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heartthrobin · 10 months

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my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit.

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length.

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights.

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

comment and repost <3 mwah!

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cherllyio · 1 month

Note

You’re scenarios for parent Pigsy were really fun 🤩

If you take requests could you make something similar for ShadowJadePeach (Macaque, Wukong, and Nüwa) being parents (or at least awkward step-parent in Macaque’s case) to MK (and maybe Bai He (LBD’s host)).

Please 🙏😊

I would love to! Lets go!

Macaque, Wukong, and Nuwa trying to be parents to MK( plus Bai He)

List:

Macaque and Wukong deal with all their issues, while trying to MK from going Apeshit.

Nuwa thinks she understand humans, because she made them, she doesent

"Nuwa, Wukong and Macaque babysitting Bai He and MK"

MK meets Nuwa for the first time.

The scenarios are mostly silly little stories of them trying to be good parental figures or scenarios that could possibly happen in season 5.

But the last one...

Its a bit diffrent :)

Also, if anyone wanna draw or use any of the scenarios in any way, im completly happy with that! Just tag me, so i can reblog it and love it forever :)

Scenario 1: "Macaque and Wukong deal with all their issues, while trying to stop MK from going Apeshit"

This is acutally something, i think, could happen in the show.

So, Macaque and Wukong are trying to deal with all their past issues(which there is a lot of). And tts not going great though, and they end up having an argument again.

Suddenly MK steps into the room. He is really struggling with all the "mystic monkey busniess" going on in his life, so he thinks talking with the "mystic monkeys" would help.

Problem is, Wukong and Macaque are too mad eachother to do anthing to help, other than making it worse soooo. MK just leaves, now having it even worse with his "monkey fate", since earlier he had a small fight with Mei. Nothing big, but with Macaque and Wukong fighting, and them being an awfully lot like him and Mei, he is starting to get scared that they will end up like them. And that he will end up hurting Mei.

So in the middle of MK having this chrisis, a sort of Steven Universe future panic(if you know the refernce), Wukong and Macaque finally come to their senses and reailise something very important. To help MK, they have to understand what went wrong with them, so MK and Mei dont end up on the same road.

And in that way, we get the "Macaque and Wukong backstory" :D

Scenario 2: " Nuwa thinks she understand humans, because she made them, she doesent"

One day, MK goes to pick up Bai He from school(big brother and little sister vibes). Sadly it starts raining(a lot), so they cant get home. (Kinda like this scene from my neighbor Tortoro).

Nuwa sees this and picks them up, where she is then thanked and told that they quickly have to get Bai He home, before her parents get too worried.

But instead of just driving a little bit faster Nuwa goes almost full GOD MODE, and drives faster than fucking Wukong on his cloud. They almost drive several people over, several cars crash into eachother because of it, and a lot of people have gained new trauma because of it.

The kids are screaming, yet Nuwa just interepts this as to go FASTER.

They make it to Bai He's home, safe and sound, but lets just say that MK and Bai He are just gonna wait next time it rains that much.

(The reason MK didnt use his staff? He forgot)

Scenario 3: "Nuwa, Wukong and Macaque babysitting Bai He and MK"

Pigsy was supposed to take care of Bai He, because her parents were doing something that day, but something came up. And MK cant do it, because he accdently broke one of his legs, and Pigsy doesent wanna push him too much because of it.

And since neither Mei, Tang, Sandy or any resbonibly adult he knows, can help, he calls Nuwa, Wukong and Macaque.

The little trio sees this as a great possibilty to get closer to the kids, but its gets a biiiit chaotic with the following things happening:

Macaque gets a bit jelaous, and tries to train MK a bit, yet this ends in MK breaking his arm too(dont ask, neither of them dont know how it happend)

Bai He asks Nuwa if she can help her with her homework. This though ends up in Nuwa crying over Math homework.

Wukong tries to cook some food, but gets too cocky, and ends up making litteral poison, that could kill a god.

Dont worry, they order some Pizza, put on a show and they actually have quite a nice time after that.

Pigsy just finds them sleeping together on the couch, and suspects nothing. (though he was surprised the house wasnt burned down)

Scenario 4: MK meets Nuwa for the first time

On a sunny afternoon MK is driving home, since he had just finished his shift at Pigsys, and after that he would head over to Flower Fruit Mounatin for training.

It was a simple plan, and MK was happy for that.

After everything, that happend in the scroll and with Azure Lion it seemed like everyone wanted to relax just a bit more, before the next big bad came up again.

Then, MK catches something at the conor of his eyes. A shop. A Jade Shop to be more specific.

He doesent, how he is suddenly standing in front of the front door of the shop, or why this compels him so much.

Was it his short attention span? Did he see something of interest? Did he see someone he knew? He doesent know.

Yet as he walks into the shop a wave of fammilarness takes over him. Like he is finally.... home?

The Monkie Kid looks around the small shop. Its crowded with thousands and thousands of jades, that go from the sizes of a little pea, to the size of MK's hand.

There isnt a single costumer in the shop, so MK worries for a second, if he has accdently walked into a place that was already closed, when suddenly...

" Can i help you?"

MK screams in surprise and spins around, only to be met with...

Everything goes quiet.

Time Stops.

And MK's whole world tilts 90 degrees.

He feels like he is about to faint.

He wants to run.

Yet he wants to stay.

What is going on?

"Sir, are you ok?"

The person asks again, and MK tries to speak, but his mouth seems to be unable to utter a single sound.

He tries to focus, trying to concentrate on whoever is in front of him.

Short black hair... ok good, what else? They... no she, is wearing a suit....

Why is this so hard?

"Im so sorry...Qi xiaotian"

Her voice seems so faint now... how does she know his name?

" I knew you wouldnt handle this well.... but the sitatuion is dire"

Dire?

" Just rest now... i will explain everything later..."

Everything goes black.

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atlasscrumpit · 1 year

Note

Hey there! I had 3 weird ideas to throw out there. Yandere MK boys with a reader who is either a werewolf, has a symbiote (like Venom), or has mind control powers (or more like mind powers Scarlet Witch has maybe?). Like they use their powers on the boys to try and escape. Idk something like that. Anyhow have a good day/night. :)

We warned you

It wasn’t too bad here, you secretly enjoyed it.

Having them take care of you felt nice and you definitely weren’t used to it.

But, Jake was angry and you were getting scared.

“I didn’t mean to break it.” You whispered, looking down at the broken cup.

“But, you still made a mistake didn’t you, mi amor?” He growled, stalking towards you.

“And you know I like to help you learn lessons.” He said as you felt tears in your eyes.

“Fuck off, Jake!” You screamed as he froze and looked at you in shock.

“That’s it.” He growled before lunging towards you, you quickly held your hand up and entered his mind.

You never wanted to do this to them, but you had no choice.

Your eyes glowed brightly as you stared at him, tears running down your cheeks.

“Get on your knees.” You whispered as he slowly obeyed and went to his knees.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, trying your best to stop crying.

“Stay here on the floor for three hours and don’t even try to find me.” You whispered before dropping your hand.

You quickly rushed around grabbing some of your things in a backpack before you ran out of the door crying.

—

It had been about an hour and you sat in an alleyway crying.

You wanted to go back to them more than anything, but Jake had hurt you and Marc or Steven hadn’t helped you.

Suddenly everything around you began to become dark as you looked around in fear.

“No…” You whispered as you slowly fell unconscious.

When you awoke again you were in an endless dark void, your knees to the ground and your wrists chained.

“Little witch thought she was more powerful than a god.” You heard a voice growl as you shook and looked up.

“Khonshu.” You whispered in fear before you saw three figures behind him.

“I think it may be time for a punishment.” Khonshu growled before Marc and Steven rushed forward.

“Enough, Khonshu!” Marc yelled, quickly kneeling to you as you cried out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done it. I was so scared, I’m sorry.” You cried out as they looked down at you.

“I know, I know you’re sorry. But, what you did isn’t easily forgiven love.” Marc whispered as you shook your head.

“No, no please, please I don’t want to be hurt.” You whispered before looking to Steven.

“Please, don’t leave me here with him.” You cried out as Steven looked at you sadly.

“What you did was wrong, love. That was an awful thing to do, once all of this is over we can cuddle as much as you want, okay?” He said, you sobbed even more and thrashed in the chains.

“Let me go!” You screamed as the three men began to walk away.

“No! Please, don’t leave me!”

—

Steven sat beside you bedside, watching your peaceful face in your sleep.

“How much longer will Khonshu keep her?” Steven whispered, running his finger over your cheek.

“As long as she deserves, Steven.” Marc replied as Steven looked at you sadly.

“She needs to go through this, Steven. She has a lot of lessons to learn.” Marc continued, making Steven nod.

Suddenly you gasped and woke up, beginning to panic.

You kept muttering Stop over and over.

Steven quickly leapt up and held onto your shoulders.

“Baby, it’s okay! You’re safe, I’m here!” Steven shouted as you rocked back and forth.

“Stop it, stop it, please.” You muttered as you began to cry.

“Looks like she needs more.” Khonshu growled before Steven stood up.

“No! You will not touch her again!” Steven shouted before going back to you.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, love. I’m right here. No more punishment, such a good girl.” Steven whispered, cradling you.

You growled and held your hand up about to use your power again, before Marc took control.

“I don’t think so love.” Marc growled before he pinned his arms above your head.

He reached across to the bedside table wear a black collar was, he quickly clipped it around your neck, before backing away.

“There you go, baby girl. No more powers.” Marc whispered, a little out of breath as you clawed at the collar.

“I hate you, I hate you so much!” You screamed as Marc just watched you.

“Throw your tantrum, babydoll. It’s not coming off.”

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marvel #mcu #yandere #dark fic #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #yandere moon knight

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juneknight · 2 years

Text

Idling || 8

Previous drabble here.

about this: MK system/fem!reader. Likely an inaccurate and dramatized portrayal of DID. Discussions of self harm, graphic depictions of self harm, and blood.

You, Marc, and Steven plot how to communicate with Jake.

Being awake all night destroys your sleep schedule, but neither you nor Marc nor Steven seem to mind when you find yourselves crawling into bed together with the gray early afternoon light flooding in through the window.

“I’m so sorry you were hurt,” Steven murmurs, softly tracing a thumb across the apex of your swollen cheek. When you had looked at it in his bathroom, you had just barely been able to see a blue tint to the skin, hinting at the impressive bruise that would later form.

You cup a hand over his own, enjoying the warmth of his palm against the ache. When the man in the alleyway had hit you, you had felt it in your teeth. Then you remember the wet warmth of his blood splattering across your bare legs when Jake slit his throat and your stomach rolls. That had left a mark on you that would also show in time.

“I’m okay,” you say. Physically, you are. Emotionally, you feel like a barely concealed mess, struggling to hold it together even when it feels like you’re watching the person you love most unravel before your eyes.

Neither of you choose to be the little spoon, deciding instead to embrace each other and fall asleep that way, uncomfortably warm but desperate for each other, holding on as if you were each other’s only lifejacket in a roiling ocean.

Briefly, you wake at one point to find Marc snacking, his eyes dark and distant even as he watches you. Your face throbs. Reaching up gingerly, you feel that your eye is swelling. His expression dips into even more dangerous territory. Once he comes back to bed smelling of toast, you both fall asleep again, and neither of you wake until the sun is setting once more.

Marc jolts you from sleep by shouting, rolling until his body presses you into the mattress protectively. All around you, the room seems to shake, wind rustling your hair even as you cling to Marc’s shoulder, shouting into his neck, “What’s happening?”

“Khonshu, stop!”

All at once the wind dies and the furniture stops its trembling. You don’t, adrenalin making your body shake like a leaf in the wind even as Marc rolls out of bed—unaffected by this supernatural display of fury—and begins to point his finger towards some spot nearer to the ceiling than the floor.

“You manipulative son of a bitch, I don’t care where your sidekick is!” Marc shouts.

Great, you think, eyeing the empty air Marc is shouting at. More conversations I only get to see half of.

“Yeah, well now your game is over. Release us, all of us, or—“ Marc pauses, face darkening with whatever the invisible god replies with. “—or I’ll contact the Ennead…good standing? They can hardly stand you at all!”

You slip from the bed, knees still weak from the fear of being woken so suddenly and violently. When you put a hand on Marc’s shoulder, he barely spares you a glance. “Marc,” you try. “Translate for me here. What’s going on?”

“No need,” a baritone voice booms.

You suck in a breath, only barely repressing the instinctual urge to scream. They had warned you about Khonshu—described him as best as they could during their rare moments of willingness to recount the old god and their servitude to him—but nothing could prepare you for it. The sheer scale of him, the unearthly wind that rustles his wrappings, the massive skull which reminds you of a scythe ready to cut the both of you down like stalks in a field.

“Now that I have regained the favor of the other gods, I am once again powerful enough to show myself at will,” Khonshu says.

Marc’s eyes flicker between you two. “You—can see that thing?”

“The ten foot tall fossilized bird? He’s hard to miss,” you gasp, breaths coming fast and shallow.

Marc’s head bows, forehead pressing against your shoulder. Maybe it’s with relief: he isn’t alone in this nightmare anymore, is he? He’s finally been given third party confirmation (from someone who isn’t a cult leader) that Khonshu exists. Your racing heart feels fit to break. How much more fear does Marc carry inside himself that he hasn’t yet spoken of?

You reach for his hand and squeeze his fingers. “Fill me in. What’s going on?”

“My Moon Knight did not answer the call to justice,” the bird says. Agitated, he strikes his staff against the wooden floor, and the books on Steven’s shelves rattle dangerously. “Where is Jake Lockley?”

“Gone for good, if we’re lucky,” Marc grits out.

“Is that good?” Marc’s expression grows stormier, if possible. You rush to explain, adding: “You know better than I would. Before I met you, I didn’t know anything about DID. Can alters—I don’t even know what word to use. Dissolve? Disappear?”

Marc rubs at the furrow between his eyes. “I don’t know as much as you might think. Whatever I could read on the internet. I checked out a couple books on it from the Chicago Public Library once. I’ve got a hell of fine waiting if I ever go back.”

“Discuss this on your own time,” Khonshu bellows. “The sun has set. This time belongs to me. I grow tired of dealing with your fractured mind, Marc Spector. If Jake Lockley doesn’t present himself to me before sunrise, tell him that our agreement is no more.”

The god disintegrates into golden sand blown into the void by an unfelt wind.

“That doesn’t sound good. What does that mean?” you wonder aloud.

“I don’t know.” Marc glances at the mirror. He begins a fiery back and forth with Steven; it kills you to only be privy to half the conversation, but you keep quiet. The last thing they need is you inserting yourself into an already tense discussion; especially when Steven’s opinion on the next step should hold much more weight than your own.

“No. That’s not an option…okay, first of all, what gave you the impression that this bastard is even open to negotiation? Was it the casual alleyway homicide or the months of secretly using our body like a murder puppet? No, buddy, you listen! If there’s still a wall between us and him, who the hell would he have to negotiate with in the first place?...” In the silence of Steven’s answer, Marc’s eyes flicker to you for the briefest moment. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might have missed it or excused it as a trick of the light. Jaw clenched, he glares into the mirror. “Out of the question…it isn’t a matter of trust, of course I trust—them.”

“Don’t do that,” you mutter. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. You aren’t even good at it.”

Marc holds up a finger, like you’re some child tugging on the sleeve of his shirt and interrupting a grown-up conversation. “Just, give us a minute, will you?”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to snap at him, to say that you can give him plenty of minutes and then storm out. But god help you—you love him. And you know that whatever the next twelve hours bring, he shouldn’t have to face it alone. So instead, you let your jaw shut with a click of your teeth and you focus on counting your breaths, letting Marc’s voice melt into the background. Your face throbs with every heartbeat, so you begin to keep count.

“—hey.” You open your eyes, unaware that you had closed them. Steven is there, face solemn. He reaches out and cups your cheek in his burning palm. “Are you alright?”

“Not really.” You hold up your thumb and finger, the space between them small. “Maybe this much alright. Which is probably still more alright than you.”

“Spot on, you are. Always are.” He sits on the bed beside you, the mattress sloping with his weight until you lean into his body. He smells freshly showered. Jake must have done that while you were at the station answering questions. When you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke, you shiver. It’s probably just in your head. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But Marc convinced me that maybe it’s best if you aren’t here when we try to make contact with this new bloke in our brain.”

“Et tu, Steven?”

“I’m only thinking of you, love,” he says. “It’s not going to be so easy as sending up a smoke signal or sending this Jake a text. He comes out in less than ideal circumstances, doesn’t he?”

You pull away from him to stare, eyes raking over the exhausted lines of his handsome face. “What the hell are you two planning? To nearly get yourselves killed and hope that Jake pops up at the last second like a mole in an arcade game?”

“What, and let him level a city block to save us? No!”

“Then what?”

The look he gives you is so tenderly sad, the silence dragging on so long that you know it must be bad, a truly terrible idea, and the worst idea you can think of—

“I won’t let you hurt yourselves,” you whisper to him. Grabbing his hand, you pull it from your cheek and squeeze it tight, his fingertips turning dark from lack of circulation.

“I don’t think he’d let us,” says Steven.

“I don’t think it would work, anyway. What you and Marc think lures him out…I think you’re wrong.”

Steven blinks. “If you’ve got an idea and you’re holding back, by all means—“

You take a shaky breath, and then you tell him.

Jake runs until his legs give out.

He gets nowhere.

A dense fog clings to the ground twenty or thirty yards in front and behind him. Beyond it, who knows what exists. Nothing, probably. Nothing here is real, Jake thinks, clutching at his hair. Not even me.

Despite the distance he must have traveled, every so often he finds the cab appearing from the fog ahead of him, ever-idling at the curb, smoke drifting from the exhaust. No matter what turn he takes, he always ends up there. The cab. The apartment.

He glances up at the building where Marc grew up and spots a curtain twitching, long dark hair of a woman gone in the blink of an eye. The sight of her makes his stomach roll, palms damp even as they clench into fists, prepared for violence.

“No me puedo escapar de ti, mamá,” he mutters to the ghost of her. His first failure. Turning away, he resolves not to look anymore lest he see her again.

Running is useless, but he isn’t prepared to sit inside the warmth of the cab again. He can’t bear to hear the pain he has caused Marc and Steven.

And you.

He wasn’t sure if they had told you about their time in Khonshu’s service, but when you looked up at him from the dirty London alleyway, you had done it with recognition. Familiarity that he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.

Jake didn’t always murder petty thieves. He killed discriminately—in self defense. Other murderers. Rapists. People who sold other people like cattle. But those thieves from the alley had chosen the wrong woman to target. He isn’t delusional enough to believe he holds any claim to you, no matter if you hold and caress and kiss the body he shares with two others—but you are important to his headmates.

And the thief had hurt you.

No. Jake feels no remorse, except that he had not arrived sooner and that you had gotten blood on your dress.

Jake turns his back to the cab, rests against it and lets his body slide down to the ground. He wishes for sleep, the blissful unawareness he gets when the Body rests.

A sound jerks him from his self-pity, the shrill ring of a telephone. Across the street from him rests a payphone which had not been there just a moment before.

Dread curls in his gut. It’s for him. He knows.

The plastic of the phone is damp and cold when he lifts it from the hook and holds it to his ear without speaking.

“—looking for Jake,” spills out your voice. “If you’re there, please come…forward. Front, I mean. Please front. I am looking for Jake. If you’re there—“

Jake hangs up the phone.

It begins ringing again, almost immediately. This time he leaves it, stalking back towards the cab. He won’t go back. Marc and Steven are better off without him. He takes his seat again, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against the driver’s door. The phone rings for so long that it becomes white noise and he is only jerked from his thoughts when it stops, the silence deafening.

His shoulders drop. How long had he expected you to try, anyway? It’s finished. Now he can relax.

Except his heart has begun to race. Fast, then faster, his chest heaving to keep up. Then he realizes that it isn’t his heart that’s pounding. It isn’t his growing panic and fear. It’s…the Body’s.

Jake is so rarely called to front that it always feels like the first time: the rising sense of wrongness, the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat, the heart—one thing they all share—feeling like it is about to beat out of his chest. Something terrible is happening.

He told himself that he wouldn’t go back into the apartment. He knows what waits there. Reality, memory, fantasmas. He isn’t ready to face a world where Marc and Steven—and you—know that he exists. He isn’t ready to be seen.

But he is needed. And he will die doing what he was made to do. Protect the Body. Protect the System. Protect You.

Letting out a heavy breath, he picks himself up and turns back to the apartment. The door is open, just a crack.

It’s as good an invitation as any.

And he isn’t sure what he expects when he blinks hard to clear his vision. Fronting to protect Steven and Marc usually means violence—violence being inflicted on them, violence that he must inflict. He’s come to the front in a stifling uniform in Iraq. In a truck driving along the precarious curves of the Alps. On a rooftop in Cairo with a throbbing headache.

In the flat.

His face is wet. His throat is raw. His wrists throb where they are secured with handcuffs behind his back, tethering him to one of the wooden support beams. Instinct has him pulling with all his strength, deepening whatever wounds Marc and Steven have already received in their own struggle, but in an instant he goes unearthly still. Looking at you.

You, sitting cross legged on the floor across the room, knife held loosely in your shaking hand, the blade poised to do yourself more damage. Blood drips from the wounds on your arms, three parallel marks each grow deeper. In nothing but the moonlight streaming through the window, the blood dripping into your lap is black like oil.

It makes sense then, what had frightened Marc and Steven so much.

“Hi, Jake,” you gasp through your tears. “Thought that might get your attention.”

Next drabble here.

#jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

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lunaxamans · 20 days

Text

{ In the Beginning... }

Summary: An early interaction between Emma and the boys. In which Marc and Steven find out that Emma comes from an abusive home like them. Pairing: Original Character { Emma Harper } x Marc Spector; bits of Emma Harper x Steven Grant Contents: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, twin flame relationship, OC is deeply psychic and can communicate with the boys telepathically due in part to twin flame bond Warnings: mentions of severe mental illness { i.e. psychosis, PTSD, anxiety, panic, depression, OCD, mood disorder }, mentions of abuse, inaccurate DID { as is common with MK fic }, self-loathing, self-blame Word Count: 1.1k

Author’s Notes:

This is written in what my writing partner and I refer to as God!Mode. Essentially it's the characters outside of all of their different Universes and them at their core selves -- which for this reason sometimes will refer to real people but very little { i.e. in this one I, myself am mentioned, but very minorly }. As if their God!Versions. This is sort of their truest of Canons.

Also I meant to write this up properly which I probably still will at some point but I wanted to get it posted for @romanarose for something I intended to help them with.

Emma Harper is the original character that will star in all of my fics with the boys. I’ve been writing them for a while now and the relationship is super established unless stated otherwise. Emma && the boys have what is known as a twin flame union – think ultimate soulmate of soulmates / two halves of the same soul; you only get one of these and they are *extremely* rare, typically reincarnate with each other over thousands of years on this planet, if not before even coming to this planet from other star systems. For this reason, the four of them are able to telepathically communicate which is also common with this kind of bond, among other things.

Emma: -coming down the hallway, grimacing as she looks back toward the stairs, calling softly, so softly in fact, that she’s barely audible- “Steven?”

Steven: -from in the bedroom, nose buried in a book as he, too, tries to ignore what’s going on downstairs, calling gently back- “in here, love!”

Emma: -steps into the room, rounding the corner and standing at the foot of the bed, fidgeting nervously-

Steven: -immediately concerned, setting the book down and removing his reading glasses- “what is it? did something--” -pauses, taking in her appearance as more noise comes from downstairs, suddenly understanding- “elle’s mum again?”

Emma: -nods quickly, not making eye contact- “she-- um--” -shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest- “she reminds me of mine—my mom, I mean...she’s also...”

Steven: -swallows, trying to put the pieces together, not wanting to assume, speaking softly- “...difficult?”

Emma: -cringes as if she’s taken a physical blow, correcting him quietly, her voice barely there- “abusive…"

Steven: -his heart stops as she seems frozen in place-

{ Marc: ‘Steven let me front...’ }

Steven: -swallows again, giving a small nod-

Emma: -before he can speak, she breaks the silence, tucking her hair behind her ears, keeping her gaze downcast, her voice small- “can I?”

Steven: -realizes she wants to sit down, nodding profusely- “of course!”

Emma: -nods with him, climbing onto the bed and scooting a little closer but keeping a fair distance, rolling her lips in, in that way that causes her dimples to prick into her cheeks, still avoiding his eyes-

{ Marc: ‘Steven!’ }

Steven: -clears his throat quietly- “Marc would like to speak with you, is that okay, love?”

Emma: -nods again quickly, keeping her lips pressed together-

Marc: -moves to the front, taking only a fraction of a second to adjust before he sits up straighter, shifting closer to her, his hands rising and moving toward Emma, who flinches at first, causing him to pause, turning his hands to show her he isn’t going to hurt her, when she nods in silent permission to continue, his fingers come to comb through her hair, coming around to cradle her face at her jaw, dipping his head to search out her eyes-

Emma: -relaxes a little as his hands move through her hair and come around to hold her face gently, rolling her lips in further again, her eyes meeting his briefly before shying away from his again-

Marc: -his heart squeezes in his chest, aching for her and everything he already feels for her, when he does find his voice, it comes out soft and raspy, filled with complete and utter awe- “how are you real?”

Emma: -her eyes flicker to his, a slight furrow coming between her eyebrows, confused by the way he says it as if she were some kind of miracle-

Marc: -holds her eyes for a moment before his gaze scales over her features, leaning in hesitantly, his lips finally capturing hers-

{ Steven: -indignant, even if he’s ignored- ‘I coulda done that, mate...’ }

Emma: -seems to only melt into Marc, reaching to gently grasp at his shirt as if weakly trying to hold him there-

Marc: -when she doesn’t back away—instead leaning into him further, he uses his hold on her to pull her closer, deepening the kiss for just a moment before withdrawing, just enough to brush his nose into hers, touching his forehead to hers, frowning gently into her, his voice barely above a whisper, still sounding completely awestruck and floored at the way they seem fit together- “it feels like—you were made specifically for us—and we were just—waiting to find you...--does that sound completely crazy?”

Emma: -her nose moves into his when it meets hers, turning her forehead into his, when he speaks again, all she can do is gently nod, likewise dumbfound and only meaning to agree with the former statement not realizing about the question-

Marc: -chuckles softly, teasing her lightly, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks- “it does?”

Emma: -just kinda Stuck in the moment, still not fully comprehending him- “yes--” -seems to suddenly realize- “I mean—no!” -pouting softly, giving him a Look-

Marc: -can’t help another quiet chuckle as she struggles and the warmth fills in his chest, raising one hands to slowly comb through her hair again-

Emma: -summons a deeper breath, releasing it in an almost silent sigh, correcting herself- “it doesn’t sound crazy...and I know crazy...” -rolls her eyes at herself-

Marc: -immediately shakes his head as she finishes, frowning deeply, searching out her eyes again- “hey, don’t do that…"

Emma: -looks at him in confusion, still scowling in disappointment but at herself, asking quietly- “do what?”

Marc: “don’t talk about my girl like that—”

{ Steven: -only to be ignored again- ‘Our girl...’ }

Emma: -still frowning at him, acting like she didn’t just make a joke at her own expense, deep deep pout, In Baby- “like what?”

Marc: -scowling back at her with that same profound wonder, even as hope blossoms in his chest that she didn’t deny his claim on her, releasing one hand on her only to bring it back to gently graze the back of his knuckles over her cheek, all but whispering again- “like she isn’t the most perfect girl we’ve ever known…"

Emma: -her chest tightens with the familiar ache of attachment, trying to take another deep breath through her nose and force it through her lungs, releasing it heavily even as it shakes at the ends, her voice tremoring over the single word- “o-oh…" -she fights to keep the smile down that threatens to overtake her face, her dimples betraying her secret, her eyes avoiding his shyly-

Marc: -unsure of how this all happened, just completely winded- “god you really are-- perfect…"

Emma: -the shy smile only grows, giving him a gentle, playful shove, but not putting anything behind it-

Marc: -can barely bear the ache in his chest, a small smirk of his own threatening to take over- “ya know—Steven's gonna strongarm me soon if I don’t give you back...” -his eyes falling in disappointment-

Emma: -her eyes immediately snap to his, chewing the inside of her lips and gripping his shirt tighter as if to keep him there with her- “stay…"

Marc: -his own eyes fix themselves to hers once more, again dumbfound- “yeah?”

{ Steven: -still seemingly being ignored- “bugger...last place it seems...” }

Emma: -immediately nodding- “yeah…" -shy, dimply smile, pausing before poking him firmly in the chest a few times- “and tell Steven no one is last place here...”

{ Steven: -would be blushing if he were in control of the body- ‘oh!’ }

Marc: -scoffs quietly- “think you just told him yourself...”

Emma: -gives one more firm shove into his chest- “goo--!”

Marc: -catches her hands when they shove at him and pulls her abruptly to himself, his lips reclaiming hers before she can even finish the word-

#moon knight #moon boys #moon knight system #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #marc spector #steven grant #marc spector x oc #steven grant x oc #temp tag: emma/steven relationship #temp tag: emma/marc relationship #muse: steven grant #muse: marc spector #muse: emma harper #temp tag: god!mode snippets

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dearlawdimasimp · 2 years

Text

heylo- Im sick and need comfort- have this short drabble/hc of the MK system + Khonshu taking care of reader when they're sick💞

if you saw typos, no you didn't :>

HC/drabble of MK system + Khonshu taking care of reader

when they notice the signs they would immediately stop you from whatever you are doing and gently pull you to the bed.

no matter your protests they're not letting you off easy

work? call in sick

classes? fuck it, you're sick no class works for the day

it's a rest day for you and a day for them to take care of you so lay down and let them smother you with lots of love and care-

while also being careful, you told them, you didn't want them to get sick too bc of you

Steven would brew you up some tea but if you don't like it he'll cook you up some hot soup.

"Here you go love- careful! It's hot."

He would stay by your side as you drink/eat, hell he would feed you your soup if you dont have the energy to do so and he is going to be patient with you.

"Say Raaaa~ There you go! It's good innit? God I hope it is-"

You stop him with a gentle hand and hoarsely reassure him that it was good. He would smile at your words and continue feeding you until you feel full.

Once you're fed, he would lay down beside you(they're stubborn and would not care if they get sick- "We're Khonshu's Avatar, we don't get sick" - Jake) and keep you warm around his arms. He'll tell you stories from the Egyptian myth to help you relax and help you to fall asleep, he would mindlessly caress your hair as you lay your head on his chest while being curled up beside him.

Marc will keep on checking your temperature from time to time, and when you'll be drinking your medication next-

"This fever is stupidly stubborn babe, but don't worry," -kisses your forehead- "You'll heal from this, yeah? You'll have to drink your meds onnn…" he glances at the clock, " oh- two hours later. For now, rest those pretty eyes, baby."

- and Jake will make sure you're hydrated,

"Mi amor, wake up.." He would softly coax you out of your slumber, "Here's your water, querido." He'll make you sit up properly and carefully puts the glass on your mouth and gently tilting it, you would at first complain and tell him you got it, you're not completely helpless while in this state but he'll just give you a stern yet loving glare and say-

"You're sick- I know you can still move your arms and '' - he would mumble some Spanish giberrish- " but you're my- our amor, we'll make sure you'll get well from this lo mas pronto. And for that to happen, you'll have to be as stress-free as possible. So.. if you ever need to pee, just say the word and I won't hesitate to carry you to the bathroom, hm, mi tesoro?"

Khonshu would even not let a single cold London wind into the flat to make sure you won't get cold. You would notice this and as much as you could muster from your sleepy state, you'd thank the god with a soft whisper to the empty space. He may not be seen from your human eyes but you can feel his presence.

Khonshu will mutter under his breath, "It is no problem, my star. Get well soon."

~~~

lo mas pronto - As soon as possible

mi tesoro - my treasure

~~~

if the Spanish is wrong, I am so sorry i just translated that from internet

hope y'all enjoyed that ajhshshshs take care and have a good day /night!!💞💞

#this is as much as i could come up lmaoooo #if you want to add on something - feel free to do so!!💞💞#moon knight #moon knight x reader #khonshu x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #x reader #fanfiction #sick s/o #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #marvel #mcu

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tiptapricot · 2 years

Text

Ok ok this ended up so long bUT

Gods and Monsters is a better MK ep than ppl view it as n here’s why >:-)

Let’s start off with general commentary on the ep as a whole:

The um… I can’t believe no one has talked ab the title song here. It’s The End by Earl Grant, and the lyrics we hear are: “At the end of a rainbow, you’ll find a pot of gold. At the end of a story, you’ll find it’s all been told. But our love has a treasure, our hearts can always spend. And it has, a story, without any end. At the end of a river, the water stops it’s flow…” AND THEN IT HAS THE BLURRY ECHOEY TRANSITION TO PULLING THE SYS’S BODY OUT OF THE FUCKING WATER AND ITS LIKE AND ITS LIKE ok I’m not normal but I am but I’m not

The lyrics here sum up so much of this episode’s vibes. It is about the end, but it’s also not, because things continue on. It is about love, love living forever and pulling people gently through their lives. But things have to end, at some point, and sometimes the story has nothing left to tell, we simply have to ease away and let things move forward, lapping, flowing, breathing, existing. I’ll get more into this later.

At the start after the opening we also get the line “Marc Spector, Steven Grant, whoever else might be in there,” which is a line with sO much weight for Jake, as well as any other extended system members we don’t or won’t see

ALSO the line “Sometimes we need the cold light of death before we can see reality,” is uh??? Very fucking poignant considering death IS LITERALLY what helps both Steven and Marc come to terms with their places with each other, with the care and understanding they hold, and the space they have in each other’s lives and together working as a whole

Obviously it’s not in the way Harrow means it, bc he’s an asshole and I hate him, but this is still so fucking on theme because the system coming back to life also solidifies their goals and views on what they’re fighting for, on who. Will touch more on later, but the through lines and intentional call backs in MK are so fucking good and interesting every time.

We also get to follow Layla as her own independent entity for the first chunk of the episode, getting to see more strongly how she operates on her own away from the system and just getting some fucking WONDERFUL acting from May Calamawy

Truly, the scene where it really sets in for her that Marc and Steven are dead, and we just see that realization land slowly and strongly and see her face break, and she cries over the body and presses against their chest and kisses their forehead, and THE FUCKING RAGE we see settle into her face as she stands up and readies herself to take revenge just UGH chefs kissing

We saw similar stuff in The Tomb but here we really get to see her shine, get to see her make choices and be flawed and be angry and go to do something we as the audience knows is stupid (“… a suicide mission to stop Harrow all by herself”) and it’s just SUCH a good moment for her ugh god ok ok

May’s skill is truly on display in this episode and it makes me fucking NUTS also she’s so pretty I’m not into women but for Layla I could be

The scene where she goes after Harrow after he cleanses the souls of the checkpoint (?) guards and Taweret barely stops her is also a perfect insight into her and Marc’s dynamic, both of them being emotionally driven and nearly incapable of stopping once they’re on a course

Also small but I love Taweret talking through dead people it’s so unnerving n creepy but also she’s so sweet I love her :-)c

The other avatars getting fucking wiped out off screen WAS a weird choice which I’ll get into in critiques, but after further watches it does make sense. We know from the trial that they are meant to be passive observers, and likely wouldn’t have much power or skill when it comes to fighting, which Harrow confirms when he says they’re judges not warriors. Also… also it’s funny. Again will go more in depth in critiques but… get fucking owned fuck you

Ammit’s. Fucking. Design. AND THE CHORAL SWELLS LEADING UP TO HER USHABTI BREAKING GODDDD. She is so cool and I love her voice and I love her, and this is also a really strong scene overall, showing the hypocrisy in Ammit’s view of the world. Her main cult leader is unbalanced, but he serves her goal when someone who was perfectly balanced didn’t so she doesn’t care, therefore proving her morals are moot no matter what.

I’ll talk more ab Wendy parallels later bc that’s a big thing, but what I will say here is that this ties into those similarities by showing that the moral judgement of people with a twisted view of the world is almost always never applied to themselves. They blame others for causing pain but do not hold themselves to that level, nor do they recognize the pain they themselves cause because it would mean self reflection on their world view as a whole.

Next we have Layla and Khonshu’s interaction which is another FUCKING FANTASTIC MOMENT!! Khonshu immediately goes to take advantage of her, but Layla rebuffs him without a second thought, shattering any piece of control Khonshu could have leveraged over Marc to keep him in service, and also showing that Layla is beyond that, that she trusts Marc, sees the pain Khonshu has caused him, and even in death and in an emergency would never agree to do that same harm to herself.

She also emphasizes that Marc died fighting “your war,” solidifying that Marc is being used as a tool and a pawn to further Khonshu’s goal, and that it is not his job to fight it, no matter what he may want or believe, he should be able to make those choices without being used for someone else’s agenda.

Also get fucking rejected Khonshu fuck you

Next…. Marc in the field of reeds. I yell. I scream. I cry a little.

He has everything he has ever wanted, a rest, a paradise. Taweret says his heart is full, his journey is over, and you can see how Marc aches for that to be true, how he breathes so quietly, so overwhelmed. But then he immediately asks after Steven, and when told that he “doesn’t need him anymore” he just knows that’s not true. One of them doesn’t get to move on alone, that’s not how it works, that’s not how it’s meant to be.

Marc Spector gives up paradise without a second thought, because Steven is a core piece of his life, of him, and paradise is nothing when it is skewed so incorrectly

Also FUCK the way the field of reeds visually melts into the Duat and then its quiet soft music swells and grows to a sudden fever pitch as Marc morphs the world and pushes through a barrier he can never return through, gives me fucking CHILLS GOD FUCK

It gives such a perfect auditory-tactile experience of the differences between the two places, the lightness of the field of reeds, of peace, versus the weight of the Duat, of being dragged down into the sands. The fucking score on this shit I swEAR

We get a moment of intercut Khonshu and Ammit, tying the chronological passing of time between worlds together, and giving such a powerful push between their ideologies on both sides. It’s short, but very good, and again highlights Ammit’s hypocrisy

Then… the speech in the Duat. We all love this scene. It is so good. It is perfectly acted, soft and weighty and emotional, and shows just how far Marc has come, the way that his journey has changed him and loosened the part of himself that is able to express the care and thoughts and memories that he’s been repressing for so long. Marc Spector cares so deeply for the people in his life, and Steven has been a constant since he was younger, his support and his friend, even if it was one sided because he was alone and isolated but now he doesn’t have to be, and just and just—

Love in any form being the genesis of life and that being the thing that has Osiris open the doors for them, lets them breathe and escape the Duat, that’s all I have to say.

And the HUG

And the MUSIC

And the wAY STEVEN IS SO TAKEN ABACK BY HAVING SOMEONE COME BACK FOR HIM AND HOW THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST EMOTIONALLY OPEN MOMENTS MARC HAS HAD

This scene. This fucking scene. THIS FUCKING SCENE YOU GUYS.

Might b unpopular but I fucking love Khonshu n Ammit’s fighting. Khonshu’s airy and intense way of moving and Ammit’s strong and grounded reactions, it’s a perfect dichotomy

“Hippo!!”

The muted patchy scene of Marc crawling out of the water, bleeding and desperate, but alive, then Khonshu’s voice ringing in his head so familiar, and the way death is shown as Marc’s low point, as his self hate and his violence and his loneliness when Khonshu first came to him, and that life is shown as being quite literally Layla herself

It’s so quick but so perfectly juxtaposes these two against each other, the importance of choosing love and the people who care about you and using that to unstick from moments of trauma and self hatred, having that lifeline and source of healing, of love being life

And we get another shot of Layla, being held by Marc, looking at him, before there is a quiet, weighty shot of the bullets falling from Marc’s chest. And then we see him rise, breathing, casually adjusting his outfit as the suit forms, something new behind his actions

He is no longer fighting for Khonshu, he’s fighting for himself, for Layla, for life

I love when the suits are so clearly real, and we then get the fucking FANTASTIC convo between Khonshu and Marc and Steven, with Khonshu deflecting the question about being rejected, and Steven switching in so easily to sass and to hold the system’s boundaries and gain their independence (to his knowledge). This also indicates the new dynamic between Marc and Steven, the ease of being cocon and the trust in leaning on each other while fighting

Never gonna get tired of Taweret, yelling through a dead body like a teenage girl on a phone call just going: “LayLAAAAAAA!!!!!!” she’s so excited

AND THEN AND THEN MAY CALAMAWY COMING IN CLUTCH AGAIN acting as Taweret controlling Layla’s body. Her switches between the two n her acting of being moved around by something else, and her exhaustion, and the character catharsis of getting to know her father is at peace after all this, that he found happiness and paradise and still gets to be proud of her, it’s such a good moment

Ahem. AHEM. Scarlet Scarab. Her outfit is so good, the music is so good, her smirk at the camera, the unfurling of her wings, I fucking love her.

Marc flying has so much weight and it’s so fucking fun. This finale fight is a release of energy, of cathartic action and push that the show has built through its depth of character exploration, and truly it feels earned to me. It is intense and ecstatic and just joyfully done.

IT HAS A BOTH METAPHORICAL AND LITERAL FUCKING GOD KAIJU FIGHT OK WHAT ELSE COULD YOU WANT

And more SERIOUSLY Khonshu and Ammit’s fight mirrors their avatars when it comes to who has the upper hand, changing as they fight dynamically through Cairo

LAYLA SAVING MARC HAVING HER OWN MUSICAL STING MARC GRABBING HER FACE AND SAYING “Oh baby,” STEVEN SWITCHING IN TO COMPLIMENT HER SO TENDERLY AND THEN THE THREE OF THEM KICKING FUCKING ASS

This scene is sO FUCKING GOOD for small relationship moments and showing their arcs. It shows the smoothness, the trust, the autonomy they all hold within themselves and in relation to each other.

General fight details I love: Khonshu’s staff having weight and effect on the area around him, the pump up music as Steven and Layla rush into battle, Steven knowing how to fight now that there’s fewer barriers between him and Marc, but still having his own style, his own moves, his FLIP OVER THE LASER, the way his baton bounces around and is caught by Marc instead, the fact that Marc jumping over the car IS A REAL STUNT WHICH IS SO FUCKING COOL, battle couple Layla and Marc/Steven, Steven brushing off his jacket mid fight, Marc exploding out of the storefront w a little grapple, LAYLA SAVING THE YOUNG GIRL AND STOPPING THE VAN AND GETTING TO BE SOMEONE EGYPTIAN GIRLS CAN LOOK UP TO GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

This entire fight is overall just choreographed so fucking well and is so engaging, but we also see them lose. It’s also an extremely important scene for Ammit and Wendy ties which I will again get into later.

The fucking… the slow motion silent angled shot of Ammit pushing Khonshu down with his own weapon as Harrow slowly steps onto screen and advances towards Marc. The battle is lost. They lost.

And then. It cuts out.

I love this choice I love it so much. Someone before the finale release was like: what if Layla n Marc and Steven are gearing up for battle and then it just cuts to the end and we have no idea what happened because Jake took front?

AND WELL THEY KINDA DID THAT AND I LOVE IT

It’s so unexpected, such a subversion from the usual epic final fight scene, because this isn’t usual, there are things happening the characters and audience don’t understand and it’s understandably disorienting as a result.

I just… I love the fucking huge gods juxtaposed on the background it’s such a good choice

Layla and Marc saving the day together :-) Holding hands :-)

The way Ammit disappears is so interesting and I fucking LOVE the way they did that it looks so fucking cool, her dress cracking to pieces and her tail/hair being eaten up by energy

The moment where Marc refuses to kill Ammit/Harrow is so important, because it’s not about the killing itself, it’s about Marc having agency, about having choice between death and life, about getting to recognize he can make choices without Khonshu. The line “You want them dead… do it yourself,” IS aHHHH!!

It’s about Khonshu not using Marc as an extension of himself, it’s about Marc choosing not to kill someone even if they deserve it because he would be manipulated into doing it and he needs to be able to make choices that heavy without being under duress.

God. GOD OK.

Now, the doctor Harrow scene when the system is released. We all know this is in a different spot then it was before, and I have my own issues w that, but here’s in support of it being where it is:

I think with the new placement, this scene is no longer about Marc and Steven breaking out of the construction in the Duat, but more about coming to peace with… them. With the fears they have about existing on their own, with the uncertainty of a new structure, with the doubts they still hold, but they have each other, and in many ways this scene is also them rejecting the realities of control Khonshu pushed on them about not being able to escape his service

Also of course, OSCAR FUCKING ISAACS ACTING IN THIS SCENE HOLY FUCK It is a joy to watch

As for how this scene is experienced, it very much seems like a dream, which makes sense. They’ve both been through a lot, a lot of trauma, a lot of events in a short period of time, and their first rest after Cairo having their brain working through that, taking pieces of the last few days, and “Going to save the world” being taken not as literally going to a fight but instead… a gentle awakening

They are free. They are at peace. They have saved their world, and created a new one.

ALSO EP ONE PARALLELS BUT NOW NEITHER OF THEM ARE ALONE AND THEY HAVE TWO FISHES N THEYRE TIRED N DROWSY N BANTERING AND JUST

And of course… Jake Lockley. The man the myth the legend.

The music here is so soft and atmospheric and then cuts off abruptly when the car door closes, shutting Harrow off from the outside world

Enough has been said ab this scene but god god god god fuck it is so good. And I love the use of older more vintage feeling songs at so many points in this episode too, they are so fantastic and give it such a vibe.

So now, critiques:

I do agree that pacing can be weird in this episode, or that it feels like it should be bigger than it is, and I think with more time to breathe it could’ve elevated itself higher, but again, the more I watch it the more natural it feels? The fast pace goes smoother, but I still wish there had been more

I do still think there are some lines or moments that are clunky, like having some weird cuts where things happen off screen for some reason (Harrow’s staff changing into an axe, the jurors/other avatars getting killed in a very anticlimactic way therefore making their characters feel moot, etc.), but I also have that issue with other episodes, which is why this is not my one singular favorite.

The Dr. Harrow scene is in a rlly weird spot still even if I don’t really mind it, and I do wish we got the cool directorial shot teased in the trailer of them falling back in his office cutting to falling back in the water, but we didn’t so 🤷

The scene w Marc refusing to kill Ammit should’ve been framed/written differently because as is it lands a little clunkily. I still think it has a good point, but it feels weird in context.

Overall I do wish they had had more time to flesh out the story and beats, and that certain things were framed diff, but I’m also trying to take it as is and enjoy what’s there and see it with its own merit, which I think is rlly important bc it helps to see the story the team was able to create even within their limited episode and time slot allowance

It isn’t perfect! No TV is, but I hope I’ve given some stuff that shows why I enjoy it so much and why I think it deserves more credit

Ammit and Wendy and the Missing Scene

This is a big one! And honestly I have a balance of not really having an opinion, and having some stuff I want to add

So first off yes, the scene with Marc and Steven confronting Wendy would’ve solidly tied and solidified Ammit’s views to hers as thematic parallels, and it’s a hell of a thing to cut and changes the story we get as a result

But that’s also the thing: it changes the story, it doesn’t make it worse

When shows and movies and media have deleted scenes, they are fun, they give us new insight into the material and the writing process, and give us extra looks at the characters, as well as alternate routes it could’ve taken

But those scenes are still not canon, and therefore can’t exactly hurt against the on screen material

Yea the Ammit and Wendy thing being made solid and clear would’ve been cool! I do want to see the scene, but I also recognize that it’s… not in the episode. And so the episode is different, and the show is different, and I don’t think it’s fair to judge solely on what “could’ve been”

I also think the parallels were very well done on their own! Many lines from Harrow and Ammit in this episode tie the two together, yes, subtly, but that’s why we examine and analyze works, to catch the intentions behind things

Harrow’s line while defeating the system in the final fight about how Ammit would’ve saved Roro and Marc’s family as a result is also an extremely blatant reference in it of itself, directly connecting the two characters and ideologies

So basically… I would like to see the scene, I think it was important and would’ve made a strong message about triumphing over pain to accept the self, and would’ve really strongly mirrored the themes of the Lemire run, however at the same time I recognize that’s not what we got, and trying to compare a story’s message to a hypothetical version of itself clouds the already great point and messages present in the original

You can’t compare two things not aiming at the same end goal

So can I say which one is better? No because we didn’t get that other version, and all we can do is speculate. Overall I am neutral, but I felt like these ideas should b included here since it influences how I view the finale

Overall thoughts

To me, the message of Gods and Monsters is not meant to be a big cathartic moment, it is not meant to have a perfect climax and a perfect ending, or to have the triumph of the Lemire run, it is meant to be slower, fuzzy around the edges.

It, to me, is about the slow and messy process of healing from trauma, of moving forward via love and support and making new beginnings and just… living. Trauma is not something that goes away, it is not fixed, there is not one single moment of overcoming it and everything is better, it is about moving on with it.

I don’t exactly think the Ammit and Wendy scene would’ve been this, but again, I enjoy the outcome the show ended up with even in it’s absence because it spins things differently in an equally important way, focusing on persevering through highs and lows, forward.

And that’s what I like about the more gentle wrap up, it gives room to breathe and for expectation. The story is wrapped up, but it is not finished, because it never will be. We are peeking into a life for the beginning of a journey and seeing that it expands beyond us, because that’s what it will do.

And the culmination of the characters? Of their relationships? It is imperfect, but it is centered so fucking strongly on how much they care for each other, on love, and presence, and what that brings to their experiences and process of healing

As the opening song goes, “it has a story without any end.”

#this is so long I’m so sorry #if anyone actually reads through this uhhh I’m also sorry #this is a lot of rambling and thoughts but I hope I was able to articulate things in a way that maybe gives a different view on this ep #it is fun and cathartic and has a very strong message of ease and love and continuous life #and I love that about it so much #also big god fight big god fight big god fight #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #layla el faouly #the fruit is talking again

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