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loki-hargreeves · 2 years

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Bloody Hands

Pairing: Jake Lockley/Steven Grant/Marc Spector x fem!Reader Warnings: implied murder [by Jake’s hand] so dark undertones, angst, reader gets injured [assault], mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, my attempt at using Spanish as someone who is still beginning to learn it [please don’t read this if anything like this could possibly upset you.] Word Count: 4,1K Summary: It has been a while since Harrow mysteriously ‘disappeared’ yet one of his followers is still loyal to him. The follower in question comes after you, suspecting you know where the man is. When Jake Lockley finds out about the incident, he makes sure to reunite the follower with Harrow. A/N: Jake Lockley owns my ass and I just needed to finally finish a WIP with him in it. Please enjoy!

YOUR POV

You were deeply upset, that much was clear from the very moment you arrived at the flat, coming home from work. Steven immediately went after you, his heart sinking to his stomach when he realized you were crying.

“Love, what happened?” Steven forgot about everything else, his mind entirely on you now. You stopped in your tracks, shaking hands covering your mouth as you held back a sob, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. There was blood all over your clothes.

Marc and Jake noticed what was going on but there was little they could do when Steven was in control. They both swore they would kill anyone if they had hurt you but perhaps Jake took that promise a little bit more seriously.

Is she bleeding?! Marc thought, wanting to jump into action to check you for injuries as Steven looked at you with pity and shock written on his face. His reflection appeared on the surface of Gus’ tank, looking at you instead of Steven.

Jake was standing by, quiet as a mouse but there was a deadly look on his face, thoughts conjuring in his mind about what he would do to whoever had dared even touch a hair on your body.

“Here,” Steven gently took your hands into his, wanting to see your face. The cries that left poured past your quivering lips felt like whips to his heart.

“I’m so...I’m so sorry!” You choked out, leaning against Steven for dear life, legs finally collapsing after carrying you away from that mess. The adrenaline rush had ended, now completely gone having paved a path for hurt and misery to replace it with. Guilt was weighing you down as you closed your eyes, seeing what you had done to the man. It was just self-defense, yet you felt horrible as if your hands were soaked in hot, pungent blood.

“Shh,” Steven shushed you softly, “you’re alright. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Steven didn’t actually know what had happened but there was no possible situation in which you were faulty for this, all the blood and tears. There was just no way. Not you, the kindest and most wonderful of people he knew of.

Steven held onto you carefully, his hand rubbing your back instinctively as a desperate attempt to comfort you as you cried. You were too upset to even try to speak as you let him hold you, the shock washing away and finally allowing you to feel the pain. There was a dull ache in your bones, your knees wet with blood, knuckles burning as a painful reminder of what you had been forced to do.

The actions of what had happened just moments earlier were replaying in your head like a broken record, making your heart stammer and thoughts swirl like a hurricane, dragging along every fearful thought. For a brief moment, you had feared that you’d never see them again. That the last time you ever saw Marc, Steven and Jake was when they were still sleeping, you looking over your shoulder at them before going to work. The thought of the sun rising to a day without you in it had crossed your mind.

You felt so relieved to be there, in Steven’s arms. The scent of his cologne enveloped you, the safety of something so familiar bringing you solace. You were safe. They would never let anything happen to you, especially not after this. Safe. You were safe.

“Are you hurt?” Steven needed to know. Was that a dumb question?

Why else would she be covered in blood? Jake butted in, pacing around restlessly as he awaited to know just how bad your injuries were. Oh if only he could get his hands on the person responsible for this...

Ignoring Jake, Steven wondered if you needed to go to the hospital. Just the thought alone made Steven feel nauseous, unable to imagine any scenario where you’d get hurt. Even seeing you with a paper cut on your finger made him feel horrible.

“Maybe,” You nodded just enough for him to see as you stepped back, “I’ll be fine,” you whispered as if your mind was elsewhere. Those words didn’t convince anyone though. There was a shadow over your eyes. To Steven, it looked like you weren’t even looking at him, as if you were looking past his shoulder and somehow seeing the scenes unfold before you again, reminding you of what had happened.

“Can I see?” Steven scanned you over, noticing that the deep shade of crimson had stained your clothes and settled on your skin too. If he hadn’t gotten so familiar to the sight of blood in the past few months, Steven was sure the sight would’ve made him faint.

Steven guided you to the bathroom, sitting you down on a wooden stool as he knelt before you. Ever so tenderly he lifted your shirt, holding in his breath as he feared seeing something gruesome. Seeing the damage on your body was gruesome, red lines standing out on your sides as deep bruises formed near your left ribs. However, there was a lot of blood on your shirt that didn’t seem to have come from you.

Where did all that blood come from? Marc wanted to know, part of him already aware of the answer.

“Whose blood is this?” Steven needed to know, trying his best to remain calm. If not for himself, for your sake. He had never seen you like that, so distressed and out of it. To him, it was as if someone had chased the light away from your eyes, those beautiful eyes of yours.

“Not sure,” You didn’t know the man’s name, “said he’s looking for Harrow. He thought I knew where he is,” the words you spoke seemed calculated, not in a deceiving way, more robotic and distant. Steven feared that you were acting that way in order to cope, distancing yourself from the painful present but it only meant you were getting lost on the inside.

I’m going to kill him, Jake was quicker to declare that, taking the words right out of Marc’s mouth.

I thought Harrow was gone, Marc struggled to understand how such a man could cause problems to this fucking day. He had almost dared to believe Harrow and his creepy followers were completely in the past.

He is gone!

Steven ignored the two others, happy you couldn’t hear them as he continued searching for injuries, just now noticing that there were bruises forming around your neck area, surrounded by small scratches and splatters of blood. Steven couldn’t see anything else but something told him you’d have bruises under the rest of your clothes too, if you had been in such a fight. Steven knew how ugly it could get.

You didn’t deserve that. None of it. If Steven could shelter you from all the cruelty of the world, he would do it.

Although Steven only had a small idea of how exactly you sustained these injuries, it didn’t seem too inaccurate to suspect you had been hit by a bus. It was worse though, as reality often was. This was done by a man, another breathing and living human being. Steven didn’t want to think about it, the image in his head of this happening was far too much for him. What help would he be if he let his nerves get the best of him now?

“I’ll be right back, I’ll go grab the first aid kit, yeah?” Steven needed to let you know that before he got up, frantically looking around for the little red box. His heart was pounding in his chest, forcing him to act quickly as wasting time meant you’d keep bleeding. The sooner he could ease your pain the better.

Perhaps this would be better suited for Marc? He knew how to patch people up better than Steven.

“Marc?” Steven had found the firstaid kit but he was willing to give control to someone with more expertise, deciding it was the best option for everyone right now.

On it, Marc reassured Steven and just like that he was in control of the body. By now, the three of them had learned to shift control rather smoothly. Life was easier now that they learned to balance each other out and live in harmony, sort of. The lack of blackouts helped too.

Marc returned to your side, putting the small box down on the tiled bathroom floor and grabbing the necessities to first of all stop the bleeding. Although you weren’t bleeding much, he figured the wounds required some kind of compress. They could be cleaned after, but first Marc needed to know everywhere you were hurt so he could make it all better.

“If you’re hurting somewhere else too, you need to tell me, alright?” Marc knew you were most likely in shock and that’s why you were quiet. He understood your reaction from the little information he knew. Being hurt physically by anyone was terrible and frightening. Despite his anger, not only directed at the person who did this but also at himself for letting this happen, Marc stayed somewhat calm and collected.

“Yeah,” Your voice was hardly above a whisper, teary eyes avoiding Marc’s as you sat there. “My head kind of hurts,” Admitting it was surprisingly difficult. When your own inner voice was so confused and scared, it was very helpful to let Marc guide you. You hadn’t even thought about the pain in your head or even telling him about it. All you found yourself thinking about was that you were safe. Safe. The word repeating in your head, trying to convince you of it being true.

“Let me look, okay?”

All you could do was nod, letting Marc scan your head for injuries. When he saw the back of your head, blood partly dry partly bright red on your neck, he had to force himself to hide his reaction. The last thing Marc wanted to do was to startle you. At first glance, it was bad, but Marc knew that once the blood was gone you’d be just alright. It wasn’t as awful as it looked, nothing he couldn’t fix at the very least. Well unless you had a concussion, then he definitely had to get you to a hospital.

Oh god, Marc that looks horrible... Steven wanted to call an ambulance for you the moment he saw all that blood. Maybe his concern wasn’t so misplaced.

If we take her to the hospital now she’ll be safe when we go track down the son of a-

We can’t leave her alone! Steven directed that at Jake, look at her, she’s terrified! She needs us. Oh bloody hell...

Bloody hell indeed.

Marc wished he could mute Steven and Jake as they bickered in the background, which was surprisingly quite a rare occurrence, at least on this level. Of course, situations like these brought out different sides of people. Under stress and worry for a loved one, anyone would act out. Unfortunately for Marc, it meant two people were arguing for his ears only, English and Spanish mixing in disagreement of the order of the next events.

Jake sounded like he was ready to storm out the door and bring a man to an early grave right this second. Marc could relate to Jake in that moment but he knew there was no way he could leave your side now. Payback would have to wait.

You tried to touch the back of your head to see if you were bleeding but Marc quickly stopped you from doing that. He grabbed your hand gently and placed a reassuring kiss on your temple,

“You’ll be fine, baby. I promise.”

The water in the bathtub had a vivid red tint in it, even smelling like the blood Marc was washing off of you. No soaps or bath salts could possibly cover that copper stench. You sat in the tub with your scraped knees above the water, needing something to hold onto. Marc had cleaned up your wounds and even stitched you up when you refused to go to the hospital. In your head, a visit to the hospital would probably result in a visit to the police station and that was the last thing you wanted.

For now, Marc stopped pressuring you about a hospital trip but he kept a close eye on you. If you showed any signs of getting worse, he wouldn’t hesitate to get you the help you needed.

“Tell me if it hurts, I’ll try to be gentle,” Marc soaked the washcloth in the water and then rubbed it along your back, washing away the dry blood that had dripped all the way from the back of your head to the bottom of your spine.

“Okay,” That was all you could muster up, mind still wrapped around the scary encounter. Was the man still looking for you? Would he show up at the flat? Or was he somewhere bleeding out because of the injury you caused him?

“Hey,” Marc’s heart was breaking the longer he was there, failing to look past the expression on your face. It seemed like you had seen a ghost. “Talk to me, baby. What happened?”

Daring to glance at your lover, you were pained to see just how worried he was, brown eyes full of concern. He didn’t seem angry, which you had almost expected for some reason. They were never angry at you and now you felt stupid for thinking that would happen.

“I left work and went to get some coffee,” You took a shaky, deep breath as you tried to tell him about what had happened. “I was in the parking house and that’s when he showed up. He knew my name, where I worked. He wanted to know about Harrow’s whereabouts,” You felt sick every time you remembered Arthur Harrow. Had it not been for a miracle, Harrow would’ve been responsible for Marc’s death, Steven and Jake’s too.

“He didn’t take it too well when you didn’t have the answers?” Marc feared, now washing the blood off your neck, being extremely careful around the wound he had stitched up. Marc didn’t want you to see how enraged he felt thinking about the man who had hurt you, knowing that you needed to feel a sense of security right now. Keeping that under control wasn’t a simple task. Marc swore he would find that bastard soon and make him pay for this.

“He had a knife,” You whispered, throat dry and your voice hardly carrying the words as you held back tears. Crying was exhausting and you didn’t want to cry again, but the pain was too much to handle. It felt like your heart had been crushed, absolutely drained of faith in other people.

“I thought I would never see you again, I couldn’t have that happen,” Telling Marc about it brought back the fear, chills running down your spine and fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. Just when you thought you had no more tears to weep. “I tried to run but he was faster. We fought. He dropped the knife and I...oh god,”

Marc dropped the washcloth into the water, now focused on your words only. He was gripping the edge of the tub so hard he was sure it would break. The mental image of someone threatening you with a knife was taunting him. He should’ve known something like this would happen. It felt like this was entirely his fault.

“It’s okay,” Marc took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss on the roof of your hand, not caring about the fact you still had bloody water dripping down your skin. All he wanted was to comfort you, to make you feel like you could talk about what had happened. Marc knew how important that was. Letting stuff like that stay locked in your head wasn’t good for anyone.

“I grabbed it. I just wanted to scare him away but he leapt at me. Everything happened so fast, Marc! I...I just swung it,” You didn’t need to explain it further for Marc to understand. Part of him was so relieved you had defended yourself, part of him worried of how everything would affect you.

“There was so much blood. I left and didn’t look back. I had to get out of there!”

“I know, I know, baby,” Marc reassured you, not letting you judge yourself for leaving that man behind. For all Marc cared, he could bleed out and perish.

Leaning toward Marc, you closed your eyes and let him hug you. At that very moment, the comfort was the only thing that eased your mind, chasing away the paranoid thoughts. You clung to Marc’s shirt with wet fingers, allowing his soothing words to help you relax. Pink droplets of water settled on your skin, some trailing down back into the water. One bath surely wouldn’t be enough.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise,” Marc gave you his word. The sincerity of it all made it easy for you to believe him. Everything would be just fine.

Jake had waited rather patiently for you all to fall asleep. Marc and Steven had comforted you and luckily they too fell asleep, exhausted after the long day, slipping into a dream realm far far away. Jake was still there, now in control on a much deeper level. It had been a while since he had done this, taking control and making sure they wouldn’t take it back until he was done with his work.

You hadn’t noticed when Jake left the flat. He had checked several times that you were actually in a deep sleep, satisfied with the steady rise and fall of your chest and the relaxed expression on your face, not resembling the pained one he had seen earlier. You’d be fine, you’d be safe. He’d be back before anyone would even notice he was gone in the first place.

It wasn’t until Jake returned that you woke up, heart jumping to your throat when you heard the door closing. To your relief, you quickly realized where you were, recognizing your surroundings and the man who was joining you in bed. Safe. You were safe.

“Where were you?” You wondered, sleep still heavy in your voice. The blanket was so warm and comfortable, it would lull you right back to sleep any moment now.

“Just getting some fresh air, mi vida,” Jake wasn’t really lying, or so he told himself as he climbed under the blanket, joining your side. The bed felt soft, softer than usual, especially after such a refreshing little night trip. Jake knew he’d sleep better knowing the man who had hurt you had been dealt with. It was even better than he had done it alone. Steven and Marc would've probably stopped him and tried to convince Jake that he was deserving of less of a punishment. Perhaps not. Jake didn’t have the patience to wait for all of them to come to an agreement of what they would do. The answer was simple.

Something about Jake’s demeanour told you he hadn’t been out just for fresh air. Suddenly you felt more awake and energized, curious in a morbid way. Sometimes not knowing things was for the best but you couldn’t help it, you needed to know what Jake had done.

“Did you find him?” You dared to ask, jumping to conclusions, fingers finding Jake’s and intertwining ever so softly. His hand was cold, calloused fingers feeling familiar and lovely on your skin though. Despite Jake’s efforts to conceal his actions, you felt the strain in his touch and saw the evidence on his knuckles.

Jake just looked at you for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your hand in his. Moonlight poured in through the gaps of the blinds, landing on your skin which only enhanced the ethereal aura you owned. When Jake realized the silver light also illuminated the bruises on your delicate skin, he felt a flash of rage pass him. He should’ve gotten rid of that guy along with each and every follower of Arthur Harrow’s fucked up cult long ago. If he had just done that, you would’ve never been hurt in the first place.

“I did,” He decided to tell you the truth in hopes it would bring you comfort. When he saw your shoulders relaxing, he knew he had done the right thing. Wrong or right, Jake Lockley would’ve done it again in a heartbeat. Anyone who harmed the love of his life would pay for it with their life.

“Thank you,” You didn’t need to know of the details, whether or not the man lived or not. If Jake had visited him, you were convinced you’d never see or hear from the man ever again. To you, that was more than enough.

Jake appreciated that you didn’t dig deeper into it. Now that it had been dealt with he could finally relax a little bit and focus on you and you alone. There weren’t any plans of vengeance in his mind anymore, just plans of making it up to you in every possible way. Sure, Jake had returned the man to Harrow’s side which he had so desperately wanted, but it didn’t feel like he had done enough.

Jake loved you, everything about you. You were the air he breathed, the stars on his sky and the blood that filled his veins. To him, you were a goddess, human evidence of miracles being real. You were the calm after the storm, the brave and sweet person who stayed by his side despite knowing more about him than anyone ever before. Jake knew that you knew what he had done yet there you lied, right by his side with a loving look on your face. The light was back in your eyes, practically dancing with affection and gratitude, relief too.

Sure, Steven and Marc would probably give him an earful or two for such drastic measures but when Jake saw the look in your eyes, he couldn’t possibly have cared about what they had to say. They wanted to do it too, he knew it, but Jake was the one who followed through with those desires.

Jake brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against the flat of your palm. His eyes, dark as the night, looked at you intensely yet with so much affection it nearly made you swoon. Perhaps it was wrong, but you felt safe knowing that Jake was willing to do anything for you. If you asked him for the moon, he would find a way to give it to you. When the world was as messy as it was, it was good to know you weren’t in it alone. Right here, this bed, this man was your home. There was no other place you’d rather be.

“You need to rest,” Jake stated clearly, the urge to take care of you strong. This tender and attentive side of him the polar opposite of what he had been like moments before. When Jake had found the man who had hurt you, he had seen red. Like an enraged bull, he hadn’t hesitated to get into action. Finding him hadn’t been hard either. People could hide from Jake Lockley, but he always found them in the end. Running away from him was foolish, only buying people mere seconds of extra time.

Jake wouldn’t tell you this now but when he saw the damage you had done, he had been proud. His baby girl did that, you had stood up for yourself.

Jake usually worked with guns. It was a classic choice, quick and easy. Tonight he didn’t want to work quickly. No, this was very much personal. An eye for an eye, right?

If those who had crossed his path in an undesirable way could see Jake now, they wouldn’t recognize him, holding you as you laid your weary head on his chest. Jake traced his fingers along the details on your face and then your neck, gentle touch full of love. Jake was aware of the wounds at all times, not wishing to accidentally hurt you.

Before you drifted off to sleep once more, now being embraced by Jake, you needed to tell him; “I love you.”

Those three words were like magic, affecting Jake more than you’d ever know. Those three words made the dirty work worth it. Jake would finish every ugly mess, do what Marc and Steven wouldn’t or couldn’t if it meant you were safe and happy. If that meant you’d still love him. Jake would wash the blood off his hands for the rest of his living days for you.

“Y te amo tanto, más de lo que nunca sabrás,” Jake confessed sincerely, often switching to Spanish when the words he wanted to tell you were so intimate. They came right from the very center of his heart.

“Sleep tight, mi corazón.”

Jake would never let anyone come close to hurting you ever again. One way or another, he’d make sure of it. There was not a thing he wouldn’t do to ensure that.

Anyone who would dare even think of it would be damned.

A/N: Hope you liked it! The thought of being Jake Lockley’s enemy is terrifying to me, just realized that. I would hate that, actually.

I hope my Spanish is correct. It’s supposed to say

“And I love you so much, more than you’ll ever know.”

#Jake Lockley #Jake Lockley x Reader #Jake Lockley x f!Reader #Jake Lockley x fem!Reader #Jake Lockley/Reader #Jake Lockley fanfiction #Moon Knight x Reader #Steven Grant x fem!Reader #Marc Spector x fem!Reader #Steven grant x Reader #Marc Spector x Reader

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coloredcrystalcinnabar · 2 years

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Pet Names

Marc: baby

Steven: love

Jake: mi amor

Khonshu: You little worm. Tiny bug. Gross, insignificant mortal. My child. Pathetic squirming fleshbag. My pet.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marvel #mr knight #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector/reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley/reader

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asimplearchivist · 5 months

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‘ 𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ jake struggled to decide whether you were a blessing or a curse to the system—his personal feelings about you didn’t matter. they never had. ⤏ until they suddenly did, that is. ⤏ now he had to fix the mess he caused before he ruined everything for the two he’s trying to protect most as well as you. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 15.6k a/n ☽ ⤏ this chapter was certainly a challenge to write! I have such a particular interpretation of jake in my head influenced by such lovely headcanons and fanfics in the mk community that I had a bit of stage-fright trying to portray him with justice to my vision of him. having very little on-screen material from which to go off of certainly doesn’t help—steven and marc’s voices are so clear to me, but jake’s is a little more subtle and stepping out to develop it on my own was a little nerve-wracking because I wanted so badly to do him justice! ⤏ I also apologize that this chapter came late—I had a busy weekend on top of homework and I was wrestling with jake’s characterization. but here he is, now! let me know if y’all like how I wrote him! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake met you, it was an inevitability.

Steven and Marc were wrapped around each of your pinky fingers. Completely enamored with you. Nearly worshiped the ground that you walked on. You had lodged yourself inextricably into their gravitational pull, orbiting them as though you’d always been fixed to their collective side—present almost as often as Jake was.

Jake found it inconvenient at best. Dangerous at worst.

Because despite his near slip-up, fumbling just a bit at the suddenness of stepping in that fateful night Marc had decided to swoop in and rescue you (not that you’d really needed rescuing—you were owed credit for holding your own better than most women with whom they’d ever interacted in such scenarios), the two had not been particularly watchful for him.

Sure, they discussed it more—never around you, of course, worried that you would worry about their unease, being unable to properly identify the source of their combined blackouts. The outlier. But they were doing little else than that, and Jake had almost been concerned about them trying to draw him out by force. Biding their time, maybe. But that was fine—Jake was patient. He waited them out every other time he slipped to the front while they were unaware, save during emergencies, and this would be no different—eventually they’d drop their guard, start to doubt their suspicions, and put the idea to the back of their mind where he dwelt and he could comfortably resume his work.

…That was, provided you were removed from the equation altogether.

London loomed in the height of winter, several months later. They had gotten over themselves long enough to enter full and individual romantic relationships with you, and Jake had to admit that he had never felt either of them as happy as they were around you. Marc had loved Layla dearly, still did, and Jake knew she had been integral to keeping him steady and for some of his healing—but you were different. You were an unknown variable, and yet Marc was putting in his every effort to make it work, not looking to repeat his past mistakes in order to ensure your mutual and assured trust: you knowing the brutal nature of Marc’s past and Marc entrusting you with the intimate knowledge of it.

It had taken time, of course (an excruciatingly long period of it, in fact), but you hadn’t flinched once even when he’d told you of the blood staining his hands, both innocent and villainous, during his time as a soldier and mercenary. You had stayed, hadn’t run, hadn’t treated him like the killer he’d always convinced himself that he was. Marc had been relieved.

Jake had only grown frustrated. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.

Because Steven’s infatuation with you was one thing. He’d had a few crushes here and there, had been laboring in the dating scene for weeks by the time Marc had inadvertently revealed himself to his alter, and Jake had even tried to help the pobrecito* catch a break once. (Jake couldn’t lie—he’d almost hoped that he could’ve caught a break, too, since Marc had left Layla high and dry and Jake had been pent up with all the mounting stress Marc had only been internalizing instead of dealing with in a somewhat healthy manner—but Steven had deserved to be doted on by a pretty woman at least once in his oblivious, lonely life, and Dylan the tour guide was a very pretty woman.) Steven was a romantic at heart, had sought a meaningful relationship more than anything for the longest, so it was to be expected that he’d eventually fall in with some unwitting little thing ignorant to the myriad problems riddling the inner depths of his psyche—that, Jake could have dealt with, hypothetically, if things had escalated to that point. A quick misunderstanding carefully orchestrated leading to a break-up would have been a simple solution, and while it would have hurt Steven greatly for a while, it would have been ultimately necessary for both the long-term safety of the system and for the security of Jake’s continued, secretive role as Khonshu’s fantoche*.

But Marc getting involved threw an entirely new wrench into the gears of Jake’s plans. Because Marc Spector operated in black or white. All or nothing. Always had and always would. Either he didn’t trust you as far as he could throw you or he’d carry you through the depths of hell barefooted on red-hot coals and have the nerve to apologize to you for stumbling on his bleeding blisters.

Marc’s trust came two-fold, also, now that he was in full cohesion with Steven—he still didn’t readily trust anyone, but if Steven did? He was sold soon after just on the principle of the matter. Steven’s judgment of character was, admittedly, as keen as any telepath’s, despite his naïveté and optimism—and Marc trusted Steven more than he trusted anyone else in the world. Even Layla. Even you.

Even Jake, though it had been entirely subconscious up until very recently.

Because he’d fought Jake the last time he’d forced himself to the front to save his life (and yours, by extension, loathe as Jake was to admit it), whereas before Jake had always managed to blindside him. It was a close call—one that Jake could not afford to make again.

And it would be so much fucking easier if you weren’t around so damn often.

Any bit of spare time the boys had that happened to coincide with yours, they were trying to see you: from snack breaks between your classes or on your shared lunch breaks to movie nights featuring home cooked meals and set tables and lit candles because you were just as much of a romantic as Steven was (God help them). You dried one bloom from every bouquet of flowers they ever brought you, keeping them all in a pitcher you used as a centerpiece more than once. You had even started packing them lunches, for Christ’s sake, with plentiful options that either Steven or Marc would enjoy depending on who ended up fronting. Even when either (or both) of you were too tired to go out on the town for a date (which happened so often Jake wondered how Marc hadn’t depleted his bank account already), the long evenings you weren’t obligated to work or study were spent cuddled up on the couch in your apartment or theirs, oblivious to the outside world as you indulged in each other’s company.

The winter brought worsening weather with it, which meant that you were spending more time at home with them. You’d even started spending the night, which was treading on Jake’s very last nerve—his one assured bastion of being able to take the body surreptitiously without Marc or Steven realizing it was put into jeopardy because while you were a heavy sleeper (almost like a fucking corpse, really—he’d had to check to make sure you were even breathing, once), you hadn’t yet gotten used to sharing a bed with someone, which resulted in you rousing slightly any time the body so much as shifted. Marc still had night terrors occasionally, and you’d never fail to comfort him back to sleep, even at the cost of your own rest.

Jake should be thankful, really, if he thought about it for too long. Marc had managed to keep sober long before he met you, but his cravings had dissipated almost entirely since you’d gently steered him towards sodas instead of beer—meaning no more black-out drunk episodes from which Jake had to nurse the body back from the brink. The body rested better with you there to anchor their unsteady mind at the times it decided to bring back the bad memories. You were feeding them better than they’d eaten since living with Layla, hearty and savory dishes that had packed a few pounds onto their lean frame, helping to negate Marc and Steven’s combined forgetfulness towards even the most basic practices of self-care. You had even started buying them groceries in thanks for the dinners they bought you, keeping their fridge and cabinets full and their personal products stocked up throughout the apartment.

You were doing the brunt of his job for him—making sure the body was taken care of and that neither of them spiraled nor regressed. He should be happy that he didn’t have to pull so much weight anymore, that he got to kick back and relax.

So why did it all piss him off so damn much?

You were pretty, he supposed. Not the most stunning bird he’d ever seen, but you were a decent pull on Steven’s part. You got along with the little nerd, and you got along with Marc—which was a feat in and of itself. You had an incredibly dry sense of humor on top of a quick tongue that drew inadvertent chuckles from even the surliest of Marc’s moods. You kept up with Steven’s intellect effortlessly, and the pair of you could talk hours upon hours on the most mundane of topics—oftentimes earning a scolding from Marc whenever the conversation would carry on past midnight (which would only make you both giggle and apologize sheepishly and rarely actually curbed your shared enthusiasm). You mediated their occasional disagreements with utmost diplomacy, always playing devil’s advocate even on their most childish of squabbles, never played favorites even when they’d playfully compete for your affections—you stood resolute in your stance of loving them equally in their own unique relationships with you.

You made them completely, perfectly, incandescently happy. That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Because Jake was getting…distracted.

He’d always been strictly about business—the sole reason he existed. He protected the body, no matter the cost. Now he had Khonshu to answer to, and that was difficult enough, trying to balance enough time at night to do the old bird’s bidding while Marc and Steven slept—blissfully unaware thanks to Jake’s skill in repressing them both to the work he’d been doing the last several months trying to cull out the vestiges of Harrow’s cult.

Because of course that bastard hadn’t taken all his people with him to Cairo to hunt for Ammit’s tomb. Of course he’d left pockets of his followers scattered all over London—assured by his own success, he’d planted them there in order to divide and conquer the city once he’d freed Ammit. And of course they had to be skilled enough at hiding to require him to painstakingly construct an elaborate underground network of people keeping their ears to the ground for any signs. That’s what was taking so long to eradicate them all, and it irritated Khonshu to no end, having to sit and wait when he constantly hounded Jake to ‘execute his justice’. Jake was patient. The god of the moon was most certainly not.

Now add the stress of keeping you unaware of his goings-on? With your infuriatingly saccharine smile and fawn-like fluttering lashes and easy affection that haunted the back of his mind when he did find precious little time to front? He could hardly concentrate on prowling the streets anymore when your detergent of choice had wormed its way into the clothes he kept packed away in the back of Marc’s closet, well away from view (because you even did their laundry for them sometimes when Steven ended up working late on inventory—like a little housewife or something), the scent trapped under Khonshu’s armor nearly smothering him.

Jake knew, deep down though he’d done his best to ignore it, that his ruse would come to a head eventually—Marc was keen on his interiority now that he was no longer in denial of his issues; and Steven was, too, since Marc had let him in on all of it. Jake just didn’t anticipate having to deal with you and your unnervingly observant perception on top of it.

Ultimately it was of little surprise that the scouts for the rest of Harrow’s carroñeros* had put a flag on you, since Jake’s alters spent so much time with you in plain public view. At the very least, it had allowed for that one slippery bastard to finally be put away after somehow surviving Jake’s wrath with him ever having realized it, even if it had put you in danger. The hijo de puta* had played a calculated risk to come after you, trying to cover it up as a robbery rather than a hit to get back at the spectre picking them all off one by one—one that hadn’t paid off in the slightest. He was lucky that Jake hadn’t had the time nor privacy to do exactly what he’d wanted to—a fractured temple via blunt force trauma, hopefully with an added concussion, would have to suffice for the time being. He’d better pray that he wasn’t released anytime soon.

Especially since he’d had the audacity and the gall (and the balls) to target you. Jake wasn’t cruel enough to wish you any harm, don’t get him wrong. You hadn’t done anything wrong, necessarily, just…frustrated him to no end. They were lucky that you’d had the foresight to text them, or else that would’ve been the last that Marc or Steven would’ve ever seen of you.

Jake knew that would only have resulted in disaster.

You had crossed over the threshold of being a danger to the system to being a necessity for their safety and sanity—because if something happened to you now, Jake doubted sincerely that he would ever be able to pick up the pieces of Marc or Steven’s hearts and minds. And so Jake was forced to resolve himself to add one more individual to his list. For the betterment of the system.

Joder, pues claro.*

…It wasn’t as if he didn’t like you. He had to admit that much to himself, at least. You were pleasant enough to be around. You did tell good jokes, well thought out ones that made Jake have to think about them a little while before he got them. He appreciated how rational you were about things, rarely letting your emotions impact otherwise simple miscommunications or misunderstandings over which most women would have a conniption, choosing to talk out your problems while also being honest about how you felt rather than giving them the silent treatment or some shit—it was a necessary balance to Marc’s precarious internalizations of his own complicated feelings and his ever-present struggles to express them in a concise and healthy manner. Jake didn’t mind listening in on your tangents all that much, even if the topics didn’t interest him in the slightest—your passion and thought process kept him hooked enough, as did the dimples bordering your smile and the creases crinkling the corners of your glittering eyes. You were a damn good cook, to boot—Jake had snuck your leftovers on those late nights more often than he’d ever readily admit out loud. Neither still were you hard on the eyes.

So…yeah. If Jake found himself co-fronting, lingering in the back of the headspace well away from Marc and Steven’s reach, as Marc watched you gape at the street performer juggling flaming swords while balancing on a unicycle…that was between him and the soft smile tugging at the corners of their host’s mouth that Jake would likely have reflected despite himself.

The early evening had plunged the city into a nose-numbing one—but you’d been itching to revel in the cold, misty air and to venture out into London’s brimming nightlife with the bolstering safety you’d confessed to feeling while in their presence. The entire plaza was thrumming with music and noise and laughter, light and fire mixing to highlight the angles, curves, and planes of your disbelieving face. You were bundled up to the nines to fight the cold, still unaccustomed to the weather in contrast to the south US’ comparatively mild winters, but you refused to tuck one hand into your pocket in favor of clasping Marc’s firmly. Seated on a bench wedged so closely together that even Jake could feel the tremors in your limbs, you remained glued to his side as though to sap the warmth from the body—evidently, it wasn’t working, because you let out a shuddering breath as your teeth chattered when the performer paused to take a break. Another stepped up to take his place, and the loosely gathered crowd clapped to welcome him.

“You’re going to freeze if you don’t let me take you home,” Marc rumbled into your ear, covered by the toboggan he’d insisted you wear to spare yourself from frostbite.

“Just a little longer, honey?” you pleaded, turning your head to gaze up at him with those infuriatingly fawn-like eyes. “It’s supposed to ice over tonight and I just know I’m going to get cabin fever tomorrow.”

Marc huffed out a wry chuckle, unthreading your fingers to coil his arm around your shoulders and to tug you closer, keeping his mouth tucked close to your ear. “You’re a homebody, baby. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble staying inside cuddled up with us for the weekend than you normally do.”

You pouted at him playfully, jutting out your bottom lip, and Marc’s gaze was fixed on it until you smoothed your expression. “All right,” you bemoaned, tilting your head away in faux dejection, “I suppose I’ll allow you to coop me up for the next couple of days…” You fluttered your lashes at him. “...as long as you promise to keep me warm, that is. Won’t you, honey?”

“As if you even had to ask.” Marc dipped his head to skim his brow against yours, peering directly into your eyes. “But that’ll require thawing you out first. It’s not getting any warmer.”

“I can think of a few ways to solve that,” you murmured, half-lidded, and slanted your mouth over his—the breath’s breadth between your lips and his was quickly stolen by Marc with a low, knowing chuckle.

Jake rolled his eyes. Metaphorically, of course. He’d even facepalm if he could. You two were hopeless—and he’d thought Steven had it bad.

Can it, Casanova, remarked the Brit as though summoned by Jake’s internal musing, she’s still shakin’.

“I know, I know,” Marc mumbled, pulling away and shaking his head at your amused expression. It had taken a while for both of them to get comfortable enough to vocalize their seemingly one-sided conversations around you, but you treated it as normally as if you could hear the third party, too. Marc patted your hip and stood, grumbling under his breath at the stiffness of his muscles, courtesy of Jake’s last bloody brawl a few nights prior—unbeknownst to either of his alters, of course. “Come on, I bought hot chocolate. We’ll start with that, and then a hot shower.”

You gasped in delight, lurching up to your feet and latching onto his hand once more. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” you demanded, tugging eagerly at his arm toward the direction of the bus stop. “You could’ve gotten me home hours ago!”

“I wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying all this,” Marc returned, allowing you to guide him in the wrong direction only to see the excited sway of your hips. His eyes cut over the plaza on reflex, but locked onto a couple of guys lingering near the fountain that started to move in the same direction at the same time. His brow furrowed. “Let’s take a shortcut—don’t want to miss the bus.”

He folded your hand over the crook of his arm instead, winding his way through the crowd in an attempt to lose his tail. Jake could feel Marc’s mind crowding with alarm—who they could be, what they would be doing, which group he had once pissed off that now had decided to try to ruin his night—and he edged just a touch closer to the front to peer through Marc’s periphery.

Ah, yes. The bastard with the scar that had come after you had a handful of lackeys, and these cabrónes* were two of them. Twins, big and ginger and mean as hell. Marc was none the wiser to the reason why they were after the body, however—no recognition passed through his racing thoughts—and Jake inwardly cursed.

Steven noticed Marc’s growing apprehension, likewise. What’s wrong, Marc?

“Nothing,” he muttered, causing you to glance up at him questioningly.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, glancing around the thinning people as Marc herded you towards the end of the plaza where it was quiet and dark. He ushered you into a narrow alleyway that broke out onto the main street, and while your brow was furrowed, you followed him without resistance. “We haven’t gone this way before.”

“We’re being followed,” he muttered to you, glancing over his shoulder towards the retreating lights. “Remember what I’ve told you?”

Your expression morphed from shock to grave in an instant. It was a discussion Marc had reiterated multiple times—being in a relationship with a wanted man always entailed a certain amount of danger, and Marc had hammered emergency protocol into your head in the event that something like this ever happened. He had hoped that it wouldn’t, for your sake, and the fact that you were schooling any signs of fear in all but your eyes only reinforced the reason why Jake hadn’t wanted you involved at all in the first place.

Jake pressed in closer. Marc’s ears were straining in lieu of ample light, eyes trained on the end of the alleyway—which became shadowed as another pair of silhouettes hemmed the both of you in.

Marc, Steven breathed, tone tight with worry, what now?

“Fuck,” Marc hissed, jerking you against his chest. He whipped around to dart back out from whence you’d come, but the twins had caught up. Heart pounding, he cupped a hand around your head and whispered urgently, “I’m going to take these guys down first so you can run back to the plaza where it’s lit and there’s other people. Call the cops and stick with a group and do not go anywhere by yourself, all right? Not until I come get you.”

Your hands were vices around the collar of his jacket, eyes shining in the dim. Your voice quivered. “Marc, I am not leaving you here alone.”

His fingers tightened around your shoulders. Their footsteps were picking up in speed from both directions, echoing off the dampened brick. “We talked about this—you promised you’d listen to me,” he growled. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Us. We’ve faced worse odds.”

“What if—” you started, but didn’t have enough time to finish.

Marc shoved you behind him as the first giant reached out with mitts for hands towards you. Marc latched onto the bulky limb, twisting his wrist and pinning him onto the concrete in seconds. He pressed and jerked and the unfortunate soul’s arm popped out of place—a wet, skin-crawling pop that resonated far more loudly off the narrow walls than it should have. The man cried out in pain.

“Marc!” you gasped.

Jake leaned in as Marc took a blow to the side of the head—the other twin’s paw clapped against his ear and sent him careening into the wall, discombobulated as his hearing rang like a siren. His shaken equilibrium buckled his knees, but he pushed himself upright to land a series of resounding punches along the brute’s side and back, targeting the sensitive places sure to bruise at the very least. The ribs gave under the combination of Marc’s strength and expertise, and like a tree the second twin was felled with a well-timed hook to the chin.

“Go!” Marc snapped over the ringing in his ears, hooking a hand around your waist and shoving you in the direction of the exit between the two groaning gingers. “Get out of here!”

You turned back to look at him, utterly terrified. “But—!”

“Damn it, baby, please just—”

The latter pair of cultists didn’t give him as ample a warning as the former—and they were smart enough to pull the guns from their holsters rather than rely on their hands. The shot flashed like lightning, muffled by its silencer.

Marc staggered back, the burning in his side stealing the breath from his lungs. The tinnitus increased twofold, to the point that your startled shout was drowned out entirely. The pounding of their pulse roared in their ears, and Jake thought he heard Steven hollering over the din trapped in their head.

Marc’s control slipped in his shock and pain. Steven grappled for it in terror wholly driven to protect you. Jake seized the opportunity and yanked them both back into the headspace to block them off as he lunged forward—so suddenly that the body folded in half from the strain. His knees buckled and his shoulder struck the brick, jarring him.

“This is the guy that’s been giving us so much trouble?” gloated one of them. “All it takes is one bullet?”

“We’ve shot this one more than a dozen times and it’s never stopped him before,” the other said warily. “Where’s all that get-up?”

Jake muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

“What’s that?” crooned the fool, gesturing lackadaisically towards him with the smoldering muzzle. “Have something to say before we rid the world of your chaos, asshole?”

“Sí.” The avatar raised his head, glowing eyes casting his assailants' suddenly wan, fallen countenances in a spectral hue. “Dije,” he growled as the familiar ragged bandages coiled around his limbs while he straightened to his full height, “te vas a arrepentir, pendejos.*”

The bullet clinked against the damp asphalt as he was fully enveloped in the armor.

“Ah, shit,” they said in unison.

The shock on their faces precluded the terror that followed his swift movement. The crescents whistled as he slung them in their direction—the cocky one caught it in the throat, plunging through his jugular. Blood splattered in a wide arc against the ground as he fell. The cautious one managed to tumble to the side to avoid it, however—just barely.

A heavy hand grabbed his padded shoulder and whirled Jake around—only to be struck across the temple with an errant piece of pipe. Mierda. The twins were back up on their feet, tag-teaming to make up for their missing mobility.

Jake jerked his head back to avoid another swing, summoning a truncheon from the small of his back and shattered the first’s wrist with a well-timed parry. Two more strikes upon the man’s solar plexus and skull sent him crumpling to the ground, totally unconscious at the very least. Two to go.

He didn’t have time to pause. The gunman fired thrice at his back, but the slugs passed right through him. Jake exchanged blows with the twin for a moment, finally propelling himself off the brick wall and swinging over the expanse of his mountainous shoulders to lock and twist his neck between his knees and bring the behemoth crashing down face-first. He didn’t move again even as Jake leapt back to his feet and pitched another array of darts at the gunman’s retreating back. Sliced flesh, a gurgled curse, and the clatter of metal preceded the heavy tumble of his body.

Jake stalked further into the shadows, tucking the truncheon back into its holster and flexing his fists. He grabbed the collar of the gunman’s jacket and hoisted him upright, pinning him to the wall with his forearm against his throat. Blood dribbled from the corners of the man’s mouth onto the woven gauntlet.

“Tell me where the rest of your amigos* are and I’ll consider letting you go,” he growled.

“Funny,” the man spat viciously onto Jake’s mask near his shielded eyes, “how you think I’ll talk after you murdered them!”

“Just like you attacked a bunch of innocent kids, yeah?” Jake snarled. “Said their scales wouldn’t balance just ‘cause they were picking on someone else? Even though your fucking goddess is dead and you don’t even have the power to read a single palm? Child murder isn’t going to get you where you’re wanting to end up, pendejo, and a little bullying isn’t enough to condone ritual execution!”

The gunman roared and tried to grapple with him, but Jake only pinned his wrists into the mortar with a dart over his head before jabbing him in the ribs. He only noticed the panic button clasped between his fingers once the indicator began to blink a rapid crimson.

“Mierda,” Jake hissed, clocking his elbow across the bastard’s face and snatching the device once he slumped over. He dropped and smashed it with his heel, grinding it into bits.

“...Baby?”

Jake stiffened, head whipping towards the sound of your small voice. You had cowered against the wall, plunged mostly in shadow, but your hunched shoulders and quick breaths fogging against the shafts of light that the street lamp at his back cast tipped off your apprehension. He didn’t have time to react, save to open his mouth, before the distant squeal of brakes, the heavy slam of vehicle doors, shouting, and rapid footsteps at the far end of the alley interrupted him.

He marched over to you, the armor receding with every step. He glimpsed your eyes in the dark, round and anxious, even as he gripped your arm and tugged you in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he muttered gruffly. “Better scram.”

“What’s wrong?” you breathed instead, resisting him. You were sturdy, he had to give you that, even as the heels of your boots skidded against the rain-slickened pavement.

“Other than having a bunch of madmen with guns on our tails? Nothing at all.” He pulled a bit more forcefully this time. “Let’s go.”

Your protesting noise was drowned out by an ear-ringing report of a gun, and the air near Jake’s ear whistled with the near miss of a bullet. It ricocheted off the brick and had mortar showering the ground.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Jake hissed. “Corres, chaparrita!*”

He pulled you along behind him into a full sprint. The pair of you broke out of the alley towards the crowded plaza once more. You stumbled a couple of times on the uneven concrete due to the awkward mobility afforded by Jake’s unforgiving grip on your wrist, but he was not going to let you go for fear of you falling behind and getting snatched or worse. His scowl and speed drew bemused glances from the bystanders, but their expressions morphed into shock when their eyes passed over his shoulders.

So the bastards were pissed (or desperate) enough to give chase in broad moonlight. They had balls, he had to give them that—and while it made them stupid, it didn’t make them any less dangerous.

He headed towards the far side where the plaza merged onto the main road littered with vendors on the broad sidewalks. People buzzed along the blocked off street—for the entire event would last all weekend and force all the normal goers to circumnavigate the grounds—in tight throngs, along which he had no doubt he could lose the zealots. The tactic has served him well countless times before—and not just in London, or while under Khonshu’s directive. Merging and camouflaging with oblivious civilians and letting one’s hunters pass one by altogether often worked better than trying to outrun them or to hide outright.

The gateway was narrow, and Jake shoved a man twice his size out of his way to hook a sharp left. The man’s curses were drowned out by your profuse, breathless apologies, and Jake growled out a tense, “Callate!*” before narrowly dodging a street lamp since he’d cast a glare over his shoulder at you.

People’s attention only grew as the street funneled into a narrow crosswalk connecting to a broader street. Jake hooked a right that time, darting past families and couples as he went. You were keeping up with him surprisingly well, but your panting was getting too loud—your stamina would give out soon. He had to figure out a way to blend the both of you in without drawing attention so the zealots would go on and he could double back to lose them completely.

Another right at the end of the block revealed another market street, though the middle was undulating with dancing couples as a busking band was playing a lively, energetic tune.

“Mierda,” he growled, “las cosas que hago por vosotros, hermanos.*”

Jake hauled you to a brisk walk instead, melting into the ring of onlookers clapping along with raucous chatter and laughter. They would provide good enough cover, but Jake knew he could show neither of your faces or else the ruse would be for naught. That necessitated unbearably close proximity with the bane of his existence for the last few months—and you had clocked him instantly. It wouldn’t fly for long.

Jake broke through the wall of people nearest the booths, thankful for the partial shadow that would aid to your obscurement. He hastily tugged the collar of Marc’s jacket up, ruffled his fingers through their hair to conceal the majority of their upper features, and hooked an arm around the middle of your back to tug you against his chest. You scarcely caught yourself on his shoulders to keep your nose from bashing into his sternum. With his free hand he pulled the toboggan from your head and stuffed it into your pocket before tugging the back of your scarf up the back of your head and over your forehead, overlapping the tails to cover your chin and mouth—which opened as your brows furrowed in protest.

Jake ducked his head, pressing his lips against your covered ear. “If you want to live long enough to see the end of the night,” he hissed, hands slipping to your waist and beginning to sway you in time with the music, “you’ll do exactly as I do. Me entiendes?*”

You pursed your lips, but the indignant flare behind your eyes didn’t flicker once—even as exclamations of shock caught his attention. Jake pulled you further back into the shadows, but to his luck a couple of other dancers swung between the pair of you and the zealots squinting down the street for any sign.

Jake began to match the others’ movements to appear more natural, the quick tempo dictating the shuffle of his feet—forward, scuffle, back, ad nauseam, faster than he could breathe. He could hardly concentrate on that as well at the moment, unfortunately, given he hadn’t danced in years.

You were hot under your clothes from the running spree, seeping through yours and his shared layers where the weight of your torso was pressed tightly against his. He kept his face tucked close to the sweep of your neck and shoulder, angling his broad shoulders towards them, winding carefully behind more and more couples while keeping careful rhythm. Your panting came harsh and high next to his ear, your breath warming his chilled shell and lobe. Your hands slipped from his shoulders to rest more convincingly on his chest, a firm press to keep your balance.

Although you didn’t seem to know all the specific steps to this dance, you were obviously familiar with the form and rhythm of it. You were a natural, the shimmy of your hips almost smoother than his own—you didn’t stumble once, light on your feet as you (reluctantly) allowed him to guide you without a single glance behind you to confirm he wasn’t about to walk you into a wall or another person. No, your eyes stayed fixed on what you could see of his face the entire time, forehead perspiring and cheeks darkened from exertion, mouth slightly agape to pull in much-needed air. You were studying him, it seemed like, scanning his features as though dissecting every crease and stretch.

Jake didn’t like it, not one bit. You already knew too much—the last thing he needed was you committing any of him to memory.

Instead of stopping, the band shifted into an entirely new song with a different beat altogether, but when Jake adapted to it, you did so, too—seamlessly, in fact, perfectly in tune to the body’s movements. (Ew. He didn’t need to think about that shit.) The two of you were so close that your knees would have knocked together if your feet weren’t offset. You were used to it, to him, even though you’d only learned the body while the others were using it. You knew him, even though he was a stranger.

Shit, shit, shit. He was so fucked.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Marc’s sweatshirt over his thrumming heart, anchoring yourself as the tension finally drained from your form—he felt it before he saw it, watching your shoulders loosen as you lost yourself to the music. You almost seemed to be enjoying it, and Jake almost lamented the fact that you were only able to indulge in it under these very dire circumstances.

Almost.

“Are they gone?” you ventured breathlessly, chin brushing against his clavicle as you tilted your head forward so he’d hear your low tone that caused each hair on the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Jake blinked, then looked back up to the street corner with a deep-set frown. “Me distraiste jodidamente,*” he growled under his breath, shoving the visceral image of your chapped lips to the very back of his mind. “Yes, they’re gone.”

Your expression relaxed, then, into one of relief. The song tapered into an end, allowing both the dancers and the musicians a breather, and Jake finally peeled himself away from you as though your warmth had scorched him. He grasped your elbow again, tugging you through a narrow passage between booths to the mouth of a quiet side street with outdoor diners clustered around tables set out despite the weather.

He expected questions. He expected you to demand answers, like any other person in your situation would. ‘Who were they? Why were they trying to hurt me? Who the hell are you and why are you not Marc or Steven?’

He did not expect, however, for you to drop your gaze to his abdomen and to fish your hand under Marc’s jacket. He flinched back, but you’d already hooked a finger into the hole torn into the sticky, blood-soaked material of Marc’s shirt, fingertip grazing the smooth, whole flesh underneath and searing your fingerprint there in the process. He pushed your hand away, taking a half step back to distance himself from the mix of concern and confusion in your eyes.

“Are you hurt?” you asked him quietly, not venturing further into his personal space (to his relief).

Jake clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.

You hesitated. “What’s…what’s your name?”

Fuck his lack of luck, honestly. He half-turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

“...Thank you for saving me.”

He scoffed under his breath. “If you’d kept your promise to Marc in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Your tone instantly sharpened with indignation. “I know what I promised him, but he—you got fucking shot! I wasn’t about to leave you to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died. Just a scratch,” he groused, contorting and tugging the hem of the shirt up to show you the unblemished skin there, smeared with tacky blood against his knuckles. “See? Missed.”

“They did not miss,” you told him matter-of-factly. “I saw Marc fall. There’s fucking blood all over you—I’m not stupid. Do not lie to me.” You stepped closer, then, pointing that same bloodied finger at him and poking him in the sternum. He bared his teeth at you, cornered with the alley wall at his back. “All that back there was something that you’ve got going on, wasn’t it? Marc hasn’t told me about anything like this.”

You were too goddamn smart for your own fucking good. “There’s a lot that Marc hasn’t told you,” he growled, “and for good reason.”

Your eyes flashed. “And I bet you’re the authority on all of that, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

“I’ve noticed them being vigilant lately, but they won’t tell me what’s bothering them. Lots of private conversations—and no, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t listen in on them—and they get anxious when they’re tired or spacey. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out why they’ve been walking on eggshells ever since you popped up in the coffee shop that night—”

Jake’s jaw dropped open. Things were rapidly escalating out of hand, faster than he could hold them together. “How on earth do you—?”

“Marc is many things,” you said lowly, “but he is not a man who glorifies in violence. It bothers him still to touch me on his bad days, much less brushing up against a stranger. He wouldn’t smirk when he knocks someone out cold—with the pommel of a knife, no less. Neither would Steven, for that matter.”

Jake squared his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest to brush your hand away, glowering down at you. “Why haven’t you said anything to them?”

“Because they haven’t brought it up. I don’t push them for answers that they don’t want to give me. I know it’s already hard enough for them to be open to communicating their thoughts and feelings between themselves—I don’t want to pressure them any more by adding myself to the mix.” You jutted your chin. “But if you’re going to keep putting them in danger, you need to let them know what’s going on so they don’t get caught off-guard again.”

“You need to keep your nose out of my business and let me do my goddamn job,” he ground out.

“It becomes my business when both of our lives get put on the line!” you returned. “And what exactly is your job, huh? Circus performer with a specialty in knives?” You tugged on the hem of the jacket, ignoring how he went rigid. “Where do you keep that costume so they don’t realize they’re wearing it, too, by the way? Because I know for a fact that Steven would’ve mentioned cosplaying as the fucking Mummy if he knew about—”

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not a costume.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” You raised a haughty brow. “Do they know you’re running around like an albino version of London’s Daredevil?”

He was not about to explain all of Khonshu’s business to you. You knew too much already, and if Marc and/or Steven even caught wind of the old bird still hanging around, Jake was done for. “They don’t know about me for a reason, chaparrita, and I’d like to keep it that way. They can’t know about me—it’s better for all of us in the long run—so if you’d very kindly just keep your trap shut—”

“You have to tell them about you,” you told him firmly, eyes blazing, “and about whatever vigilante shit you’ve got going on. It’s not fair to them—they think they’re free from Marc’s old merc work, and here you are using the body against their consent to do whatever it is that you please. Do you realize how much danger you’re putting them in carrying on with shit like this?”

“I am protecting them,” he bit back, a snarl building in the back of his throat.

“By getting them ambushed in a fucking alley?” you snapped. “Your involvement in this could’ve gotten all three of you killed!”

“That costume is the only thing that can keep them alive through anything!” Jake returned sharply. “They would’ve been fine!”

“And what about me?” you demanded. “What about my safety? I know I chose my lot once Marc told me about his past, but this is adding a whole new level to all this that I wasn’t prepared for! What if you hadn’t been there, lingering in the background, or—or however you knew to step in? Do I need to live my life looking over my shoulder just in case there’s someone tailing me, waiting to catch me off-guard long enough to hurt me to get to them thinking they’re you? How do you think they’d react if something happened to me out of the blue, just by my being around them and whoever it is you’re fighting, thinking you’re the same person because you share the same face? Even then, they’d try to get to the bottom of it, and they could get shot, or stabbed, or—or whatever, just by trying to clean up your fucking mess!”

“If you weren’t around being seen with our face in the first place, you wouldn’t be involved to start with,” he growled, “and I wouldn’t have to concern myself with keeping you out of harm’s way all the time! You’re a liability to them—if something happened to you, they’d lose their shit, and I can’t have that happen. You’re as much of a danger to their wellbeing as these fucking cabrónes are!”

You retreated then, hurt flashing across your features so fast he almost missed it, before you schooled your expression into something frigid enough that it sent a chill down Jake’s spine. You floundered for words, lips moving without a sound, and Jake’s fuse shortened by the second. You swallowed, then, and roughly tipped your chin up—in defiance, certainly, but Jake didn’t miss the shine of moisture welling along your lash line. “…Do they feel that way, since you do?” you finally ventured. “Somewhere deep down? That I’m just a burden to them?”

“No,” he sighed, tucking his head and scrubbing his hand down his face. “There’s not a thing in this fucking world that they wouldn’t do for you, chaparrita, or kill themselves by trying. That’s the problem. That’s what makes you so dangerous. They care about you far too much.”

“And you don’t, I take it?” you supposed tightly. “Is that your job? Not to care?”

Jake ground his jaw so tightly his temples throbbed. “Don’t put words in my fucking mouth.”

“Then tell me why, exactly, you’re so hellbent on hiding yourself from them when they’re already trying so goddamn hard to heal and work together? What gives you the right to opt out and do whatever you damn well please, spilling more blood on their hands at the same time they’re trying to wash them clean?”

“There’s nothing special about me,” he bit out, “and they don’t need me—because if they knew what I’ve had to do to keep them alive they’d never forgive themselves!” Your brows twitched up, and Jake snarled under his breath. “Mierda. Just stay out of my fucking business, will you? The less you know, the better. And do not tell them about this, or about me, me entiendes?”

“I am not going to lie to Marc or Steven, and it’s stupid of you to think that I would,” you told him resolutely. “Either you tell them, or I will.”

“Did you miss all of what I just fucking said?” he spat. “If they know about me, it’ll do far more harm than good. They have a hard enough time reconciling what they’ve gone through, I don’t need to add all my shit to it!”

“You’ve helped them survive what they’ve gone through,” you pointed out, and Jake’s breath stopped short. “I’m not stupid, despite what you may think. I can tell even now that your primary concern is their well-being. But don’t you think telling them that you’re here, and that you’re a—a what, a superhero?—wouldn’t that be better than keeping them in the dark?”

“I am not a hero, chaparrita,” he told you darkly.

“Well, you’re certainly not a villain,” you responded evenly—as if you were stating fact.

Jake scowled. “Did they tell you what happened in Egypt? What really happened?”

Your eyes flashed. “They don’t have to, it’s not really any of my business. I know it was hard on them and they don’t like to talk about—”

“We got shot. Twice. We died! And it was only that armor that brought us back!” Jake flashed his teeth. “Marc let the bastard that did it go, but I killed him. That’s the difference between Marc or Steven and I, chaparrita: I hurt those who deserve it and feel no remorse for it.”

You blinked, then, eyes rounded. Realization dawned behind your gaze, and when you looked sharply off to the side, a stray tear slipped over the curve of your cheek. Your expression tightened, and Jake could imagine that you were finally putting together all the fragments of what Steven and Marc had mentioned offhandedly about their time in Egypt.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, sinking against the wall and dropping his head back against the brick. He dragged a hand down his face with a harsh sigh. He’d completely fumbled this entire situation. “...Mira.* If something were to happen to you, mis hermanos* won’t take it well.” He looked down at you, eyes half-lidded—meeting fire with fire obviously didn’t work with you. Even when Marc was being surly, you only listened when he stopped and lowered his voice. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that you shut down when you were shouted at, based on the way you’d stared at him like a doe caught in headlights. “...Do you really care about them?”

Your head recoiled to stare at him critically. The vessels in your sclera were an agitated crimson. “Of course I do!”

“Then you’ll listen to me, all right?” He straightened and stepped closer, fingers flexing at his side while he repressed the urge to reach out to you. Seeing you upset was doing funny shit to him. (He didn’t like it. Not one bit.) “After what happened tonight, I can’t afford to wait any longer. I need to finish up my business as soon as possible—I spent too long investigating and biding my time to see when those guys would crawl out of their nest. They are dangerous, and I’m going to do my damnedest to tie up all those loose ends. All right? That means I can’t have you caught in the crossfire. And once I get done with that…” He shook his head, casting his eyes upwards briefly. “...then we’ll talk—you know, about…everything else. Do you understand?”

You glared at him for a long moment, lips pursed as you considered him. Finally, you nodded curtly, once.

He raised a brow. “Can you say it for me?”

Your temples flexed. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Buena nena.*” He peered around the corner just to ensure that the zealots hadn’t doubled back, then moved to the edge of the street and flagged down a cab. When they stopped, he gestured you over. You watched him warily all the while, glancing both ways. He reached for the door and grasped the handle, but you laid your hand over his. He froze.

“Please,” you murmured, pleading him with your gaze, “be careful. Keep taking care of them. Let me know if…if you need any help. If there’s anything I can do...” You squeezed his hand, then let it go. “I’d prefer you three to come back in one piece, you know.”

He swallowed roughly, then nodded. He opened the door, and as you stooped to climb inside, his hand curved around the back of your head. You glanced up at him in surprise, but once you were seated, he abruptly retracted his touch.

“I’m trusting you,” you told him. “I don’t want this to be the last time we meet.”

Jake gave you a rueful, wooden smile. “If you’re lucky, cariño*, you won’t ever have to see me again.”

He shut the door, waved off the driver, and shoved his hands into the pockets of Marc’s jacket. He watched the cab round the corner out of sight, closing his eyes briefly, and turned to start walking in the opposite direction.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

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az-cain · 2 years

Text

self care hcs

moon system x reader ≈ 1.1k words masterlist here

the beard is the gif below 😗

—

shaving

sometimes the boys get busy and they’ll forget to shave, or sometimes they just don’t have a razor

jake really really wants to grow it out into a full beard

steven likes the clean-shaven look or a little bit of stubble, but is fine with whatever

marc wants a full beard. badly.

when they go on long trips, jake and marc get their wish. they get a nice beard.

one time, they come home after a long trip and you decide that you really like their beard

it’s a little scratchy while it’s growing out, but feels nice when they kiss you

plus, they look really good with it

from then on, they usually let it grow to about that length

whenever marc is fronting, he likes to trim it with the fancy little shears you’d gotten him a little while ago

you got them when you noticed him trimming his beard with steven’s craft scissors and that would not do

so you bought him some and gave them to him, showing him how to fit him fingers into the small holes and rest his pinky over the ring

you helped him get straight cuts by holding the hair between two fingers and overlapping each piece he cut with the next to get it even

hair cutting

you also cut their hair for them most of the time

it was about a monthly occurrence, their latino genes making their hair grow wayyyy faster than most people’s

marc didn’t really trust people other than you and himself with sharp objects next to his head, too many bad experiences in the marines

the first few times with the new shears you missed a few spots, but found them within a day while you were playing with their hair

you went “oh crap” and tugged them back to the bathroom to fix the mistakes

they didn’t care much, as long as marc felt that he looked tidy enough to take himself seriously

marc wanted really short hair, a high and tight like he had as a marine

jake wanted to grow his hair out, long enough to pull back into a little man-bun or pony tail, with an undercut underneath

steven liked their haircut, and he got to make that call a) because it was an in-between from jakes’s and marc’s wishes and b) because he was the one who had a normal 9-5 job with the most human interaction

jake liked to front when you were cutting their hair, the feeling of your fingers and comb soothing him in a way most other things couldn’t (for once, he felt protected)

you eventually got really good at cutting their hair, perfecting the fade from long to short. they were so happy with it every time and it made you super happy

showering

they all love showering with you, obviously

marc takes super short showers, ever the military man (5-10 mins)

jake takes long, burning hot showers, and sometimes even baths (30-45 mins)

steven takes hot showers and often forgets he’s in there (like hour-long showers)

they all have different soaps, which can get a little pricey, but you’re all fairly well off so it’s okay

marc has vanilla bar soap for his body and scentless nivea men��s shampoo and conditioner

he’s the most likely to buy 3-in-1 in a pinch or while on a mission

jake has orange and sandalwood scented shampoo, conditioner, and body wash

he also has a long-ass facial routine every night before bed, and you’ll often stand beside him and do your own: neutrogena salicylic acid facial cleanser, sephora toner, a serum that’s way too expensive, eye cream because he never sleeps, and a neutrogena hydro-boost moisturizer

he won’t let you touch his face for 10 minutes after his routine is done, no exceptions unless you’re crying

steven uses everist vegan shampoo and conditioner that comes in nice little waste-free aluminum tubes (except the cap, which he diligently returns to the company), and uses a nice bar of vanilla body wash from a local market

water. literally just water.

steven is the most likely to stay hydrated with a conscious effort all the time, but jake is just always thirsty

you got each of them a nice 30 oz bottle: navy blue for marc, sunflower yellow for steven, and burgundy for jake

steven’s is absolutely covered in stickers and dents, and he fills it up and drinks it 3 times a day at work

marc’s has very few dents, meticulous as he is. he’s pretty forgetful, but does his best to remember it and when he does, he gets through the bottle

jake’s is barely a cylinder anymore. it’s also not recognizable as red. everywhere he goes, he gets a sticker. everywhere. if he sees one while he’s on a mission, he’ll grab it and stick it in his bag to put on later that night. he has to fill it 10-11 times/day on missions, 4-5 if he’s not being too active

working out

jake fronts to run three miles every morning and does strength training at least 5 times per week. usually it’s early in the morning, he never sleeps more than 10 hours, and that’s only after hard missions. otherwise it’s a max of 8 hours. very unhinged.

marc likes to do cardio at night, especially if he’s stressed, which is 7 times out of 10

steven doesn’t work out. like ever. not even when he’s upset.

overall the body gets in 3-6 miles per day, and about 3 hours of strength training per day minimum

they’re strong as fuck

eating habits

jake, as the protector, knows how to cook

he also really enjoys it, cooking for you and himself at night or waking you up with a nice breakfast after he’s gotten back from the gym and showered

steven likes to eat, but oftentimes forgets, especially if he has his nose buried in a book

you’ve taken to leaving snacks on his desk— apples, pears, bits of the dark chocolate you know he likes— and packing him a lunch every day before work. you try to get him in a little of every food group: some yogurt, pinwheels, and more chocolate is his favorite meal you pack him

marc forgets all the time. every time he fronts, especially around a meal time, you grab him something good to eat. if he fronts for long periods of time, you’ll pack him full meals that will last with or without cooling. you always throw some beef jerky into his bag, too.

masterlist here

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dumbgothbunny · 2 years

Text

Jake Lockley/Reader

18+

It’s early morning, 4am to be exact. You can’t sleep. This occurrence is rare, but it happens every so often. As of thirty minutes ago your day has now officially started. Your steps are quiet as you pad across the hardwood of the flat. Steven, Mark, and Jake are no where to be found, no doubt finishing up their nightly routine around London. You’re not sure who you’ll see today. It’s usually Mark or Steven, Jake rarely comes around unless the other two are under intense stress or there’s a mission a bit too extreme for them. Time spent with Jake was minimal. You barley knew him, but he was kind to you, always offering to let you read his various comics if you ever got bored. Which, now that you think about it…. You turn into the living room and pad over to a small bookcase in the corner, picking up one of Jakes books, it’s a comic “Lady Death issue 1” reads the front. You take a stack of them and set them beside sofa, slouching forward and spreading your legs out in a comfortable position. You’re wearing one of your boyfriends black shirts and nothing else. The art is a bit risqué, but it’s interesting enough to hold your attention. You’re so captivated in the story that you get lost in time, not even hearing jangling keys or the scrape of the wooden door across the floor.

Jake runs the leather palm of his glove down his face, twisting his key in the lock. It’d taken longer to clean up his crime scene, he should have been back an hour ago. The door scrapes across the floor much to his dismay. He didn’t want to wake you, mentally he made a note to get that fixed. He wasn’t expecting to find you lounging on the couch, wearing his old black tshirt, legs parted. Your brow is furrowed, thumbnail worrying between your teeth, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re exposing yourself fully to him. He inhales sharply, the sound finally catching your attention. At first you smile, but then you register the leather cap on his head, the hard set of his jaw. The mischievous confidence in your eyes suddenly become panic and embarrassment. His nostrils flare. Jake kicks the door shut, closing the gap between you both with long strides. His scent is so different, but so similar. Jake kneels beside the couch, his nose pressing right up against your cheek. You instinctively try to close your legs while stuttering an awkward;

“I -I’m so Sorry”

His hand presses against your knee, pushing it back against the plush couch.

“Don’t. Don’t be.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your throat. He was so close, and the heat of his palm, the way his thumb circles your bare knee and holds you open to him, is overwhelming. This is the first time he’s ever made physical contact with you. Jakes nose ghosts along your cheek, stopping when his lips barley touch the shell of your ear. You’re trembling against his ministrations, eyes wide like a doe. The tension is strung tight, threatening to snap at any moment. You flinch when he speaks next, voice soft and husky.

“Why aren’t you asleep”

His fingers pry the issue of his comic from your fingers, setting it on the coffee table beside him.

“I c-couldnt….. the bed was lonely tonight..”

He inhales sharply, fully aware he’s about to get into dangerous territory. It was already too late, he decided in the end. You were already his greatest weakness and his greatest strength.

“Let’s change that then, Bombón”

#moonknight #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley/reader

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lovely-necromancy · 2 years

Text

The Moon and The Stars Ch.1

Not enough Moon Knight fanfic out here especially anything domestic so I wrote one.

Relationship: Marc Spector/Reader, Steven Grant/Reader, Jake Lockley/Reader

Summary: It's funny to think that people are so quick to dismiss the existence of magic and witchcraft despite proof of literal gods having been on Earth and fighting in favor of it before.

Didn't matter that the surviving Asgardians were sheltered on a small coast near New Zealand, didn't even matter that aliens existed. No, the thought that magic was actually real was just too far fetched. Your cards no more than a mere party trick. It was hard not to roll your eyes at the ideal – had magic not been real you wouldn't be here right now. Across the pond all the way in London, chasing down a not yet friendly face to help you locate your misplaced son, who has come from some time in the future, only having less than basic and more than cryptic information sent to you from your future self leaving you to relay a little too heavily on the cards to guide you through this predicament.

Love strikes when you least expect it, really it hits when you’re distracted. Now you’re juggling building a home with a man you’ve just met and a son you’ve yet to have.

Sitting on the bus in the early hours of the morning wasn't something you'd experienced for nearly a decade sense moving from your home town right after graduation. Moving to Manhattan everything had been so close together you pretty much walked to where you needed to go, only ever riding the bus or using the metro when you'd gone out grocery shopping or out with friends. But nothing this early, or this long. Though that isn't really saying much because you don't have a life outside of work given you're still trying to regroup after the snap. Loosing five years hadn't been fun, coming back to a world in more turmoil than when you'd left even less so.

Many had at least come home to familiar faces, but you had ended up loosing more than you saw. Closing your eyes you focus on the loud hum of the motor as the bus speeds through the street. This last minute trip had gotten your nerves fried as it was, no need to upset yourself further by thinking of the colossal shit show that happened on Titan and the subsequent bullshit that followed. All the pain and mourning – all the despair and fear; you breathe out through your mouth cutting off any further thought. You had so many thoughts and feelings about this, and no matter how many times you processed them they were still loud and aggressive. Today was not the day to deal with it though.

As a distraction you look on out at the unfamiliar scenery speeding by, you try to relax and focus on the present situation.

Currently you are on a bus in London, having just gotten on at the airport you still have your carry on pack with you. It was all you took, you needed to travel light for this excursion. Maybe you packed too light now that you thought on it; only two outfits, your chargers, tarot deck, and a few things for a make shift altar. There wasn't any indication on how long you'd be staying but you figured by the end of the week at latest you'd be back home.

Taking out the deck from your bag you remain hyper vigilant of the road even with the sparse traffic. A habit you never broke out of growing up.

While keeping your eyes on the street you began to shuffle your deck. It was an idle stim developed from years of repetition – if the cards had something to say they'd find a way to let you know. And it's something you were counting on as the sun rose above the skyline and more and more passengers got on the bus and on about their mundane days.

It's funny to think that people are so quick to dismiss the existence of magic and witchcraft despite proof of literal gods having been on Earth and fighting in favor of it before. Hell, New York has specific signs in case of Thor damage, even though the ex-avenger isn't Earth bound anymore many stayed up as a reminder in case he ever sought to visit.

Passengers cycle through as the drive continues, no one ever paying you any mind as you shuffle the deck of cards in your hands. Not even the bus driver who remembers you getting on at their earliest stop but can't place if you'd gotten off yet.

Still you wait.

And it'll be a few more stops before anticipation starts to itch under your skin, your stomach is in knots and you're ready to jump off at the next stop.

The Magician jumps from the deck.

Looks like the next stop is yours. Sure you're willing to admit you may have influenced the cards on that one with your restless energy but anything to get out in the open and stretch your legs again.

Stepping from the bustling sidewalk and backing yourself into an alley you look around at everything near you trying to get your intuition to guide you. A heavy worn sigh leaves you as nothing in particular seems to spark the urge to follow after. You've followed the clues well enough so far but they weren't the greatest to begin with it took a whole hour to decipher you needed to be in London. Unsure if the distorted information was a drawback of time line details or your own future hubris, you pack the cards away and switch out some cash to pick up lunch.

The only thing calling out is the sandwich cart by the fountain and your stomach is answering that call.

At least one thing was in your favor, the cart had a veggie humus wrap that was to die for. If you did end up staying longer than a day you'd have to remember to come back to the stand. Maybe you should get another for later, the vegetables seemed really fresh and it was delicious. It'd make a good offering for later, you didn't really bring a peace offering and hadn't had much chance to look anything up online. Pairing it with a nice wine might be a smart move, wine was normally pretty well received from what you gathered. Hopefully it would suffice, you really are just flying by the seat of your pants here.

The stand attendant gives you a look once you find yourself back at his counter. Ordering another veggie wrap you ask, “Hey, I'm actually visiting a friend in town, it's a little short notice so I wanted to get her an apology wine. Is there anywhere near by?”

Rolling his eyes as he wraps up your order he makes a few gestures along with an odd remark that you somewhat gleam are directions to just go up the street. It's about one and you're moderately sure a slight deviation won't hurt, after all if time was really of the essence you'd think you'd five more concrete locations and descriptions.

Not send yourself to London in hopes of finding a woman, at least you hope she's currently an adult and not a child, named Layla with “Hair so beautiful you'd never miss her.” Those were your exact words. Apparently that's all the clues you thought you'd need to locate the biggest ally in finding the missing time jumper. Christ future you is such an asshole.

A small hopeful thought rises in the back of your head, 'Layla will find you, she's a fellow witch. She must've gotten her own message.'

It's with a big inhale you enter the wine shop, which is an awful move considering the stinging smell of the fermented juice crowding the store. Especially the overly sweet smelling assortment of varying colors greeting you on the display table as you walk by.

You don't know much about wine but you know that a floral wine feels about right. It's amazing that intuition can aid you in picking out a wine but not in finding another witch. You do your best to keep the sour look off your face as you distinguish between the two best options in front of you – bitter about your lack of skills in your craft.

A sales woman takes pity on your stumped expression, reading it as frustration over wine choices.

“Looking for yourself or a get together dear?”

A glance at the woman, “For a friend, a new one – not sure which she'd like more.”

She gives a nod, “Well which ones are we looking at? Might be ones we sample.”

“I don't,” you brush off her offer, “But I think it's between the lavender and the honey wine. I was leaning more towards a red though.” You say as your eyes dart between the two, an itch in the deepest part of your chest saying it's one of the two.

“Oh sorry dear, neither of those two are red wines. The lavender's more a blush – and actually that honey one's a mead. In the wrong spot too if you don't mind.” the older woman excuses herself as she reaches past you to pick up the bottle and reveal a willow white wine underneath. Whatever the hell that is.

“Yea, mead would be too thick then. I'll take the lavender thanks.” you nod to her and she follows you to check out. Weird to not get carded but nice to avoid the 'oh you were snapped' conversation.

After securely nestling the bottle into your pack you were back on the hunt. London isn't the biggest city out there but traveling on foot and bus alone really makes things tedious.

Then there's the chance she's a home body who you won't run into on the street. Or what if she's already out of the country?

There's an uneven half wall along the sidewalk, you take a seat as you ground yourself freeing your mind of the negative thoughts. With a hum you take off your necklace, a simple charm you got off a candle a couple months back hung on a cheap chain. It made a quick pendulum after your last four crystal ones fucked off into the void, no matter where you'd set them down they always went missing. But this celestial charm on a janky piece of chain never got lost. A crescent moon facing a sun all held within a four point star.

Like always passers by didn't spare a glance to you – like they didn't see you. Which they probably couldn't given the shield you set up around yourself. While normally you tried not blocking people out you couldn't risk drawing too much attention to your intentions with a time traveler on the loose.

Steadying your breathing you begin interrogation the pendant.

'Show me yes.' with the thought the charm began moving in a straight line back and forth.

'Now no.' And the charm slowly began to move in circles.

Asking once more for 'yes' resulted in the same straight line movement as before, now you started asking the real questions.

'Is Layla in London?' a straight line.

'Can you point me in the direction of Layla?' another straight line.

There's always some doubt in you when it comes to this method since you're still very new to this form of divination. Tossing in a question you know the answer to in order to get a 'no' response helps ease your nerves.

'Am I a Mets fan?' a stupid question considering you hold no baseball loyalties but it does work in getting a circle as a response.

The pit in your stomach fills with the reassurance that you're still on the right track. But you still can't shake the anxiety that's nawing away in anticipation for the next.

'Will you lead me to Layla?' a harsh swinging of back and forth starts before you've fully finished the question.

Taking that as the resounding yes that it was you hop off the wall and ask your pendant to guide you through the city.

Chain secured around your neck and the charm floated up allowing you to follow where it pointed. You would have looked absolutely mental if you'd been allowing anyone to actually see you. But as it was your force fields were staying up until you deemed it safe, or needed to interact with someone. Normally you'd never worry or even bother with this sort of thing. With the rise of enhanced individuals in the world and the need for “heroes” governments and other sanctions are swooping in and “recruiting” anyone they find left and right. And after what happened on Titan it's safe to say no one needs uncontrolled access to time travel.

Which is why you're paranoid enough to hoist a barrier around your self. The last thing you want is to slip up and have someone find out about a loose time traveler and set their eyes on such a hot ticket commodity. You'll be damned before you knowingly let someone with that power get exploited, much less your own son. You just really need to send him back to his own timeline where it's safer for him....hopefully.

It's been a few hours and it seems as though your necklace is leading you in circles – at one point literally swinging in circles around your neck. That or Layla has gotten lost on her way to her destination a few times. She's been on the move since you started tracking her, it's a wonder how she's moving so quickly, a bike maybe? When the necklace finally stops moving and is stationary long enough for you to follow it in one solid direction, it's lef you to an art gallery. Your interest is piqued and had this been any other time you'd have enjoyed taking a tour through the museum. As it stood now you need to find a lost child, and to do that you had to find a woman with curly hair called Layla.

What on Earth has your life come to?

The attendant manning the tickey booth did warn you, the museum would close in about an hour and that that had no effect on the price of admission, before you bought your ticket. You deal with the general public enough to understand they are covering their ass and not just being nice to a tourist by giving you the warning.

“No worries, meeting a friend here anyhow.” you say handing a few bills over.

The attendant brushes it off with a simple 'ah' erasing you from their mind after bidding you a pleasant visit.

Settling inside the galley you see it's an odd set up for an art museum as it seems loans of actual Egyptian artifacts were made, hell some of these looked to be fall on exhibit collections. You could argue relics were the modern art at one point but a full on sarcophagus was where you drew the line on art. Either things in England are done much differently than in the states or whoever was in charge of this really dropped the ball on what they got loaned to the art museum.

With only an hour before close and a now stationary pendant, it had stopped floating just as you set foot onto the stairs, you decide to stakeout the entrance and wait for people to start leaving. Given the way she ran about town you highly doubt the woman works for the museum and by the slack security team you passed on your way in you don't think she's their overeager night shift guard. If this place even has one of those.

What better place to stake out in than the gift shop. Centrally located with big windows that peer out over most of the entrance hall, the position is perfect. Fiddling with an oracle coin to calm your nerves as you watch a few families enter and meander about the gift shop before concluding their day out. Watching the doors like a hawk, or at least you'd been trying to had the hippo plush on the shelf a little ways away from you not been distracting you. It's like it was trying to say something but you just heard a static ringing, making it hard to concentrate on anything besides the adorably sewn faces staring at you.

It was a little odd that of several other dolls that you'd seen with similar expressions it was only the hippo who kept stealing your attention. Soon the static started to go through a range of frequencies and it was like whispered murmurs of 'Layla' were buzzing through your ears. Maybe Layla was supposed to show up and purchase one of these and you simply had to wait for that. Either that or the doll was simply called Layla and you'd been following around a shipment of these without even noticing.

Yea totally normal and mundane answers – not at all possible that this has now turned into an Annabelle situation where Layla's soul was attached to one of these and you'd then have to carry around a possessed doll in order to find a child and look absolutely mad talking to a doll for the entirety.

Your min runs wild with all these possibilities sometimes and one of these days you are going to manifest some weird fucking shit into your life, not like this situation isn't out there though. You really hope this doll is just called Layla, at the very least. Walking closer to the display you search for some plaque or tag, any identifier for the toy – just something that will give you any clue to the strange connection you feel for this hippo. There doesn't seem to be one, which seems an odd choice but given the extended gee of capitalism, you're willing to be it has more to do with trapping unsuspecting parents into the sale when they've already promised their children the toy and can't back out after hearing the price lest there is a massive tantrum over it.

Just as you were going to roll your eyes, a voice startles you so hard that you're sure your soul nearly detached from your body.

“Uh, sorry didn't mean to startle you, yea? ….Just it – saw you were looking at Taweret pretty hard. D'you need any help with getting one down?”

Hand pressed firmly against your chest to calm your embarrassingly erratic heart rate you felt a warmth encase your cheeks as you met the warmest brown eyes to ever belong to a human. This man looked like the pure personification of a shy puppy. It was so clear he really hadn't meant to scare you, his hunched posture and head down said it all – the stance and expression was identical to a kicked puppy.

When you finally settle enough to speak you manager a weak, “Yeah?” and though it sounded muffled and more like a question than a statement the man didn't mind.

The curly haired man simply reaches past you, plucking one off the shelf and holding it out for you. It's strange that he'd offered assistance for something well within your reach but when you notice his name tag pinned to his jacket you figure he's just doing his job. Or trying to make up for the scare he gave you, which was more on you for being so caught up in your thoughts to not have clocked him coming up behind you like that.

I appreciate it, Steven.” you smile taking the offered plush and now it's Steven's turn to look embarrassed, clearly not used to such genuine thanks.

“No trouble really, after all it's my job.” he says about as awkwardly as a human can manage the whole time fumbling with his hands trying to find a suitable placement for them.

In doing so you're able to catch a glimpse of his wrist watch, you still have over half an hour to go, and you feel that staying in the gift shop is the right call to finding Layla. But now it feels like you might need more of a reason to stay. Looking down at the plush in your hands you ask.

“Do...do you happen to know anything about Taweret? Making small talk was never your strongest suit but maybe you can stall long enough that you'd see someone striking leave the museum.

Looking back at Steven it seems you chose the tpic correctly because of the distinct glimmer shinning in his eye – the one people get when they're talking about things they love, well at least you'll enjoy this next half hour. It'll be refreshing to talk to someone who filled with passion and not just a civil response of patterned answers. Back home you tend to hype up the kids too much, so you'll have to try and reign in your energy for the upcoming info dump you know you're about to receive. Figures an Egyptology nerd would be working here, wonder ig he had anything to do with the exhibits on display or if it was simply luck that they found their way here. Maybe a bit of both judging by how decked out this gift shop was with its Egyptian themes. Hell, even little jelly candies sat on the counter displaying themselves proudly. Well you can't really fault the man for following his happiness.

“Yes! I mean yea, a bit – well a lot. Ah, where should start, to be honest it'd be easier to say – wait how much d'you know about the Egyptian gods?” his enthusiasm has you grinning and you can feel the control you had on your hype man energy waning.

Steven's eyes briefly flicker up behind you, he makes eye contact with his reflection giving it a sort of disgruntled pout before shaking his head and focusing on you when you start speaking.

“I've gotten a brief run down from the Kane Chronicles, then there's Egyptology: Search for the Tomb of Osiris. That's always a hit with the kids and I love recommending the 'ology' series to them, they're classic starters you know? Aside from that my study of Egyptian gods is lacking, was more of the Greek Mythos kid myself.” you joke, giving a little sway of your head with the last bit.

“So you're a librarian.” he said it with such enthusiasm that you felt bad shutting it down.

Brown eyes lock above your pout face once more, Steven gives a little gesture as if to say 'see?'.

“Uh, oh not exactly. Just a clerk but my specialties ate the children's events and getting the youths more involved with reading, as dying of a pass time as it is.”

Unlike most, Steven doesn't give you eyes full of pity or disinterest when you tell him your actual position, instead he keeps the same enthusiasm as when he called you a librarian.

“Honestly, same thing. Keeping communities involved and books circulating sounds like a librarian's task.” it's such a sweet sentiment and one you hadn't thought of. It wasn't often that the paywall standing in front of the title got to you. But occasionally you did think on how it was such bullshit that it was now needed a Bachelor's of Science to keep inventory of books and their condition. When it was technically everyone's job to do so.

You're fairly certain Ms. Patrice hadn't even had a degree. The old woman had just been grandfathered into the position after that requirement got implemented. And she never cared for it when hiring staff.

“You're right, but it's one of those letiougious things, the semantics don't matter to me I enjoy my job.” Nodding, more to yourself than to Steven, you get things back on track, “You were saying about Taweret...”

“Right, well if we just talk about her specifically in simple terms; she's a very protective goddess who oversees most aspects of life, from birth all the way to guiding the deceased in the afterlife. Some even believed she could help with reincarnating the shut if it didn't cross over properly. But that concept only popped up a couple of hundred years after...” Steven trailed off as he looked at you.

Once you noticed, you looked around wondering if maybe an actual customer came in that he needed to help. But you were still alone in the gift shop.

“Is something wrong?”

Nothing's wrong, you just haven't told him to shut up or lost interest in what he was saying. It's unusual that Steven gets the chance to really go in detail with Egyptology. He's been thrown for a loop, he's so used to being shot down before this point or called out for “pretending” to be a tour guide. The change of pace is refreshing and really put a bit of wind back into his sails after such a long day.

“I just um lost my train of thought...” a lie of course but how was he suppose to get across that he'd gotten flustered over a cute librarian who seemed to actually take interest in what he had to say.

'Dude, you're loosing' 'em.' a quick glance to his reflection in the glass window of the shop shows Jake leaning back while nodding in your direction, you who's still expectantly and patiently waiting for him to continue. With a small tilt of your head and furrow of your brow that leaves his mouth a little dry.

“Where was I?” he chuckles.

You're a blessing as you take pity on the man's nerves and answer encouragingly, “About how Taweret's connection to reincarnation was possibly retconed.”

A new voice enters the conversation causing you both to turn and look at it's owner, “More like they didn't realize Taweret's full potential for a while.”

Walking up to you both was a woman with the most perfectly placed curls you'd ever seen. A brief moment of jealousy passes through you but soon is washed away by admiration for her. It's obvious to you that this is Layla and now you understand why future you couldn't say much. She's like a goddess who walks on Earth, you wouldn't even know where to start with describing her and even then you don't think words would suffice. Gods your a simp, and it seems you'll stay a simp well into the future.

Your hunch is confirmed as Steven greets her, “Hello Layla, what brings you around?” his tone is even and relaxed though there's an underlying wariness to it.

She glances at you and gives a small smile, if you hadn't determined you were already friend-zoned in the future you may have tried to shoot your shot, before she looks back to Steven, “Waiting for your shift to end, we had plans tonight...”

The drawl at the end isn't lost on you that she's come up with that on the fly, you assume she's trying to get Steven's help with the situation. Though you never mentioned anyone else, then again you also did ask Matt to keep an eye out at home in case the kid turned up there looking for you – it's possible Layla was just covering her bases as well before diving into the search. The coin you'd been flipping before your encounter with Steven began rest heavily in your hand. With a glance to the man who's eyes are currently flickering across the museum seemingly scanning the crowd you flip the coin.

'Should we let Steven in?'

Catching the coin, the side displaying 'yes' is shining in the artificial light.

Layla had been watching you, having caught the movement of the coin flipping she turned her focus to you rather than the conversation she wasn't privy to. When you lock eyes with her you have to build up a little confidence to get your words out.

You really hadn't rehearsed or even thought of what you were going to say once you did find Layla. Half hoping she'd spot you first and just take you along for the ride while she handled things.

“Is this about the time jumper?”

From the reflection Marc can see the way Layla tenses up in surprise ar your question. Her eyes clouding a bit with uncertainty before asking, “How do you know about that?”

Marc has no idea what's going on, and judging by the faces of the other two neither do they. Was there a memo sent out that they didn't receive?

“My future self contacted me last night and told me to find you, pleasure to meet you by the way – have a feeling we'll be good friends. Anyway they said we'd have better luck tracking the kid down together.”

He's lucky Steven hadn't been facing the other way to focus on him and Jake in the reflection of the display glass behind him, because the sheer amount of force he fronted with would have given their body whiplash for sure.

“What the fuck did I just hear – and why are you not more surprised?” looking between you and Layla he can't piece together if this is some sort of prank. But you don't look familiar, so he doesn't think you're one of Layla's friends or at least not one he met when they were together – which would make involving you in a prank make sense.

Your wide eyes stare at him after the accent and overall vibe change of the sweet gift shop clerk. That was a decidedly not English accent and his features were more stern than before, a little more tired than as well.

“Guessing future self didn't mention him?” you shake your head.

Marc is still confused and looking to Layla for answers. Answers she doesn't have just yet but looking at you she figures she'll get them soon enough.

She gives him a shrug, “Finish up Steven's shift, he'll be pissed if you get him fired again. I'll see what more than can tell me and we'll fill you in along the way.”

Layla didn't need to motion for you to follow her outside, you would've been right behind her either way, she acted like she knew what she was doing so you'd trust her. There was reason your were told to find her after all and what better reason than she's the boss, the brains of the operation. Marc could only watch confused and concerned as you trailed behind Layla like some stray, it was only when you realized you were still toting around the plush and came toddling back to place it back on the shelf that Steven was able to front again and finish out his shift.

Still just as confused and in the dark as Marc was – at least you were nice, they don't meet too many like you, especially not recently.

#Moonknightfanfic #moon knight fanfic #moonknight fanfic #The Moon and The Stars #Marc Spector/Reader #Marcspector/reader #Marc Spector x Reader #Steven Grant/reader #Stevengrant/reader #Steven Grant X Reader #Jake Lockley/Reader #JakeLockley/Reader #Jake Lockley X Reader

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writingrose29 · 2 years

Text

Two Birds Masterlist

Pairings: Steven Grant x Fem!Reader; Marc Spector x Fem!Reader; Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader (Slowburn, Post-Moon Knight)

Prequel-Strangers

Summary: Sometimes the best person to talk to is the one that you will never meet again

Two Birds:

Summary: Her life was a continuous cycle of good and bad things. Anytime things were good she knew for a fact some shitstorm was going to hit her. However, she never could've predicted the mess her adoptive father's death would bring.

TW/CW: Childhood Trauma, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Reference to Suicide, Implied/Reference to Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Drug and Alcohol Abuse, Previous Suicide Attempts, Child Soldiers/Mercenaries, Will add more when they come up and on the chapters (Full list of tags and tw can be found here on ao3)

Other Content Involved: X-Men Crossover, Mutant Reader, Reader has a placeholder name

Read on: Ao3

Chapter 1: A Death in the Family

Chapter 2: Hell House

Chapter 3: Déjà Vu (Steven’s POV: Déjà Vu)

Chapter 4 (in progress...)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Future Chapters to be listed....

#steven grant x reader #steven grant/reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector/reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley/reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #marc spector x fem!reader #steven grant x fem!reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #masterlist

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soft-girl-musings · 4 months

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Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

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On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.”

“No hay problema.”

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously.

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.”

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake.

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude.

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

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There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder.

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm.

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.”

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.”

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge.

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.”

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are.

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

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A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader

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midgardian-witch · 9 months

Note

i saw you made a moon knight fic based off an ethel cain song, and i was wondering if you could make one based off her song michelle pfeiffer idk it just screams moon boys to me 😻🫶🏽🫶🏽 i’m so sorry for bothering you with this i just HADDD to ask

have a lovely day and don’t overwork yourself 🫶🏽

You are absolutely not bothering me with this! Thank you so much for your kind message and your request 💙 I really hope you like this drabble and that you're having a lovely day yourself ☺️

Home's Not Home Unless You're There

ships: Moon Knight System/Reader

AO3

Marc was the one that started it all.

One morning you woke up and he was gone; bags packed, wardrobe and bookshelves cleaned out. He even took his toothbrush with him. He had left you with only the memories of your time together, nothing else.

He took one last look at your half-naked, sleeping form and then left. He turned into a ghost, laying low, not moving too far away but always just out of reach. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this after all.

It was for the best - or so he told himself.

Marc knew that if he would have stuck around longer, he would drag you both down (and with his luck ‘down’ meant 6 feet under). He didn’t deserve you. Everything he touched turned to ash and he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt you too.

He couldn’t hurt you if he was gone.

So what if he spends endless nights alone, drowning his sorrows in booze (just like his mother; she’d laugh at him, tell him what a pathetic, selfish boy he was - if she was still alive) and thinks about all the different ways he could crawl back to you?

He won’t. He can’t. If he did all of this was for nothing.

In that space between tipsy and blackout drunk he wonders if maybe he is addicted to suffering. If it was just another fucked up part of his brain that needed to feel pain to live, or maybe it was his heart? Why else does he keep running away?

When those thoughts start he just cracks open another bottle.

Steven was the one that suffered the loudest.

When he woke up in the morning, having to deal with another of Marc's hangovers, he felt like crying.

He missed you. Everything around him reminded him of you and your absence in his life.

Marc got them a new flat and even here Steven saw you in everything; everything conjuring a memory of you together. They lived here now but it wasn’t their home. It could never be their home if you're not there with them.

He wants to call you but Marc deleted your number. He wants to go and see you, apologize for what happened and fall back into your arms but everytime he tries he blacks out, loses time again and finds himself back at their new flat. He wants to scream at Marc, beg and reason with him, make him see that this was all a mistake, that they need you in their life but everytime Marc hides in the darkest corners of their headspace.

He feels more lost than he did when he first found out about Marc and Jake. He feels alone, so utterly alone even when Jake tries to reassure him that they will be alright, that things will get better.

Without you there he doesn’t believe any of it.

Jake was the one to end it.

Jake had been patient. He waited for Marc to see reason but instead he watched his brother hurt himself more and more until all that was left was a heartbroken, sad shell of a man. He watched Steven rage against Marc’s decisions until he couldn’t anymore, until even he was a burned out husk of his former self.

He was their protector and he had been idle for too long.

And he missed you. Even inside the headspace all he could think about was the sound of your voice, of your laugh, the feeling of your skin and lips on his, the way you smell in the morning after a long night of lovemaking.

Did you think about them too? Did you hate them? Did you miss them the same way they missed you?

He was tired of wondering, tired of watching his brothers fall apart when there was a simple solution to their suffering.

So when his brothers were sound asleep Jake took over. With a clear goal in mind he got into his car and made his way to you. He drove like a man possessed until he reached the familiar building. It was late, the sun had already fled the sky hours ago. For a moment he worried he would wake you, or worse, that you would not be there. To his relief there was light in your window.

An old neighbor let him into the building, recognizing his face. He thanked them with a smile before continuing on his path. When he finally reached the door to your flat, his hands were shaking - all his calm gone just by the thought of seeing you again.

Before he can overthink his plan he knocks on the door. He can hear your footsteps, and even something so trivial is making his heart ache. But nothing prepared him for the way his heart stops beating for a second when he sees you again as you open the door.

You look like you hadn’t slept in weeks, like you had been crying every day since they had left - and yet you had never looked more beautiful.

Your eyes widen in shock and disbelief. He takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I am so sorry, mi vida. We are sorry. Can you forgive us?”

He can’t hear your reply, muffled as it is as you all but tackle him with your embrace, your face buried in his shirt. Your fists pound against his chest with no energy behind them. You’re angry, frustrated, but most of all relieved.

They are back. And they won’t leave again.

The four of you had a lot to talk about: worries, feelings, fears. There are so many questions unanswered but that was for later.

All he knows is this: You will get through this; you’ll survive whatever comes together. Because they are finally home now.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight system x reader #moon knight/reader #marc spector/reader #steven grant/reader #jake lockley/reader #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #fran-writes

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drinkingwithkhonshu · 9 months

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okay y’all forgive my thots but walk with me here

yes to pushing marc’s buttons and picking on him or annoying him just to get a rise out of him until he snaps and fucks you

absolutely yes to teasing and flirting at jake while winking coyly and fluttering your lashes with a smirk until he snaps and fucks you

but why are we not talking about sassing and snipping at steven and being just a bit bratty until he snaps and fucks you, huh???

I need him to get that low, bitchy tone (“oh, nosy”) and grip my chin and glower at me and edge me until I cry and then proceed to rail me through the mattress, fuck all that pent up ire right the fuck out of me bc hormones and people fucking suck so I can go back to being his good little girl, begging for him, not even allowed to touch him bc he uses that fucking ankle cuff to bind my wrists, all the while using that goddamn condescending tone like “there she is, there’s my sweet girl—not so catty now, yeah? not when you need me so bad. just had to remind you of your place, right? that what you needed? pushed your boundaries a bit, love, but I’ll take care of it—I’ll have you so dumb on my cock that you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about any thought save me, and you, and this. just you wait.”

…ahem. feel free to add on if you’d like🥴

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #reader insert #steven grant/reader #marc spector/reader #jake lockley/reader #citrus #headcanons #fisara’s scrawlings #mine

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loki-hargreeves · 2 years

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So Cold

Pairing: mainly Jake Lockley x fem!Reader (established relationship), Steven Grant x fem!Reader & Marc Spector x fem!Reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, suggestive stuff [making out, dirty talk, smutty undertones etc], gun violence, car accident, near death situation [drowning], angst, vulgar language, mentions of blood, hospitalization, character death [you and the moon boys will be fine], hurt/comfort

Word Count: 9,5K

Summary: Your date gets interrupted by Jake’s enemies and you end up trapped underwater.

A/N: Not my best but this concept has lived in my head rent free for weeks. @davosmymaster has been lovely enough to brainstorm with me and also help me with most of the Spanish parts <3 Any and all mistakes are mine!!! 😤

Please don’t come at me for any technical stuff. I don’t know what it’s like to be in a car that’s stuck underwater nor am I a medical expert (I’m basing it on personal experiences). Just enjoy the vibes <3

YOUR POV

“Jake, oh my god!” Your laughter filled the car and his ears, his name fitting somewhere in between the joyous erupts. The sun was setting below the horizon, directly in front of you as the final rays of the day bounced off the deep, dark sea. Everything was golden with hints of pink and orange. Late autumn leaves were carried by the gentle wind, cascading down onto the ground and some landing on the hood of the vehicle surely to be blown away when you’d eventually drive home.

When he looked at you trying to contain your adorable laughter after the terrible joke he told only moments earlier, he swore he felt his heart expand in his chest. Tearing his eyes off of you was impossible, not even the picture perfect sunset being a match to you, the love of his life smiling so wide it reached your eyes. If telling bad jokes always made you laugh like that, Jake would never stop.

Jake was happy.

Truly happy.

He hadn’t known this kind of love and pure bliss prior to meeting you. Before, his existence consisted mainly of protecting others and dealing with the worst of the worst. Every touch he felt was rough and cold, with violent intentions. When he felt your loving touch, he was hooked. It took time but Jake learned to long for it. Jake hadn’t lived much for himself nor had anyone ever protected him. Not that he really needed protection, not like that. But the way you loved him and made him feel was enough. You protected his heart.

That day had been wonderful so far and there was no doubt in his mind that the night would be just as good. Since it was Jake’s day, he had taken you out on a date to surprise you. Sure, there were some bumps on the road; the restaurant he had wanted to take you to was closed due to water damages, the plumbing had seen better days at that place.

That didn’t stop you, no. You and Jake opted for fast food instead and drove to a remote area to watch the sunset and eat your food in the car instead. Sure, it had felt a bit ridiculous to walk into a fast food place in your fancy clothes but in a way, it was amusing. The heels, the dress, the suit Jake was wearing that made it hard for you to keep your hands off of him. If the weather had been nicer, you would’ve eaten outside but winter was nearing quickly. Staying in the car where it was warm, especially when you were only in a thin dress, was much better.

Somehow, that was one of your best dates so far. Just the two of you, the sunset and a lot of privacy which allowed opportunities for you to get all touchy and hands-on with each other without being judged by strangers. Jake never loved the way some people, especially other guys, would look at you. He couldn’t blame them though, because you were an absolute goddess. He felt so lucky to be with you, to be able to call you his girl. People who knew what was best for them knew not to even think about getting between you and Jake. The same applied for you and Marc and Steven. The harmony you all had was beautiful and nothing could possibly disrupt that.

Even the music was excellent tonight because the car was connected to your Spotify account. Jake had put some of his favourite songs in the queue. Right now, you were listening to a tune he always loved to sing and whistle around the flat, más allá del sol. It reminded you of the time he had completely surprised you one evening as he played the song and swayed with you in the living room. Jake Lockley was more romantic than you had ever expected him to be - and you loved everything about it.

“You have something there,” Your laughter faded after a while and you pointed at Jake’s cheek with a mischievous smile on your face. It was clear as day you had something up your sleeve.

“Here?” Jake raised an eyebrow, playing along. He pointed past the moustache he had been growing. They had decided to let their facial hair grow after they all learned how much you liked that. Besides, it looked good. Fantastic, actually.

“More like…” You began as you leaned closer to Jake and wrapped your hand around the black tie around his neck. As said, you two were definitely overdressed for a fast food date. Then you tugged at it, pulling Jake’s face close to yours.

“...right here,” You whispered and shamelessly kissed his cheek, concealing the fact that there hadn’t actually been anything on his face. You just wanted to kiss him. There was no harm in that, right?

Jake felt all warm and fuzzy inside when your lips pressed against his skin. He was sure you were able to tell it made his cheeks heat up, not that he’d admit it. The fact that you were acting like this just to smooch his cheek made Jake feel a lot of things. He wanted to return the favour before you’d drive him mad with your little antics.

“If you wanted a kiss, mi amor, you could’ve just asked,” Jake explained. Yup. He had definitely turned soft but he didn’t mind because it was all for you. He looked in your eyes, willing to get lost in the beauty and mystery that was hidden in them, something magnetizing behind your coated lashes that tried to captivate him time after time - and it worked. They said eyes were the doors to one’s soul, there was no doubt about that when he gazed into yours.

“Making you blush is more fun,” You teased. Of course, you did.

“Oh come here you,” Jake had finally reached the point of not being able to keep his hands off of you any longer. He cupped your face with his hands, fingers resting against the back of your head as he kissed you. It was fierce and passionate, a kiss that instantly took your breath away and wiped away the playful gleam. That was replaced by a burning desire, a need that only he could satisfy and you were willing to do anything for.

Jake’s tongue slipped past your lips as he tasted you, his needy and unabashed kiss making you moan. Not even the music could hide the fact. Your closed your eyes and tilted your head, needing him to get closer somehow. In a desperate attempt, you tangled your fingers in his dark locks, pulling him closer while also holding onto him for support as the kiss threatened to make you swoon. Just one kiss was all it took, the feeling of his soft stubble poking lightly against your skin and his hands now roaming down your body, toying with the straps of your dress.

As Jake pulled back from the kiss with glistening lips, it was his time to smirk.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Jake wondered in a low voice, sending shivers down your spine. It didn’t help that his breath landed on your neck, making you think about just how amazing his lips would feel on the sensitive skin. The answer to his question was quite obvious but he thought it was fun to tease you too.

“Please,” You nodded, running your fingers down his neck and then beginning to work on loosening his tie, “I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked out the house in this suit.”

“Really?” Jake acted surprised, peppering light kisses on your neck, right above your increasing pulse and inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of your perfume, “Maybe I should wear it more often. Had no clue you so into men in suits.”

“Liar,” You rolled your eyes, knowing damn well he knew what he was doing.

“Well you’re in luck, cariño,” Jake rolled one strap off your shoulder, kissing the newly exposed skin rather tenderly, “because I’ve been thinking about fucking you dumb ever since you put this dress on.”

This was the Jake you knew, being so shameless with his words yet the boldness did wonders to you. Those words went right to your core. If he kept talking to you like that as his lips were on a journey to touch every inch of your skin, you weren’t sure you’d be able to wait until you got home. You needed him now.

“Jake…” You whimpered his name, feeling your heart thundering in your chest. It wouldn’t be the first time you two got adventurous outside the flat but you wanted to make sure no one could accidentally see you.

Jake knew that. There was no way in hell he’d ever expose you like that, not when he knew what kinds of creeps existed out there. With a quick glance, he looked past your shoulder and in the side mirror. Now that the sun had set, it was darker outside but not dark enough to let anyone hide in the shadows. In fact, it made it clearer than before that there was a car nearby, parked sort of behind you two. That was definitely odd as your car was blocking the view, there was no sensible reason for anyone to be there.

When Jake put his hand on your thigh and sat up straight, you just knew something was wrong. The look on his face said it all. It’s like his mind shut out everything else and focused solely on the fact that you had to get away.

“What’s going on?” You tried to look behind and out the window, but Jake didn’t let you. He urged you to fasten your seat belt as he started the engine with a roar.

The people in the other car realized they had been caught. Their headlights turned on when they prepared to follow you for whatever reasons they had. It couldn’t be good. Suddenly the mood had gone from excitement to genuine fear. The kisses and butterflies had flown out the window, replaced by confusion and worry. Jake got on the road and began speeding up immediately, knowing the best option was to put distance between you and the people who had interrupted your date.

“There’s a gun in the glove box,” Jake told you with a flat tone. He tried so intently to stay neutral for your sake because he didn’t want to scare you. Jake recognized the car that was now tailing you and that plagued him. If anything happened to you now, he would never be able to forgive himself.

“A gun?” You didn’t know why you were surprised. As the initial shock disappeared, you followed the unspoken instructions and opened the glove box. Just as he had said, there was a gun there. The sight made you feel uneasy. What was happening?!

“Do you remember how to use it?” Jake wondered, needing to know that in case things got ugly.

“Are you serious right now?”

“It’s a yes or no question!” He snapped, not meaning to sound so harsh but neither of you had time for bickering. As he took a look in the rear view mirror, he saw the car coming closer and closer. Cars. There were more of them now, each car speeding toward you at a dangerous rate. Something flashed in the reflection. They had a gun too. Most likely guns.

“Yes! I remember how to shoot, Jake.”

“Good,” Jake hit the gas pedal, taking a rough turn to the right. The road was bumpy and in terrible condition, leading you down the hill. There was water surrounding it which meant that this road was the only way out of there. Either that or a swim in the cold, murky water that was quite the long fall away. Walking through the woods wasn’t an option either.

“Joder!” Jake cursed, angry at the fact he hadn’t noticed the car earlier. His mind jumped to the worst places, thinking about every possible scenario from start to finish. Every what-if was already taunting Jake. What would’ve happened if they had gone by unnoticed for longer? What did these people want from him? From you? Guilt was already creeping up to Jake, squirming underneath his skin like a worm and making him feel sick.

He should’ve been more alert. Letting his guard down for just one damn day had been foolish. Jake couldn’t believe this was happening.

You shook your head in disbelief as you stared at the empty road ahead, squeezing the gun in your hands. Although you were prepared to fight, your mind tried so desperately to distance itself from what was going on. The weapon was heavy in your soft hands. You didn’t want to use it but knew you would if someone threatened to hurt Jake. The thought of anyone wanting to hurt him made you sick, it sparked a raging fire you would never be able to tame. So you took a few deep breaths, chasing away the crippling fear that threatened to get the best of you. This was not the time to freak out.

“I'm sorry, mi vida,” Jake hadn’t meant to snap at you but the situation was stressful to say the least. Stress brought out a different side of him. Jake was a protector to the core but he wasn’t used to working like this. Jake preferred going solo against these assholes. Surprisingly gently, considering the circumstances, he reached out to grab your hand, giving you a squeeze before taking the gun away from you. That was simultaneously a relief and incredibly alarming.

“Who are they?” You wondered, trying to put the pieces together, to focus on facts instead of the terrifying and unreliable conclusions in your head. Everything happened so fast. One moment you had been all over each other and now some shady people were tailing you. Jake was holding the gun. You were awfully aware of your own breathing and it became more and more difficult to control it.

“Bad people,” Jake groaned, being vague on purpose. He was aware of the fact you weren’t doing well and it was killing him on the inside. Truly, it shattered his very soul to know you must’ve been scared out of your mind, not knowing the whats and whys. You had done nothing wrong and yet here you were, being hunted like an animal. If only he had a chance to comfort you, he would’ve. Right now though, he could only focus on getting rid of these people and driving far away from here.

As if to confirm what Jake just said, a shot echoed and the rear window shattered. It was loud and it made you flinch. In an instant, Jake pushed your head down as far as you could go, not giving those people a chance to aim at you. He’d rather catch those bullets in his arm than to have them anywhere near you.

He made sure the road ahead was clear so he didn’t have to focus on steering for the next second or two. Another gunshot was heard which came from Jake’s gun. This one was louder. It made your ears ring painfully which seemed to be the least of your worries. He had the gun pointing at the nearest car from behind his headrest, forcing the ‘bad people’ to dodge too. Jake pulled the trigger again, successfully breaking the windshield and disarming the man in the passenger seat. His bullet seemed to have gone right through his shoulder.

After firing behind a few more times, Jake had successfully gotten rid of one of the cars. It lost its steering and ended up spinning around on the road and disappearing into the rear view. Before you knew it, it was far out of sight.

This was getting nasty.

Another round of shots forced Jake to dodge, giving him a chance to look at the road and make sure nothing was in your way and that you weren’t driving into a ditch. He had been in car chases and shootouts many times before but never like this, never with your life on the line.

Jake had Khonshu’s protection, you didn’t.

“Jake, let me help!” You were fighting your tears, hating how useless you felt.

“Please.”

He opened his mouth to protest, thinking there was no reason to make you do anything unless it was absolutely necessary but when he saw your determined expression, Jake couldn’t just say no. The situation was dire. Focusing on the road ahead while dodging bullets and shooting at people when you were right there was too risky. There was a reason they all had trained you to fight. It was now or never.

“Aim at the tires,” Jake instructed you as he handed you the gun, trusting you. He had to. He wanted you to aim at the tires instead of the driver because he knew taking a life wasn’t easy. Jake didn’t wish that burden upon you.

With a deep breath, you pointed the deadly weapon at the enemy, struggling to see properly through the thousands of cracks and holes in the window of the nearest car that tailed you. As well as you possibly could, you tried to control the tremble in your hands.

Focus...focus!

Before you got a chance to comprehend what was really happening, something hit the side of the car completely out of the blue and it hit you hard. The impact steered you off road instantly despite Jake hitting the brakes so hard that they screetched. Everything became a haze and you lost your sense of balance, dropping the gun in the process. Whether you were upside down or sideways, you had no way of telling. Thud after thud, it became harder to even guess. Hell, it was so sudden you didn’t even get a chance to comprehend what was really going on.

The last thing you picked up before hitting your head against the side of the car was Jake’s voice. He yelled out your name with panic and fear in his voice you had never heard before. It completely broke your heart.

“Wake up, you idiot!”

What the hell?

“You need to get out of the car, Lockley. You’ve got no time to waste.”

Followed by Khonshu's echoing words, Jake felt the brutal sting of the cold that had enveloped his entire body. His eyes opened up wide in surprise and fear. Not only was it cold to the point it felt like his muscles were burning, it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything at all. How long had he been out?

Water was rising rapidly, pouring into the car from bullet holes and rising up Jake’s legs. It had already reached his waist, soaking his clothes and threatening to take the rest of him too. Jake didn’t fear for himself, he found himself worrying over someone else entirely.

You

Were you okay?

“Y/N!”

Jake snapped his head instinctively to his side and reached out to make sure you were there. After blinking a few times while trying not to freak out, he managed to find the light switch on the ceiling of the car. Miraculously, the lights still worked but they were already flickering. They revealed the murky water that was pulling the vehicle deeper and deeper below the surface, with no promise of ending any time soon. It seemed like an endless abyss.

Then Jake saw blood. Crimson had painted your skin and hair, dripping into the water below and washing away into the vast sea. There was a wound on the side of your head that made Jake feel ill. If the water hadn’t frozen his body by now, the sight certainly did. It’s like his heart stopped for a moment when he realized how hopeless this situation seemed. Jake couldn’t believe he had failed to protect you.

You were unconscious, the seat belt being the only thing keeping you from hunching over into the icy pool below your waist. There was a notable dent in the side of the car, the metal compressed together like a crushed soda can. Whether your legs had wiggle room or not, Jake couldn’t tell. Judging by all the blood, the answer was more gruesome than he wished for it to be.

Jake summoned his suit, feeling how the material wrapped around his body and offered some shield from the biting, frosty water. Without wasting any more time, he ripped his seat belt off with ease thanks to his powers. They really came in handy now as the water pressure had trapped you like bugs in a jar. The belt snapped in half loudly and caused Jake to stumble to the side a little bit. He didn’t know if he was injured or not - it didn’t matter. Jake felt the water rising past his waist and chest, ever so surely making the air bubble smaller and smaller.

Khonshu hadn't been lying when he said there was no time to waste.

“Come on…” Jake groaned through gritted teeth, kicking the already smashed dashboard in order to free your body from the trap the crash had created. His movements were slower than he wanted them to be underwater. Either way, the car bent due to the force, freeing your legs. The damage caused more water to flood inside. It splashed around as he searched for your seat belt, hardly feeling his hands at this point. As he eventually found it, he yanked it out of the lock with a snap and caught your body that slumped forward as the belt no longer secured you.

"I've got you," Jake didn't know if you could hear him but he needed to believe you could. It made him feel less lonely.

Jake’s body was trembling uncontrollably, his teeth beginning to chatter as his breaths became forced and sharp. Despite all that, he managed to pull you toward him, guiding your legs up from the leg room and praying to whoever heard him that you weren’t in too much pain. To his horror, he didn’t feel your body heat. Your skin was ice cold - it must’ve been normal under these circumstances. Jake refused to believe there was any other explanation.

In the poor lighting the car offered, Jake could see that his breath was foggy. However, it was more than just alarming when he realized you weren’t breathing at all. Your eyelashes rested against your bloody cheeks and you looked like you were sleeping. Why weren’t you breathing?!

“Amor,” Jake hoped to catch your attention, that somehow you would reply to him and open those pretty eyes of yours. Oh what he would give to see you looking back at him.

Jake needed to drag you out of there and get you the help you needed. That’s exactly what he was going to do. If doctors couldn’t help you then Khonshu had to. If not, Jake would make that old bird regret it for the rest of his goddamn days.

When he didn’t get a response from you and you looked like that, so tranquil and relaxed as death crept around the corner, the entire world around him shattered. There was no way he’d give up on you this easily but Jake had seen enough bodies in his lifetime to see the striking resemblance.

“No, no, no,” Jake had never felt this way before. This hopeless and terrified, like a child in a room full of corpses. It was like hell had frozen over. Everything about this situation was obscure and so fucking unfair. This was not how it would end! Not like this… Jake couldn’t let that happen. You had so much to live for, so many things yet to see and do. He would give his life if it meant you got to keep yours.

If Marc and Steven had been co-conscious and speaking all this time, Jake didn’t notice until now. He was holding you as Steven’s voice broke the silence, carrying above the sound of water filling the space nearly to the brim. At the very same time, the lights gave out, abandoning you all in a void. That made the bone-reaching coldness all the more brutal as it was overwhelmingly the only thing Jake could really feel. Adrenaline was coursing through his body but even that couldn’t block out the chilling temperature.

“Jake, you’ve got to get us out of here! Now!” Steven was frightened, feeling the panic growing stronger by the second. His sense of survival was stronger and so he urged Jake to do something - anything that would ensure you’d live to see another day.

“Ya lo sé!” Jake wasn’t angry, at least not with Steven. He was just frustrated because of the pressure he was under. He knew he had to get out of there and having his alter freaking out too wasn’t really helping.

“Oh my god, why isn’t she breathing? Jake?! Jake…”

Marc couldn’t even speak. There were no words that did justice to how he felt as memories of his past flooded him and merged with the present. He had caught a glimpse of you slack and boneless in Jake’s arms as water surrounded you all the way up to your shoulders, rising up and up.

Steven’s voice faded into the background as Jake got into action. It’s like he spaced out and worked on autopilot. He had one mission and that was to get you out of there alive. Nothing else mattered.

How cruel was it that fate threatened to put you through the same torture as it had put Randall through? At that very moment, Marc was convinced his existence was cursed.

Jake needed to stop ‘fate’ before it was too late. It better not dare take you now. This was not your time!

He pulled you as close to him as he possibly could, making sure his grip was secure because he knew that the moment you’d plunge out of the car, he couldn’t risk losing you. Not when it was so dark. Not when you weren’t even breathing on your own! One wrong move and he feared he’d lose you forever. That was simply not an option.

With one last, deep breath, Jake pushed your face into his suit as if to shield your face from the water and then he kicked as hard as he could. It took a couple of tries but eventually, he kicked off the entire door, which disappeared into the shadows instantly. The air bubble was lost as water surged into the car, rushing in so fast it forced Jake to hold onto you even tighter. Finally, he made it out of the car, using his powers to move up instead of sinking to the bottom like the car did. It was probably going to stay down there for a while.

The only way to tell which was up was by blowing out air and following the direction of the bubbles. In the pitch-darkness, he relied on his other senses, feeling the bubbles moving up his face. Jake felt disorientated and dizzy, but he trusted his senses as he surged through the water and hoped it was toward the surface.

Then, at last, he began to see something again. Distant lights were guiding him in the right direction. Street lamps and city lights from far, far away. Jake reached the surface of the water and immediately sucked in another deep breath, relieved as his lungs expanded with air instead of water. As he breathed in and out a few times, he tasted mud and blood on his tongue.

He soared above the surface with you limp in his arms. The cape was drenched, weighing heavy on Jake’s shoulders. It was the first thing to reach the ground, instantly followed by his boots. As he felt secure on the ground, Jake examined his surroundings through narrowed eyes, not daring to let go of you until he knew it was safe. The shore consisted mainly of countless of rocks and dirt. There was a steep hill that lead up to the road. Right now, that offered you some shelter. Jake couldn’t see any of the cars that had been chasing you. They must’ve assumed you wouldn’t make it out of there alive.

As much as Jake wanted to go and find them, anger boiling in his veins as he thought about what they had done, he stayed put. Vengeance could wait. You couldn’t. He lowered you on your back ever so carefully and knelt by your side, the black and white cape pooling around you two. Jake made sure your head was positioned in a way that wouldn't cause further damage to the gnarly wound. Under the faint, blue glow of the moon, Jake made out your relaxed expression. That scared him beyond comprehension.

Not only that, the dress you wore did little to hide the damage the crash had caused. Cuts and bruises were scattered across your body but seeing your legs out of the water for the first time really showed how bad it was. It didn’t take a doctor to know something was broken. Jake saw the bright, red blood that gushed out of a deep wound on your thigh. After all this time, it was still pumping out blood at an alarming rate.

He cursed as he ripped his cape, not giving a damn what Khonshu thought of it as he used the material to stop the bleeding. Not that it mattered anyway, as the material reappeared out of thin air. Jake secured it around your leg as tightly as he could, hating that he had to use this kind of force on you although he knew it was for the best. If he didn’t stop the bleeding, you’d bleed out. That was much worse.

As he was done with stopping the bleeding, Jake parted his quivering lips as if to say something but nothing came out. Jake brushed your wet hair to the side, gently caressing your face in doing so and then he tried to feel your breath with the back of his hand.

Still nothing.

It only took a moment and he had pulled your head back gently to open your airways as his hands pressed together above your heart. Then without hesitating, he started to push down in a steady rhythm. Everyone always said to give chest compressions in the rhythm of a few certain songs but when the moment arrived, that was the last thing one could think about. Jake relied on Steven's help to merely count the compressions. The black and white fabric vanished from around his head so it wasn’t in the way.

An unfamiliar sting blurred Jake's vision as he tried to resuscitate you. The longer he knelt by your side, pushing your ribcage down in a way that felt way too rough, the more he dreaded the outcome. Why were you still not breathing?! He bent down to meet your lips, pinching your nose shut as he tried his best to breathe air into your lungs as steady as he possibly could. It was difficult to think that only moments before he had kissed your lips, not knowing it could’ve potentially been the very last time.

Jake pulled back, shoved his dark thoughts away and used all his strength to focus on the compressions. This was repeated again. Again. And again...

"Por favor!" Jake cried out like never before, begging for you to be okay. You had to be okay!

Truth be told, Jake began to lose focus. He never lost focus on missions. This was different. When he was faced with the chance of losing you, it shook him right to the core. The very foundation he had built with you, the safety net of knowing you were there was now threatening to slip through his fingers. Dread was making Jake feel sick to his stomach. Nothing he was doing seemed to help and that was the single most haunting realization of his life.

Jake had failed to protect you.

"Abre los ojos, mi amor. Por favor," he pleaded with raw desperation in his voice. Had Jake's enemies seen him now, they would've thought he was a man possessed. His brows furrowed in a sorrowful manner, deep brown eyes filling with tears. Jake Lockley was crying for you. His tough and cool demeanour was nowhere to be seen. How could he possibly keep a grip on himself in a moment like this? Even Jake was just a man who loved with his entire heart.

"Breathe for me. Just breathe." That’s all he asked for. He was sorry but he didn’t ask for forgiveness. Only for you to breathe.

“Lo siento mucho,” numerous apologizes slipped past his quivering lips. Could you even hear him? Did you know how sorry he was for this?

Then it happened. Seemingly out of the blue, your eyes opened as a coughing fit forced you to turn to the side. Jake pulled his hands back from your chest and looked at you in shock. Although, as he heard the struggle in your breath, he instantly rushed to your aid. Jake rubbed your back and encouraged you to let it all out and then fill up those lungs. The coughing fit came to a halt and you were taking in deep and shaky breaths. They revealed that you were in pain but god was it a relief to know you were alive.

It was a miracle if Jake had ever seen one.

Whatever hope and joy he had felt for only a moment was quickly wiped away when he heard the pain in your voice.

“Jake!” You sobbed his name, hands trying to reach your thigh where the shooting pain came from but he stopped you. Tears welled up in your eyes instantly. Everything hurt in a way you had never felt before. You wanted it to stop.

“You’re okay. You’ll be fine, I promise,” Jake gave you his word but that was hard to believe when you writhed on the rocks in pure agony. His words went in one ear and out the other. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t find comfort in them. Not when it felt like every cell in your body had been torn apart.

“It hurts!” Those two words absolutely shattered Jake’s heart.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Jake didn’t know what else to say. Words couldn’t heal you magically, could they? So what was the point? Knowing that you were in any kind of pain was just awful, truly awful. He wished he had the ability to take it all away in the blink of an eye. Somehow, he needed to take you to the nearest hospital but he was terrified of touching you and hurting you furthermore.

In a state of panic, you tried to sit up so you could see what was causing you so much pain, but moving your body was almost impossible. When you tried lift your head from the ground, a sharp sting in your neck forced you to stop. Flashes of what happened came to you, reminding you of the car chase. Where were the others now? Had Jake dealt with them? Or were they out there, waiting for an opportunity to strike again?

“What h-happened?” You wondered as hot tears rolled down your face. God it was cold. You didn’t notice until now how badly you were shivering. Even Jake was cold, his hands not warming up yours like they used to. Even in the state of shock you were in, you realized you were both soaking wet.

Jake didn’t know what to say or do. He just wanted to get you somewhere safe where people could help you. But how? The car was in the bottom on the sea and he had no idea if it was safe to move you. Did you have whiplash? Inner bleedings? Would lifting you make it worse? How could he call for help when you didn’t have phones and the nearest house was probably miles away.

A gush of wind went right to Jake’s bones, making him shiver because of how cold it was but it also revealed that Khonshu was standing right behind him. He didn’t even have to look to know the god was looming over his shoulder. If not to help then Jake didn’t care. He had no patience for Khonshu’s games now.

“I suggest you get up. You’ve got company,” Khonshu warned Jake in a calm and collected way. The god’s words changed Jake’s demeanour. The people who had put you through so much already came back and it was the worst mistake those people had ever made. The spiraling panic and fear were wiped to the side as Jake nodded, acknowledging Khonshu’s warning.

There was no way in hell he would let them hurt you again.

As Jake heard an engine roaring nearby, coming closer and closer, he knew he had to protect you no matter what the cost. He looked down at you, silently apologizing for what he had to do. Even when he did it to make sure you were safe, he felt incredibly guilty for having to leave your side. Just a second was enough to make him feel rotten deep down to the core.

“Everything will be alright,” Jake bent down to your face level, looking you right in the eye as he spoke, “I promise.”

You heard the car as well which filled your every vein with terror. So you hadn’t managed to escape from them after all.

“Be careful,” You could hardly get the two words past your bloodied lips. You knew he was going to face them, there was no doubt about it. You had to trust he would come back for you.

He placed the softest kiss on your forehead, refusing to speak of the thoughts that tormented him. A kiss would have to do. It would have to express how sorry he was. It had to express his promise that he’d come back to you. That soon you wouldn’t feel all that pain anymore.

Then he got up, summoned the hood and the mask so he was fully suited and he got up the hill before the bad guys could come down and find you. If they did, Jake had zero doubt they would aim for you instead of him.

When Jake saw a familiar car parked on the other side of the road, he saw red.

The driver looked scared out of his mind when he faced Jake in his ceremonial armor, much darker than Marc’s, much more intimidating than Steven’s. His cape was now flowing in the wind and his eyes were glowing, glaring daggers into the man’s head. Jake looked furious even when the dark fabric covered his face. Rage was radiating off of him and the driver must’ve realized his mistake; coming after you again.

The driver pointed his gun at Jake and pulled the trigger. Twice. Three times. Then he stopped because the bullets seemed to do nothing to Jake. He kept walking toward the car with only one goal in mind - to defeat the enemy.

“Stop!” The terrified man yelled, trying to intimidate Jake Lockley. He needed a lot of luck if he wanted to succeed in that.

“Don’t come closer!”

Jake noticed another man in the passenger seat. He was already dead, presumably from the bullets that flew their way during the car chase. The driver would join his friend soon. Wherever they went to after this life.

As Jake reached the man, he tried to open the car door and use that to push Jake. Worth a shot, but Jake saw it coming so he slammed the door shut and trapped the man inside. The window was already rolled down so it made it easy for Jake to reach into the car and wrap his hand around the man’s neck. There wasn’t a single part of Jake that felt bad for crushing that man’s windpipe. There were worse things he could do but he didn’t have time. Oh if it was up to Jake, he’d rip his fucking spine out of his back. This was merciful when compared to what Jake would’ve done if you weren’t currently bleeding out on the rocks.

In a last, desperate attempt to come out of this alive, the man pointed the damn gun at Jake’s head. In just a split second, Jake used his other hand to grab the barrel of the gun. His grip was so tight that the solid metal barrel bent under his touch, forcing the bullet to get stuck somewhere in there. Now it was rendered useless and Jake didn’t hesitate to throw it out on the road, smashing it into bits and pieces in doing so.

“No debiste ni mirarla,” Jake made sure that the last thing this poor excuse of a man ever did was regret coming after you. He would have to die realizing the cost of that one mistake.

The man let out a silent scream or plea - it didn’t matter. His nails dug into Jake’s suit, trying to claw his way free from the deadly grip but to no avail. In fact, it just made Jake squeeze harder, pushing the man’s head into the seat because of the sheer force he was using.

As Jake stood there with his arm inside the vehicle, he looked around the empty road and deep into the dark woods. The silence was ominous. The loneliness a reminder of the fact no one was going to help you. Clouds swirled around the moon in the ever darkening sky. It was the only witness to this man’s early demise.

No one else had been stupid enough to follow you there.

Seeing you in that hospital bed was the worst thing Jake had ever seen in his entire life.

Hooked up to all these machines with needles and tubes sticking into you to the point he could hardly see your beautiful face. Instead of hearing the soft sounds of your relaced breaths, he was forced to listen to the beeping of a heart monitor and the low buzz of all the other machines that did things Jake didn’t even know about. That repeating beep was tantalizing.

But it was also a sign that you were alright. In a way, the worst sight he had ever seen was also a relief. You had gotten the help you needed and were now on the path of getting better. There was no place he’d rather be with you now than this hospital, surrounded by skilled experts who could rush in without wasting any time if you needed help.

Getting to the hospital felt like such a distant memory now. Jake had thrown the bodies out of the car and used it to get you from the middle of nowhere to the nearest hospital. Despite the fact that driving was the reason you had gotten hurt in the first place, Jake drove again without hesitation. What were the odds of getting into another accident right after the first one, right?

He barely remembered what he had said when you reached the building. Nurses and guards had swarmed you, taking you away from Jake because they knew you needed urgent care. Letting them roll you away from him had been difficult to do. Jake was so scared someone would try to hurt you again. Trusting strangers with your life, even when they dedicated their lives in helping others, was incredibly difficult. By the time he realized the security guards were refusing him to follow you any further, Jake stopped.

You were getting the help you needed. There was nothing more he could do. Knowing that your fate was out of his control was scary. Jake had to trust these people to give you the care you needed and deserved. He didn’t trust easily.

Jake learned that they were performing emergency surgery on you when a doctor had walked up to him and asked all sorts of questions. The police had arrived too. Everything had been a bloody mess, as Steven would’ve said.

Hours later, it was all over. The questioning, the nauseating feeling of having to wait for you to get out of surgery. Just to hear that everything went well. Jake needed to know you’d make a full recovery. It took some convincing to do but finally, he was by your side in a hospital room and Jake wasn’t going anywhere.

What if more of those guys decided to find you? What if they found out where you were staying? Would they kill you if Jake left you alone for even a moment?

That was a risk he refused to take. He would rather sit on the uncomfortable plastic chair by your bedside and hold your hand all night long. Was it night or was it morning? Jake had no clue.

“Mate,” Steven’s careful voice snapped Jake out of the bubble of thoughts he had been in. He raised his gaze from your sleeping face to meet Steven’s in the reflection in the small mirror on the wall right above the sink. He looked worried sick. Worried about you and Jake.

“What?” Jake was beyond exhausted. His eyelids were heavy and he didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. He had done enough talking with doctors and police who had the audacity to suspect that Jake had hurt you. The fucking nerve of some people.

“You should go home-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jake didn’t even let Steven finish that sentence. By shooting another glance at the mirror, Jake realized Marc was still not there. Great. Just great.

“Look at yourself!” Steven put his foot down, trying so hard to look after everyone. “You’re covered in blood and dirt. Do you think that she’ll be relieved to wake up to that?”

Jake clenched his jaw and ignored his alter. He hated to admit that Steven had a point. Then again, he didn’t want to leave your side. Not even when he had dry blood on his face and hair and he could smell it on his torn up shirt. His dark locks were disheveled.

The nurses and doctors who walked in to check on you from time to time must’ve thought Jake looked terrifying. One of the nurses had even offered him a chance to shower at the hospital, seemingly out of pity but Jake had refused. She even let him know when the hospital cafe opened if he needed anything from there.

“She’ll be fine, Jake. She has all the help she needs right here. Just go home, take care of yourself and come back after.”

A shower sounded nice, it really did. Also food wouldn’t hurt. It felt like forever ago when you and Jake had eaten the fast food on your date. It had only been less than a day but had someone told Jake weeks had passed, he would’ve almost believed them.

“I can’t,” Jake sighed eventually, his shoulders slumping down as he leaned against your hospital bed. He studied your face and brought his still trembling fingers to your cheek, ever so carefully caressing your soft skin just below the tubing of the nasal cannula. Were you dreaming? If so, Jake hoped you had the sweetest dreams. Perhaps the medication caused you to dream of nothing at all. Maybe it was for the best. He knew you needed the rest.

Steven didn’t want to leave your side either, no. But he also knew that Jake wasn’t able to help you when he was in that state. A shower and some food, maybe even a nap would do wonders. Besides, Steven knew you’d be safe here. The hospital security had definitely noticed that something odd was going on here. They had been patrolling the corridor ever since you had been wheeled into the room after surgery. If anyone tried to come visit you that wasn’t Jake or family, they would be stopped.

Steven fronted now, sensing that Jake just didn’t have it in him to fight. Part of Jake wanted to let someone else front, to give up control for a while. So when Steven was in control, he wasn’t really surprised that Jake didn’t even argue with him. It was better this way.

“Oh, love,” Steven felt a pang in his chest as he felt everything so much more vividly. The smell of the hand sanitizer that was a distinct smell all over the hospital. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, feel how the thin hospital blanket felt like against his skin. Despite Khonshu’s healing, it felt like Steven had gone through hell. If he felt this way, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going through. Steven was afraid to touch you but he fought that fear as he placed his hand above yours. It didn’t take long for him to feel the tears in the corners of his eyes.

How could anyone in their right mind ever wish to hurt you? Steven couldn’t understand that. He just couldn’t.

“I’ll be right back, yeah?” Steven tried to smile. He pressed a feather-light kiss on the roof of your hand, relieved when he realized your skin was warm. That alone was a good sign.

“I’ll bring you something from the flat. I promise it won’t take long,” Steven gave you his word as he stood up, taking in the sight of you resting in a hospital bed. That one would haunt his nightmares and memories for a long time.

But he had to go. Steven knew you would stay here for a while so he already planned on bringing you things that would make you feel closer to home. Should he bring a book so he could read to you? Perhaps your own clothes would make you feel more comfortable than the ones provided by the hospital. Surely no one would mind if he brought your favourite movies. It’s not like the hospital TV had Netflix on it. He’d figure something out.

Steven had been right. Jake was too stubborn to tell him though. He felt much better in clean clothes and without blood all over him. Some of it had been your blood, which only made it worse. He had even packed a bag full of clothes and other things he figured you would need on your stay.

Just as promised, you were alright when they came back. Steven hadn’t taken a nap at the flat because he too wanted to waste no time. There was a need to take care of you and that need told him to make sure you wouldn’t wake up alone. Steven had just made it back to the plastic chair. The moment he sat down and knew you were okay, he fell asleep right by your side, his hand never letting go of yours.

Jake was fronting when you woke up. His eyes snapped open as he watched you take in your surroundings. The relief on your face when you saw him was visible. Seeing him made you feel safe.

It was obvious you were in a hospital although you didn’t remember getting there. Not that it mattered. You felt an odd sense of joy when you realized Jake was holding your hand. Perhaps you just felt odd in general. You swore your vision was hazy, almost dream like. Focusing on something was near impossible. There was something on your face that felt uncomfortable and you tried to pull it off. Jake grabbed your other wrist ever so carefully to stop you.

“I can’t let you do that, amor. It helps you breathe,” He explained and then let go of you, knowing you wouldn’t try that again.

“...you…mkay?” You mumbled tiredly, frustrated as your body didn’t co-operate with your mind. Moving your lips when they felt numb was strange. Just finding your voice proved to be hard. Must’ve been the morphine. All you wanted was to know Jake was alright.

Jake knew what you were trying to ask and it made his heart tighten in his chest. After everything you had been through you worried about him. Jake felt undeserving of your pure love and concern. If it wasn’t for him and the entire ordeal with Khonshu, you wouldn’t be hospitalized in the first place!

“I’m okay,” He let you know.

That made you smile droopily, your lips curving slightly more to the left side than the right. At least the drugs were working.

“I’m gonna go get a doc, alright?”

You squeezed Jake’s hand weakly before he could get up. Just for a moment longer, you wanted to be like this. You knew that when the doctor would walk in, reality would crash over you. Honestly, it was terrifying. You didn’t want to hear the awful news they most certainly had nor were you interested in knowing how long you had to be there. For just a brief moment longer, you wanted to be with Jake and tell yourself everything was perfectly fine. Granted, the dull ache in your body told another story.

“Not yet,” You muttered, tilting your head to the side and forcing your body to relax against the stacked pillows. Fear and anxiety were beginning to torment you, whispering terrible things to the part of your brain that wondered what would happen next. That brought tears to your eyes without you even realizing it.

“Okay,” Jake wasn’t going to argue with you. He suspected there was a reason for this request. “I’m not going anywhere yet.”

After he confirmed that, you nodded as if to let the words sink in. In a moment of clarity, you looked down your body that was covered in blankets. You tried to move your legs cautiously, remembering the pain from before. When you felt how restricted your movements were, Jake closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. He knew something you didn’t. His reaction caused your anxiety to spike.

If something was wrong with you, you wanted to hear it from him instead of a doctor who didn’t know you or care about you. Not personally, at least.

“Baby,” You swallowed the lump in your throat, “how bad is it?”

Of course, you asked that. Jake would’ve been a fool if he believed you wouldn’t. This was your life and your body you were talking about.

“They said you’ll make a full recovery,” Jake started with that, failing to meet your eye as he continued, “but it will take some time.”

“And the…the people who did this?” That question didn’t need any clarification.

“They won’t bother you ever again,” Jake hadn’t taken all of them out but he would stop at nothing to make sure vengeance was delivered upon each and every one of them.

“I promise.”

“Okay,” You believed him. That didn’t make it hurt any less. Without even seeing most of your body and with strong medications concealing the true amount of pain you were in, you knew it was going to be a long time before this could be put in the past.

That made you feel defeated in so many ways.

Would they stick by your side through it all? Or would this scare all of them away from you forever?

Jake saw the tears rolling down your face, glistening in the corners of your eyes as you held your breath in order to keep your sobs and whimpers to yourself. He had never seen such a miserable expression on your face and neither did he want to. If someone had a time machine, he would steal it if that would undo what had already happened. Jake would do anything to make sure you’d never have to feel this way.

“Oh, mi amor,” he didn’t hesitate to move from the chair to the edge of the hospital bed, being incredibly cautious as to avoid hurting you as he wrapped you in his arms. When Jake pulled you close to his chest and you felt his tender embrace, it was impossible to keep the cries at bay any longer.

Jake swayed from side to side ever so softly as you clung onto his shirt and let it all out in violent sobs. At the worst of it, you couldn’t even bring yourself to speak. Jake was quiet too, knowing that no words could fix this. He offered to hold you in his loving arms as you let the pain out.

Eventually, your cries calmed down but neither of you let go of each other. Jake felt your chest rising as you took in shaky breaths, working so hard just to steady them. You wondered if he knew that his cologne was calming you down. It was constant, something that reminded you of good things. It reminded you of home. You wanted nothing more than to go home but you knew you couldn’t. Not like this.

As Jake held you, his eyes peered out through the blinds. The window gave him a view of the hospital parking lot. Cars were driving in and out, struggling to find a parking spot and others struggling to navigate their way through the concrete mess. Somewhere out there, near or far in the distance, were the rest of the people who stood behind this. Living their lives and going on about their days with far less damage. Perhaps they were trying to come up with a new master plan to catch Khonshu’s avatar. To destroy him by hurting the one thing they truly loved.

Jake was heartbroken but if anyone saw his expression, they would see a man full of rage. He shot death glares out the window, only thinking about what he’d do once he found them. It wouldn’t be pretty. He wouldn’t have to go after them alone, no. Steven and Marc would be there too.

A/N: Should I write a part 2? If you enjoyed it pls let me know. The next part would be more focused on hurt/comfort and recovery. Maybe even smut, who knows 👀

#Jake Lockley fanfiction #Jake Lockley x you #Jake Lockley x Reader #Jake Lockley x Y/N #Jake Lockley/You #Jake Lockley/reader #Jake Lockley x fem!Reader #Jake Lockley angst #angst #whump #Moon Knight fanfiction #Moon Knight x fem!Reader #MK system x reader

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asimplearchivist · 4 months

Text

"𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓽?"

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you and the boys have a set of rules. jake doesn’t like it when you break them. pairing(s) ☽ jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 2.3k a/n ☽ ⤏ my first entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events ! I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters! this takes place post-chapter iii. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

You froze midstep, a loaded fork raised halfway to your gaping mouth as your rounded eyes darted over to Jake’s silhouette darkening the doorway, the fluorescent hallway lights accentuating the diaphanous material of his prized silk pajama top hanging from the topography of your form.

His question went unheard, and thus unanswered. The headphones covering your ears—set on the noise canceling feature, he knew all too well—had disguised the noisy, fumbling jangle of their keyring, the rasp of the tarnished key inserted into the jammy slot, and the rattle of the unyielding knob as he’d worked his way inside.

You had broken not one—not two—but three rules that they had long since established when you’d moved in with them for—primarily—the ease of travel and the ever-steepening cost of rent. Secondarily, of course, came the benefits of having an additional person to help maintain the neglected residence—chores and errands were remarkably less daunting now with one more pair of hands to fulfill the monotonous tasks involved. Tertiarily…well, waking up to the sight of you in their bed most mornings certainly had its perks, and it made them feel better knowing you were that much safer than living halfway across the city all alone.

Which was exactly why the rules had been established in the first place.

Marc had started them, of course—it should come as little surprise, that. He’d been transparent with you about the nature of his past, although he did omit the more gruesome details, and had made you aware of the fact that he was a wanted man. Thus the very first rule had been set in place—should anything dangerous ever happen involving his past mercenary work, you were to get to safety and wait until he came to you. Stay in public, stay in sight of cameras and civilians, stay away from the action. Of course you’d broken that the first time such a situation had cropped up and had gone directly south, but…that was neither here nor there, at this point. Fortunately, the incident had yet to have been repeated, and you were far better prepared now that he had taken the time to train you on protocol. He’d since made many more.

Steven added domestic ones over time—cutesy and saccharine in contrast to the first—and he invited you to, as well. They mostly revolved around your shared daily lives to set up a stable routine in the midst of your sometimes busy, stressful, and fast-paced lives, although there were a few errant ones sprinkled in that were odd by comparison. He’d eventually sat down and typed them up to print them out and pin them to the fridge, mostly as a joke, but that had devolved into a chart and to-do list thanks to yours and his tendencies to organize things.

Jake’s—while few and far between—were simple, blunt, and short, and rules never with which to be trifled due to his immovable stance on them: like working on the sabbath, allowing him to be a gentleman, or binging ahead on TV series that you both were watching together.

Some were harmless, some were important for the health of the relationship, some were rooted in inside jokes or straight up ridiculous…and some were intended to make sure that harm never befell you because of them, which was why Jake was not pleased in the slightest when—under any other normal circumstance—he would be ‘chuffed’ to see you, for lack of a better word.

Firstly, you hadn’t set up all the locks like you were supposed to do while they were out and you were at home by yourself.

Secondly, you had blocked out all sounds with those headphones—he couldn’t fault you for that, he knew you got overstimulated by noise sometimes (and he even resorted to using them himself at times when the world grew just this side of too loud), but they’d requested that you not use them while they were gone just on the off-chance that someone tried to break in.

Thirdly…perhaps not as egregious a mistake as the prior two, but…you’d cooked and cleaned the kitchen, when it had been agreed upon to split the job between each of you—one person would cook, then (on rotation, in their case), the other would clean, so that preparing the complex meals their individual diets required wouldn’t be so tedious an affair.

The chagrin creasing your expression told him that you knew exactly where you’d erred.

“Hola, chaparrita,” he crooned, pursing his lips to hide the twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as you hurried over to the kitchen island to set down the bowl and to tug the headphones from your ears to hang around your neck. He could hear the music from where he stood, shutting the door behind him and rectifying your initial oversight. You fumbled your phone out of your pocket and paused the track before tucking it away once more. “Qué haces?”

“Hola, amor,” you greeted without meeting his gaze, moving over to the stove to dish up a bowl of pasta. You didn’t look up even as he approached, easing in behind you and sliding his hands around your waist to coil his arms around you. He heard you swallow as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. “How was the traffic?”

“Horrible,” he rumbled, eyes falling to the bowl in your hand, as well as the steam curling up towards his face. As delectable as it smelled, he wouldn’t be so easily distracted by food. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You’re honestly home sooner than I expected,” you confessed, voice quiet as you attempted to twist around—but he didn’t budge. “Here, it’s still warm. Steven forgot his lunch so I know you’re probably starving. Want to sit on the couch?”

“Que linda,” he chuckled, tilting his head to skim his lips along the sweep of your neck. You squirmed and shrank away with a noise of protest—the rasp of his five o'clock shadow against your sensitive skin always tickled. “Are you going to fess up or am I going to have to drag it out of you, hermosa? Hmm? Qué dices?”

You hesitated, setting the bowl to the side. It wasn’t long. You weren’t trying to make excuses. It was clear that you were perfectly privy to the implication of his low, even tone, and that you were merely ruminating on how best to soften his evident malcontent. Jake didn’t set his foot down in many matters, but when it came to his protectiveness over you…there was no winning on your end. Some might call him overbearing, but you (fortunately) found it endearing.

“Honestly?” you finally ventured, the tension in your frame dissipating as you sank back into his grasp with a blustery sigh. “I forgot.”

“You forgot the habits you’ve had for months?” he pressed, kissing the tender place below and behind your ear to feel you shiver.

“It…it’s a long story.” You craned your head back to return the gesture, bestowing one upon the arch of his wind-blistered cheek.

“Dime,” he murmured, squeezing you and pulling you more tightly against his frame. It was a miserably cold and rainy evening, and walking all the way from the parking garage on the other side of the block had made him consider moving out of England as soon as possible.

“Well, to begin,” you said tersely, though he could tell that it wasn’t directed at him—your repressed exasperation bubbled to the surface as you flicked off the burner and covered the pot with more force than you would normally, disliking making harsh sounds if you could help it, “I started in the middle of the day.”

“Marc warned you it was coming up,” he reminded you.

“I know, but my cycle is also a capricious bitch who’s more indecisive than me, so forgive me if it slipped my mind,” you returned flatly. “So I had to deal with all that during rush hour. Then a whole table came in right before closing and took up an extra thirty minutes because one of them couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted an English Breakfast or an espresso.”

“At ten o’clock,” he surmised.

“Obviously she didn’t need the sleep because she opted for a cold brew instead,” you continued, “like an absolute mad lad.”

“And then?” he prompted.

“Finally got them out of the door, locked up, headed home—then it started raining and just guess who forgot her umbrella this morning?”

“That wasn’t my fault this time,” Jake pointed out indignantly, “since mi hermanito can’t keep his hands to himself when you prance around here looking like that.”

“With baggy sweatpants and crusty eyes? Yeah, the real pinnacle of beauty, right there,” you huffed, although your fondness leaked into your tone. “So I got soaked running from the bus stop to here, dripped all over the floor, pissed off Miss Hutcherson in the process—”

“I’m sure I can smooth her feathers down for you,” he assured, reaching up to skim his fingers along the side of your head, curving around to grasp your chin gently so he could direct your eyes to meet his. “Nothing a little sweet talking can’t fix.”

“She loves you for your churros,” you groused while pouting, “and you should really stop getting involved in all the gossip in the building, it’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

“I’ve got to keep my ear to the ground, cariño; besides, it’s more entertaining than television,” he laughed quietly, muffling the sound by pressing his lips to your forehead in apology. “Did she give you a lecture?”

“On posing a falling hazard without her offering a towel so I could dry off or anything? Yeah.” You reached up and clasped your hands around the nape of his neck, delving your fingertips into his curls and succeeding in not jostling his cap. That rule, it seemed, would be one you did manage to keep tonight. “I finally got up here and had a disagreement with the doorknob—you or Marc need to oil it again, by the way—and dropped my bag trying to get everything locked up, dumped everything everywhere, got pissed off and showered after.”

Jake was doing his damndest to restrain the brunt of his amusement, but you apparently perceived the glitter of mirth in his eyes because you turned your head while rolling your eyes. “I’m glad you find my shitty day so funny.”

“It’s not funny, chaparrita,” he soothed. (It was hilarious.) “Do I need to jot all this down so we can publish the next best-selling kid’s book?”

“Oh, I’m not done yet,” you warned. “I started getting hot flashes and couldn’t get the water adjusted so I just about froze my ass off cleaning up. I nearly burned the butter and almost ran out of parmesan and the pepper grinder got stuck and…stop laughing, this is serious!”

Jake clamped his mouth shut as his eyes dropped to observe the colorful silk draped over the line of your shoulders. “Is that why you’re wearing my shirt?”

“It’s the coolest thing in the house and I sure as hell am not walking around naked since all three of you refuse to buy any decent curtains,” you griped.

“It looks better on you than it does on me, anyway,” Jake said, caressing your arm, side, and settling to grasp your hip. “You know where it would look the best, though?”

“Ha ha,” you scoffed. “Good luck on that front, jefe. We’re not adding having to wash murder-scene sheets to everything else I’ve dealt with today.”

“That all explains why you forgot to lock the door,” he digressed, “but what about these?” He tapped the headphones resting against your clavicle. “Don’t like you not being able to listen for the door.”

“The neighbors made up,” you deadpanned. “I’m lucky there was any hot water left.”

“Ah.” He nodded, acquiescing on that front, at least. “Already? They only lasted two days this time. She really ought to have higher standards.”

“Jake,” you groaned, “I don’t want to hear about her sordid trysts again. Especially after she hit on you on a rebound to get back at her ex…or whatever the hell he’s classified as now.”

“Fine,” he grinned. “...I take it that you did the dishes to distract yourself?”

“The only thing louder than them was the screaming inside my head, so…yeah.”

“Lamento que hayas tenido un día tan malo, mi vida,” he said softly, tugging you into the crook of his arm so your head rested against his shoulder. He cupped your cheek and kissed you properly this time, humming in satisfaction as he felt you relax fully. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you returned. “I’m sorry I forgot the other stuff. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. Just try to remember next time.” He bopped the end of your nose with his finger, smirking as you went cross-eyed for just a moment before you frowned. “I’d rather not have anything other than a series of mildly inconvenient events happen to you.”

“If this happens again anytime soon, I’m holing myself up in bed and hibernating,” you grumbled. “Everything else be damned.”

“And I’ll wait on you hand and foot until the world is deemed fit enough for you to light upon its unworthy surface once more,” he purred. “But for now I’ll kiss it better, yes?”

That did the trick—as his flirtations usually did.

You glanced away, flustered, but allowed him to herd you over to the couch, bowls in hand, and settled you under a blanket to keep your bare feet warm, despite your claims not to need it.

“Just indulge me. At this rate you’ll get hypothermia or frostbite,” he quipped, “and I don’t really feel like digging frozen toes out from between the cushions after the idiocy I witnessed on the road tonight.”

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