”

Marc’s breathing grew heavier and his eyes fluttered as he groaned and ground his hips into him, desperately seeking out touch again. “Jean-Paul…” He whispered and flushed as the name escaped his lips.

“Tell me you want to feel good.” He slid his hands over Marc’s chest again, taking great pleasure in mapping out each curve and muscle he found. His hands moved to Marc’s back and slowly traced his spine down till he was firmly gripping his ass in both hands.

Marc squirmed in his lap and started to pant. “I want…” He bit his lower lip and groaned as his teeth dug into his swollen lip. “Ah… I want to feel…”

Jean-Paul captured his lips in a kiss again, chasing away the pain as he tenderly sucked on the lower lip. “You want to feel good.”

He teased fingers over Marc’s cock again, memorizing the way he felt in his hand. He was certain he would dream of this later. Far better than his usual nightmares.

“Yes…” Marc moaned and tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. His hips rocked and he let his whole body start to move as he leaned into the touch. “I want to feel you… I want to feel good…”

Jean-Paul blushed as he watched Marc give in and squirm on his lap. It was like watching him slowly open up and let his guard down. Any cocky show or feelings of desperate separation from the world melted away and here he was, Marc Spector, laid bare before him.

Jean-Paul instantly rolled and pushed Marc down on the cot, leaving a train of kisses down his chest to his stomach before circling his thighs slowly. “Beautiful… Say it again… Tell me what you want…”

Marc was gasping now, the sounds coming from him barely contained as he squirmed back and gasped around, unsure where to put his hands as he sought something to cling to.

“I want you… I want to feel you!” Marc groaned and grasped at Jean-Paul’s shoulders tightly, fingers digging in as lips brushed over his balls and a tongue slid across his dick.

Jean-Paul kissed the head passionately, grinning to himself at the notion of what a true ‘French Kiss’ was as he worked his tongue around the swollen gland. He lapped at the sensitive slit for a moment then wrapped his lips over the head and sucked gently until it was red and tender, ready to blow.

Marc arched his hips and rubbed his dick across Jean-Paul’s lips eagerly, gasping as he reached for pleasure and attention. “Yes… I want it… I want to feel it…”

How long could Marc hold out as he clung to this feeling? Jean-Paul suspected Marc could push himself on the brink for far longer than was healthy. Reaching for but never letting himself have that satisfying release.

He would not let Marc ride this one out. As skilled as he was at dragging men along past their breaking point, Jean-Paul decided he was going to end it here and now.

He licked his lips then quickly took all of Marc in, swallowing and clenching his throat around him tightly as he slid his tongue down the sensitive underside fully.

Marc took a sharp intake of breath and clenched his hands as if he was prepared to fight it. Jean-Paul groaned, letting the vibrations slide through him as he started to bob his head, pulling off to the tip before sliding back down easily.

Another intake of breath and he could feel Marc starting to squirm, his leg muscles tightening as his hips stuttered and thrust. “Nnh…Ahh!”

This was it. He sank down on him fully, sucking him to the deepest part of his throat. A hand flew to his hair and ran through it, unsure if it was trying to cling to him and hold him there or if he wanted to pull him off and deny it all.

It didn’t matter as he felt Marc’s dick twitch and finally give up the fight as he came, shooting a thick load down Jean-Paul’s throat steadily.

The strangled sound Marc made only encouraged him to suck harder, drawing it out in victory as he drank him down. Only when Marc was gasping and his hips started to thrash did Jean-Paul release him, letting his dick slide out of his mouth with a satisfied smile. He hovered there a moment, watching as Marc’s dick lay against his stomach, slowly softening.

A soft kiss to remember him by and Jean-Paul slid up to collapse next to Marc, draping over him gently and feeling the heavy rise and fall of Marc’s chest.

He peaked up at Marc’s face, desperately hoping to find him still present and not trying to drift off again to the place he always went after battles so he wouldn’t have to feel anything.

Marc looked back at him, their eyes meeting for a moment. “Fuck.” Marc ran his hands through his own hair slowly as he lay back and processed.

“Was that your first blow job?” Jean-Paul suspected that Marc was not a virgin, but he wondered how much Marc had ever let himself truly experience vs. what he had simply coasted through.

Marc lay back for a moment then shook his head. “I’ve had a few before. But none…None like that.”

“It’s the mustache.” Jean-Paul grinned and lay his head against Marc’s shoulder. “You should always look for the man with the mustache. He knows how to have a good time.”

Marc groaned and sat up a moment. He grabbed the ice pack from before and lay back down, laying the ice pack on his face. “It doesn’t hurt as much, but I can feel it more. I’m aware of it.”

Jean-Paul sighed and reached up to gently move the ice pack to the swollen part of Marc’s face. “It will fade again. Endorphins can only take you so far.”

He envied Marc’s ability to block out all the pain and sensation. Yet… The price he paid for it…

He thought back to before, watching Marc gaze up at the night sky as he settled into whatever numbness he told himself he needed to live.

Here Marc was again, naked in the night and fighting against being real and being here. He was a heartbreaker, but not for the reasons that everyone thought of.

Marc’s breathing evened out and he looked to Jean-Paul fully, eyes open and asking. “I think I liked this. I could get used to this ritual.”

Jean-Paul rested his head against Marc and slowly wrapped an arm around his naked waist, holding him close. “Keep your pre-battle ritual. Wander as far as you need to. As long as I survive, I’ll be here after to help bring you back.”

Marc nodded, though he was already starting to drift again, his breathing slowing as sleep started to claim him at last. “Thank you…”

“I’ll bring you back…” Jean-Paul promised him. “I’ll take care of you. No matter how broken we are, we’ll come back together…”

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Moon Knight smut #Smut #Marc Spector #Jean-Paul Duchamp #Frenchie #Moon Knight comics

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