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littleboyblue1 · 3 months

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I Do

Had the idea of Jake being the greatest guy ever. Decided to write that out, kind of. Anyways.

warnings: p in v, oral (f receiving), talks of marriage, no y/n, but 'Mrs. Lockley' is said, nothing else I can think of

Jake Lockley was a lot different than most guys you'd dated. He was, as your friends often said, 'husband material'. He certainly would've been if it weren't for the frequent days of no contact, and the fact that he was very secretive. But then he explained it, and he was perfect again. Suddenly, it was nonstop texting, and not a single secret.

Marc and Steven were amazing, but there was always something more with Jake. You liked him most. He was your first of the three after all. And, even though you'd never say it out loud, he provided a much more normal life than the others. He liked domesticity, and it made it feel like a marriage between you two, and just dating Marc and Steven. Which was just fine, it didn't change anything.

But because of that difference, Jake was the guy your friends, coworkers, and family knew. You told your family after a while, but it was still mostly Jake they saw. The others, well, you'd explain it if you had to.

Jake also thoroughly enjoys being your 'arm candy'. Your boss had called him that when they'd first met at a dinner, and Jake would not let it go. No matter how much you and the others teased him, he liked it. So much so that he would beg the other guys to let him be the one that goes to your work events. They always said yes.

Tonight, he seemed extra eager. He showered and dressed, then you'd told him he was three hours early. "That's okay. I'll just watch you get ready then," he'd replied. You wondered if he'd done it on purpose.

He isn't a 'take showers together' guy, but he does enjoy sitting on the counter talking to you. Not every time you shower, just when he feels particularly talkative. So, he sat on the counter, talking about his day.

"I don't mind it really. I just hate working with people," he explained. He'd often go to work for Steven, purely because he preferred to front for long periods of time these days.

You laughed. "You could always just let Steven go in, baby." Jake huffed loudly. "I know. But it would relieve the stress."

He handed you your towel as you stepped out. His head rested agains the mirror. "Yeah. But no." You laughed again. "Want your hair thing?" You nodded, and he dug around for your hair towel while continuing. "Sometimes I think we should just tell them. Maybe they'd let us skip, and I could do something I like."

"I don't think - thanks - think it's a bad idea. It might make things easier on all of you."

He followed you into your room. You talked the idea over while you finished getting ready. When you finished, he went to the closet and picked out shoes for you, then delicately put them on. You wondered if he even realized he did stuff like that. It was like second nature to him.

Jake left for a second to get drinks, and your friend Alexa leaned in. "Seriously, where did you buy that man!? she asked. You laughed.

"Got lucky."

"You may be the luckiest woman on Earth."

"Tell me about it." You turned to see him. He was chatting some guy up at the bar. Even from a distance, he was hot. He saw you and waved. You returned the favor, then turned back to Alexa. "I worry I'll wake up, and he'll just be a dream."

She sighed dreamily. "If he is, mind telling me your night routine?" The two of you laughed until Jake got back.

He placed the drinks down for all three of you, then held a hand out. "Come on," he nodded towards the dance floor, "This is our song." You couldn't help but giggle as you stood. It certainly wasn't 'your' song, but it was a nice song, and Jake liked dancing.

He was a good dancer too. You could stand there stiff as a board, and he'd wheel you around perfectly. No one would even notice if he was the only one dancing. But you'd learned for him anyways, and the two of you were a well-oiled dancing machine.

"You've got a very nice dress, miss," he whispered in your ear. As he leaned back up, you caught him staring straight down the front.

"Charming as always."

He cracked a smile at you. "Can't help it. I see a pretty lady, I have to look."

"Is that so?" You weren't upset, but you tried to force your voice to sound like you were.

He nodded. "Just seems like there's a lot less pretty women these days. About 4 years ago, there was only one pretty woman left on earth. Confused the hell out of me." He was smiling a big, cheesy smile. You couldn't help but laugh at him.

"You're a dork."

When the song ended, he led you back to the table. He casually draped an arm over your shoulders. You were warm, but you didn't mind.

The rest of the night went by quickly with dances, drinks, and boring work conversations. When you got home, you were both a little tipsy, and Jake was spinning and dipping you all the way back to the flat.

Your old neighbor smiled and waved at the two of you. You giggled and waved back. "You've got a very pretty wife," she said to Jake. You waved her off, smiling wide.

Jake smiled even wider. "Yes, I do." You liked the title 'wife', even if he was only agreeing because it was easier to just agree.

Jake let you in, spinning you onto the couch. He dropped his jacket on the floor, then fell to his knees at your feet. As he undid your shoes, he placed kisses all over your calves. He was mostly kissing - you could feel his fingers fumbling with the straps.

When he finally got them off, you pulled him to you by his cheeks. "You looked so handsome tonight, baby," you whispered. His cheeks got a little pinker.

"So did you."

You giggled, pulling him in for a kiss. When he pulled away, he stroked a thumb on your bottom lip. "My wife. Could you imagine?" He stared into your eyes with an intensity that could melt you.

A smile tugged at your lips. "Mrs. Lockley. How's-"

He cut you off. "Fuck, say that again."

"Mrs. Lockley." You could've sworn his eyes became just pupil. He pulled you in hard enough your teeth knocked together lightly. It would've been off putting if it weren't for the fact that he was leaning back down to sit on his feet.

He pulled away breathless. "Take it off." You obeyed, discarding the dress quickly. You hadn't worn anything special, just the underwear on the top of the pile and a clean bra, but he sighed anyway. "God, how did I ever get so lucky?"

Jake took your undergarments off, tossing them somewhere behind you. He dropped his head against your breasts, kissing the tops before moving down to your nipples. He worshiped them for a moment, then started moving down again.

He left a trail of kisses down until he was where you needed him. "One more time, baby. Say it again."

"Mrs. Lockley?" You assumed that's what he wanted to hear.

You must've been right, because he pulled your legs so he could be in a better position, then began nearly devouring you. The moans that escaped you were beyond pornographic. You dropped a hand to his curls, changing between pushing him into yourself more and pulling his hair.

Each tug pulled a groan from him, sending vibrations through you. Suddenly, he lifted his head and started using his fingers. You had to force yourself to keep your eyes open.

His stubble glistened, and he truly had very little brown left in his eyes. "I like that name, baby. Mrs. Lockley."

"You don't say?" He did something that made you gasp loudly. "Fuck, Jake, that feels so good." He dropped his head back down and used his tongue and fingers to bring you to your climax.

He licked and kissed until you had to push him off to escape the overstimulation. He moved slowly back up you, dropping a wet kiss on your lips. "Come on." He lifted you, bringing you to your bed.

Jake undressed himself quickly. You gave him a look over. His chest was beautiful, sculpted by the gods themselves - almost literally. His abs were toned in a way that could drive a woman feral. The happy trail they'd been growing was enough to make you get off the bed and fall to your knees.

"No, baby. Just want you." He looked down with pleading eyes. How could you be so cruel as to deny him? You got back on the bed, and he pushed you to lie down. "I love you."

"I lo- holy fuck." You moaned out as he pushed into you. He gave no time for adjustments, beginning his pace immediately. Not fast, but not slow either. "I love you too, baby."

You brushed a curl from his face, then pulled him down for a kiss. He sped up, and you arched up into him. Jake groaned into the kiss, then dropped his head down to the crook of your neck.

As he continued speeding up, you held onto his back for dear life. He didn't like when you scratched him, so you had to settle for squeezing his muscles for support. He moved down to kiss your chest. His lips wrapping around your nipple made another loud moan leave you.

"You can scratch, it's okay," he muttered out. It was a sweet gesture, but you knew he didn't like it.

You dropped a hand into his hair, tugging at the strands instead. You began moaning together, and as his thrusts became quicker, you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten. "What'd you say? Wanna be Mrs. Lockley?" he asked suddenly, pulling away from your tits to smile down at you.

"Yeah, I'll be Mrs. Lockley."

The look on his face was enough to bring you to your climax. He came at the same time, and you rode out your highs together. After a few slow movements, he laid you on top of him, still inside of you. A soft smile brightened his features. "Really mean it?"

"I do."

#marc spector #moon knight #moon knight smut #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely smut #jake lockely x you #steven grant smut #steven grant #marc spector smut #moon knight system #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic

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steve-hen-grant · 3 months

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Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INTERMISSION

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My eyes narrow,

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #fluff #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

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midgardian-witch · 7 months

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Random Jake Lockley Headcanons

[Steven Headcanons] [Marc Headcanons]

we have so little info on this charming bastard man (MCU-wise of course) so the headcanons for Jake will be wildly different from person to person

to me Jake is a very intense person, everything he sets his mind on he is committed to 100%

taking this more from the comics here: Jake is a people person, way more than Marc or Steven

he loves people, loves taking care of them, spending time with them and just generally can be the life of any party when he feels like it

and that's the thing: he's just as comfortable blending into a crowd and not being noticed - in other words: he's an ambivert

his love for people doesn't make him a pacifist though, quite the opposite: he will kill for people he loves (and that does include his headmates)

he doesn't enjoy killing but it's a means to an end that he doesn't rule out (and maybe jumps a bit too quickly to)

but enough of serious subjects like morals and murdering people; let's get to fun stuff like dancing

Jake is easily the best dancer out of the Moon Knight Trio, because (unlike most men I have observed dancing) he remembers he has hips and knows how to use them

he is big on praise and compliment, very verbal when it comes to showing people he cares about them; big fan of nicknames and terms of endearment

very fond of most animals (he keeps pics he took of stray animals on his phone), has brought several animals to shelters and visits some of them regularly

he knows the names of any of the waitstaff that have ever served him (he does prefer family-owned places)

generally has a great memory for names and faces

big music person, loves to listen to all kinds of music while driving (because that's when he actually has time for it), he will listen to an audiobook from time to time though

#jake lockley #jake lockley headcanon #moon knight #moon knight headcanons #headcanons #jake lockley headcanons #headcanon #moon knight headcanon #fran-writes

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starryevermore · 2 years

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do not chastise the dove (3) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you.

chapter summary: you receive, perhaps, the worst birthday present of all: betrayal.

word count: 6,543

warnings?: royal au, arranged marriage, assassination attempt, poisoning (nightshade), pet name (dove), not proofread

For your birthday, your father was throwing a ball. It was tradition for the royal family to throw a ball for its members birthdays. You dreaded the entire event. When you were younger, it was more fun. Your mother would spin you around the room, let you wear her favorite tiara, introduce you to the members of Parliament and foreign dignitaries, pronounce you the future queen (even if it was untrue and everyone knew it; Kieran would inherit the throne as the first-born legitimate child of the king). It was some of your favorite memories with your mother. But, as you got older, and when your mother eventually passed, your birthday became something you dreaded. If you ever did anything that your father didn’t approve of—which was a lot—then he would make sure you never heard the end of it.

That was why you asked Marc if he would like some dance lessons before the big day. It was inevitable that you and Marc would have to dance together. And if he made one misstep…Well, he wouldn’t be the one your father would chastise. No, that would be you. So, for the entire week leading up to your birthday ball, Marc came to the palace for a couple hours and spun you around the ballroom until you were so dizzy you couldn’t think straight.

He was actually a decent dancer to start. Not the best by any stretch of the imagination, but he seemed to do well at the basics. He was able to lead, danced in time with the music, and there were minimal moments of stepping on your feet. And perhaps, most importantly (at least in your semi-professional opinion), he was a decent conversationalist, too.

“I hope this didn’t ruin your plans for your life,” you had said to him on the first day of dance lessons. “I know this life isn’t one people would want if they knew about all that comes with it. I don’t know you very well, but I would hate for you to be miserable.”

“It’s not the life I would have chosen,” he had admitted. “I had always dreamed of a quiet life. I’m sure you can imagine what a curveball this has been and will continue to be.”

“I understand that. Sometimes, I wonder how my life would have gone if I’d had a normal childhood, something away from all the glitz and glam, away from the royal procedures and watchful eye of the king. I know I should be grateful for it all—so many would kill for a life like this. But, the thought still tickles at the back of my mind.”

“Maybe we can shirk our duties when we’re married,” Marc suggested. “What will we get? A dukedom? That’s even more of a figurehead position than king, if you ask me. We should abandon whatever castle they give us, and get a nice little cottage in the country.”

“Mm, bigger than a cottage. I’d like to have a library,” you said. “A small one, at least. I have a lot of favorite books.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Ste—I have a lot of favorite books, too,” Marc said. His face changed, softening. His eyes became wider, kinder, and when he spoke again, it was in a British accent. “We should do that thing where I recommend you my favorite book and you recommend me yours, read them, and talk about them. A little book club for two, yeah?”

“That would be nice. I’d really like that. How about tomorrow, I give you my favorite book and you give me yours? That should give me enough time to figure out what my number one favorite is,” you said.

“Sounds like a grand plan, Your Highness.”

And so the week continued like that. Marc slowly opening up to you, you slowly opening up to Marc. Every day, you began to look forward to the dance lessons. Come Wednesday, you found yourself adding more and more songs to your playlist just to make him stay longer. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Part of you thought that, perhaps, he wanted to stay, too. At the end of every lesson, he would hold you close against his chest, look at you with his soft brown eyes, and made you feel like the most important woman in the world.

Come Friday, you decided that being in his arms felt nice. Safe, even. It was entirely irrational, feeling that way about him. You barely knew the man, only had a handful of conversations with him—the vast majority of them occurring in the last week as he spun you ‘round and ‘round the ballroom. There was just something about him, something that felt so comforting about him now that he was consistently being nice. Maybe it was just because he was the only man who was kind to you for the sake of being kind. Maybe it was just because he was himself.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be such a fast learner,” you said as you twirled into Marc’s arms.

“It helps that I have an excellent teacher,” he said, speaking in that silly little British accent.

Marc did that a lot. Switch up his accents, you mean. Granted, it was only three accents—the one he usually used, the one that almost sounded like his accent but just slightly different, and the British one. He did it so effortlessly, so easily, even changed up his mannerisms with each accent. It was so interesting. You wondered if he had ever wanted to be an actor because, with a talent like that, you could easily see him become a movie star.

“I have to ask,” you began as he twirled you around, your skirt flaring out, “what’s with the different accents? I enjoy them, but you only ever do that around me and Layla. I don’t really understand why.”

Marc hesitated, eyes darting around your face as he spun you back into his arms. “Eh, well, ya see…Just figured it was a bit funny, innit?” he said. “You don’t laugh much, but I noticed ya seem to brighten up a bit when I change my voice around.”

You smiled without really meaning to. That happened a lot recently—smiling naturally, you mean. Not the perfectly painted on smile you used for the press. No, the one that you rarely pulled out anymore. Usually, it was reserved for when you and Layla were alone, free from the watchful eyes of, well…everyone else. “I appreciate that. Really, truly.”

“I’m glad. I want you to be comfortable around me. Which is why I have to ask…” Marc trailed off, pausing as if he was trying to gauge your reaction. He was back to speaking like he normally did, dropping the British accent. “I was talking to Layla earlier, and she’d said that everything about your birthday can get a bit stressful. I don’t mean to overstep, but I just wanted you to know that if there comes a point tomorrow where you need to just step away from it all, you can send me some sort of signal and I’ll find a way to get you away, okay?”

“What, like a secret code word or something?” you asked. “I love that, Marc. Ooh, our code word could be pineapple! I hate pineapple, so that way I won’t accidentally say it since I would never bring it up in the first place. It’s perfect!”

Marc nodded, smiling slightly as you spoke. He didn’t smile much, you’d noticed. But he always had a hint of one when he spoke to you. “That’s a great code word. If I hear pineapple, I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”

“Considering you’re a Moon Knight, you already are my knight in shining armor sans shining armor,” you laughed.

The song playing over the speakers came to an end as Marc held you against him, one of your hands in his, his other hand resting on your waist while yours was on his shoulder. He looked at you, his breathing somewhat heavier. As you peered at him, you found yourself glancing down at his lips, wondering if they were as soft as they looked. Would it be improper to see if they were, to kiss him now? It was the twenty-first century, after all. You would hardly be called a whore for kissing a man, especially a man that you were to marry in the coming months. Your father, though, would probably have some other thoughts.

But your father wasn’t here, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him…

Except, Marc pulled away, taking a step back from. “Thank you for the lessons, dove,” he said. Your heart lifted, even if it was slightly wounded by him backing away. It was the first time he had you called dove, and you found yourself wishing he would say it again. “Perhaps I won’t make a total fool of myself tomorrow evening.”

“It it makes you feel better, no one would really notice your blunders,” you offered before cringing slightly. Okay. That was a bit conceited, even if it did have an air of truth to it. “You’ll be given more grace than I will be granted.”

“By your father, you mean.”

You sucked in a breath. You’d been hoping he’d forgotten about what he heard. That the moment he’d walked into had been erased from his memory. He hadn’t brought it up since—not said a single word. Perhaps it was foolish of you to think you were in the clear. “Him, yes, as well as my brother and Harrow.”

Marc’s jaw clenched at the mention of Harrow. Did the two of them have issues? You couldn’t imagine a royal advisor would come into contact with a Moon Knight all that often… Then again, Harrow had been a former Moon Knight himself. Perhaps their paths had crossed.

But before you could wonder further, Marc said, “I wish they would see you for how you really are.”

“And how is that?”

“It’s all in your name, isn’t it? The one Layla calls you, anyway. A dove. One day, they’ll come to regret trying to clip your wings.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not,” you said. You didn’t believe it, but you wanted to. You dreamt of a day where your family would regret their treatment of you. But that was just a fantasy and you knew it.

And yet, looking at Marc, you almost believed that there would come a day where that fantasy would become your reality.

“Nearly done with your makeup, Your Highness,” your stylist said, applying the final coats of mascara to your lashes. “And…done! You look stunning, Your Highness.”

You caught a glance of yourself in the mirror. You did look beautiful, more so than usual. Your hair had been styled in an elaborate updo, star-shaped pins scattered throughout your hair. Your stylist had made you look ethereal—a goddess amongst men if there was ever such a thing. You were already a natural beauty, but the makeup only enhanced it. The eyeshade made your eyes pop, the highlight made you glow, the lipstick made your lips look… Well, you hoped kissable, at least to the one person you found yourself wanting to kiss.

It was strange, the way you were starting to like Marc. You barely knew anything about him. He kept so much to himself, instead preferring to listen to you talk about yourself. But being with him felt nice, felt natural. It had only been a week, and yet you found yourself looking forward to a lifetime with him. The more cynical part of you—the weaker part of you—wondered if it was because he was the only man you’ve had in your life who has shown you basic kindness. The more optimistic part of you—the stronger part of you—hoped that it was because this was the beginning of a fairytale.

(Though, doesn’t tragedy always befall princesses in fairytales before they are allowed their happy endings?)

“Thank you,” you said. “You always amaze me with you handiwork.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t look half as good if you weren’t already so beautiful yourself, Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

“You’re too kind. Thank you, again,” you said.

She nodded once more before going to leave, opening the door to reveal Marc Spector himself, posed as if he was about to knock on the door, one hand behind his back. She stepped past him, leaving the two of you alone.

“Wow,” Marc said, speaking in that British accent again. “You look brilliant!”

Heat rushed to your face as you looked at him, looking him up and down. His outfit complimented yours well, donning a black tux with gold accents. Compared to your gold gown with silver stars, the two of you looked like you walked straight out of a magazine photoshoot. In the back of your mind, you were well aware that your father wouldn’t be pleased with such a show-y display, but it was your birthday. You would deal with the fallout later.

“You don’t look half-bad yourself, Mr. Spector,” you said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later. Is there something you needed?”

His cheeks tinted pink. “I needed to see you.”

You cursed yourself for not knowing how to flirt. The most truly romantic experiences you’d ever gotten were confined to books and movies, and even those were scarce. Sure, you had gone on a few dates here and there, kissed a couple of guys over the years. But it was nothing in the grand scheme of things. You were always a bit awkward, unable to drop the constraints of being a professional royal.

And yet, being around Marc felt natural. You didn’t have to think about professionalism, about what the media might think of you, about what Benjamin might think of you. So, you tried to just be yourself, smiling at him and asking, “Yeah? And why’s that?”

Marc stepped more into the room, the door shutting behind him. He moved the hand that was behind his back to reveal a present. “I wanted to give you your present early,” he said, his accent changing again to the one he normally spoke in.

Your smile widened. “You didn’t have to get me a present, Marc.”

“I know, but the other day, after our engagement photos, Layla took me to the royal library…to make sure things weren’t awkward between me and her. While we were there, I saw something that made me want to get a present for you,” he explained. He held out the gift bag to you, and you took it. “I really hope you like it.”

You set the bag down on the makeup table, carefully taking out the tissue paper. In the bag was a framed picture, which you pulled out, briefly marveling at the ornate frame—white with gold accents, looked almost like marble. But then you saw the picture inside the frame, and it almost made you cry.

It was one of your mother playing with dolls with you. She was wearing a gown—probably about to go to an event or maybe returning from one. She was sitting on the floor, her gown spread out around her, making her almost look like one of those fancy cupcakes that has mountains of fluffy frosting. You were sat on her lap, holding out two of your Barbie dolls, one of her hands over yours as you handed a doll off to her.

You had never seen the picture before. You didn’t have many photographs of your mother that weren’t paparazzi shots or official portraits. Benjamin had made sure to keep them all under lock and key. Something about maintaining the perfect public image. No matter how many times you fought with him over the years, he insisted that he knew best. You were surprised Marc had even been able to find it. This must have somehow slipped through the cracks when your father was clearing out all the photo albums.

“Oh, Marc—” you sniffled, struggling to keep your emotions together. “This is perfect. Where did you find this?”

“It was in that one room in the library, with all the royal family records? It was in this photo album wedged between some books on a bottom shelf. I put it right back where I found it, so, uh, if you want, I can maybe show it to you later?” he offered.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much,” you said.

“I’m glad you like it. I’ve heard about how close you and your mother were and well…I didn’t know much about you personally at the time, so I trusted that everyone else knew that that was true and wasn’t just lying,” he said, chuckling at the end.

“Honestly and truly, this is one of the best presents I’ve ever received.” You set the frame down, stepping slightly closer, and asked, “Would it be alright if I gave you a hug?”

Marc nodded, a smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He opened his arms, and you stepped in them. It felt nice, being held by him. You couldn’t quite recall the last time someone had hugged you. It was probably Layla—she was the only person who, well, treated you like a person.

Being in his arms, held tightly like he actually cared about, it made all of those romantic feelings you were so conflicted about rise to the surface again. And you couldn’t quite convince yourself to not act on them.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head to look at him, “people will expect us to show some affection tonight.”

It wasn’t entirely true, and you knew both of you were well aware of that. Royals very rarely displayed any sort of affection—perhaps a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the hand. Certainly not a full-on lip-to-lip kiss. And certainly not between a princess and her fiancé. But, god, you wanted to kiss him so badly. You would have used any reason to feel his lips against yours just once before the night was over.

“Yeah?” Marc said, his hands coming to rest on your hips, holding you close against his body.

“Mhm. And, you know, I’d hate for our first real kiss to be out there in front of everyone. What if we’re really bad? And all that the papers can report is that the princess is a horrible kisser?”

Marc glanced at the mirror behind you for a second before saying, “We should probably practice then.”

You reached up, cupping Marc’s face in your hands, pulling him towards you. “It only makes sense.”

He met you halfway, pressing his lips against yours, kissing you like you were his last breath. Oh, no one had ever kissed you like this before. Not even Lord Barnes, who all the ladies said was a brilliant kisser. No, no, Marc was so much better.

Marc kissed you like you were his last breath, like if he stopped then he would surely die. He held onto your hips tightly, the material crinkling under his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wanted to smack his hands away—your father would not be happy if your dress was ruined before the night even started. But, god, who fucking cared?

All that mattered in this moment was you and Marc and whatever spark was growing between the two of you.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

Knock! Knock!

“Dove? Your father is asking you to come down for pictures and—OH MY GOD!”

You jumped away from Marc, eyes widening as you looked at Layla in the doorway, her hand slapped over her eyes so she couldn’t see the two of you.

“Come out in five minutes and look decent, you two!” Layla said, walking backwards out of the door frame, grabbing the door knob and shutting it.

You looked at Marc, realizing your lipstick had smeared around his lips. “Shit,” you muttered, turning around and grabbing a makeup wipe. You quickly got to work, wiping the remnants of your makeup from his face. “Okay, you’re fine now.”

Marc blinked slowly at you, as if he was still recovering from the high of kissing you. “You, uh, might wanna touch up your lipstick, too, dove,” he mumbled.

You whipped around, looking in the mirror, seeing your lipstick smeared around. “Shit, shit, shit,” you repeated under your breath, trying to restore your stylist’s handiwork to its former glory. “Do I look okay now?”

“You look like an angel, dove,” Marc said. “Turn around, look at me.”

You obeyed, turning your attention back to him. His hands returned your to your hips, holding you slightly away from him as he looked you up and down. “Do I look presentable?”

“What? Oh, yeah, of course you do, dove,” Marc said. “Just wanted to have a moment to shamelessly gawk at you before I have to go act all prim and proper.”

You laughed so hard you snorted. “You dork,” you said between giggles. “C’mon, let’s go before Layla thinks the worst of us.”

Layla would not meet your gaze when the two of you came out of the room, Marc’s hand on the small of your back as he led you to her. When you started to apologize for what she walked into, she raised her hand, stopping you, and said, “Next time, I want a warning.”

“What? Like a sock on the doorknob?” you joked. When they both turned to look at you with horrified eyes, you said, “What? I’ve seen enough movies to know what that is! Oh, c’mon, you both were supposed to laugh!”

“This is worse than when I walked in on you and Lord Barnes,” she said, shaking her head.

Marc’s brow furrowed. His accent changed again—the one that almost sounded like his actual accent but not quite. “Lord Barnes? Who’s that?” he asked. You didn’t miss the vitriol in his voice as he said the other man’s name.

“No one,” you said as Layla said, “Her first crush. I walked in on them kissing in the garden when I was first assigned as her bodyguard.”

“So, uh, I got competition, then?” Marc tried to joke, but neither you nor Layla missed the seriousness in his voice.

“More like I’m the one with competition,” you said. “You’re more his type than me.”

Marc’s face dropped as your words started to click. “Oh, uh—that’s—I—um—”

Before Marc could manage to string together a sentence, the three of you had arrived in the room where your pictures would be taken. Benjamin and Kieran were already waiting there with the photographer. Your heart began to drop, coming to accept that any semblance of joy that you had previously been experiencing was over now. Your family seemed to revel in squandering your happiness, and today would be no exception.

And yet, your father turned to you, a wide smile on his face. It looked…alien. Unnatural. Like someone had loaded a photo of him into FaceTune and had used the tool that makes the subject “smile”. It didn’t look like him at all.

“Happy birthday!” your father said, opening his arms to you.

You spared a glance at Layla, who looked just as puzzled as you felt. When you glanced at Marc, he showed no emotion on his face, but the hand that wasn’t on your back was clenched in a fist at his side. Neither of the people closest to you trusted what was happening, and neither did you.

Still, you had to put on a show. You stepped away from the people who truly cared, into the arms of your father. He squeezed you tight. Unlike Marc’s embrace, this felt more like a boa constrictor winding its body around its prey, slowly squeezing the life out of its helpless victim.

“Thank you,” you said, but all you wanted to do was run.

If only you had.

The ball was in full swing, and all you wanted to do was run and hide in your room. Well, perhaps not hide. But you certainly were ready to sleep for a thousand years after this entire ordeal. Because this was not only your birthday celebration but also the first major event that Marc taking part in, you had to make sure that you went around and greeted every. single. guest. who was in attendance. Unlike your typical birthdays where you might be forgiven—though, the word should be taken lightly since Benjamin never really forgives you for any of your mistakes—for this one, you had to make sure you were the perfect model of the perfect princess.

The ball had started nearly two hours ago, and you still hadn’t been able to greet everyone in between taking breaks to drink the champagne you asked your father to have served, dancing with Marc and other important political officials, and ducking outside to the balcony for fresh air. Thankfully, though, you were almost certain that you’d spoken to nearly everyone at least once. There were only a few still left.

Including, of course, Prime Minister Wilson and Lord Barnes.

“Princess!” Sam greeted, Bucky holding onto his arm. “Happy birthday. I hope this year treats you well.”

“Sam, Bucky, I’m so glad you could make it,” you said, hugging both of them before stepping back to stand beside Marc. “I would like to introduce you to my fiancé, Marc Spector. Marc, this is Prime Minister Sam Wilson and Lord James Barnes.”

Marc’s brow raised at the mention of Lord Barnes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“You too,” Bucky said. “And you can call me Bucky. Y/N has always insisted on introducing me as James after she found out how much it annoyed me. It wasn’t so bad when it was just her, but after she told Sam here, the two of them take every opportunity to call me James now.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “If you didn’t react so strongly every time, then maybe we would stop.”

“You two are the worst.” Bucky rolled his eyes, scoffing. He took a moment to look away, his interest piquing as he spotted someone in the distance. “Sam, I just spotted Nat. We should go say hello before she decides to leave early.”

Sam agreed before bidding you and Marc farewell, letting his boyfriend pull him away to greet their old friend. As they left, you turned back to Marc, smiling.

“See?” you said. “No reason to be jealous of Lord Barnes, he’s only got eyes for the Prime Minister.”

Marc shook his head, chuckling quietly. “I never said I was jealous.”

“I could see it in your eyes. They’re very expressive. At least, compared to the rest of your face.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.”

But before you could elaborate further, explain how his eyes seemed to change so drastically with each of the silly little accents he would put on, a waiter was walking over to you, a single glass of wine situated in the middle of his tray.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” the waiter said as you picked up the glass of wine.

“Thank you,” you said before taking a sizable drink as he walked away. Normally, you would only drink in small sips. But now, you were desperate to feel some sort of buzz that would get you through the rest of the evening.

It tasted strange, the wine. You fought the urge to recoil at the taste, instead keeping the perfectly painted on smile. Wine was far from your alcohol of choice, so perhaps it was your inexperience with the drink that was affecting your thoughts, but… Well, it tasted strangely sweeter than any other wine you’d had before.

“Bad?” Marc asked, watching your reaction.

“Not…good,” you said. “I’m not the biggest fan of wine. My father must have asked for it to be served.”

Marc nodded, his jaw clenching. You watched as his eyes scanned the room. You didn’t have to ask what he was looking for—you already knew what it was. Not a single other person in the room had been served wine. You were the only person who had been offered a glass. Part of you wanted to assure him that everything was fine, that perhaps they just wanted to make sure you had been served the first glass before everyone else. But there was a pit settling in your stomach, something that told you things weren’t quite what they seemed.

You spotted Layla standing near the wall, and you waved her over.

“Yes, dove?” she asked.

“Can you take this back to the kitchen please? Something about it tasted wrong, and I don’t want them to serve anymore to the guests in case something in it has gone bad,” you said, passing the glass off to her.

“That’s hardly in my job description, dove,” she teased, “but of course. It’ll be no issue.”

As she walked away, a new song began to play. Your ears perked as you recognized the sound. It was one of your favorites, and you told Marc just as much when you turned your attention back to him. Wordlessly, he offered you his arm, leading you out to the middle of the floor.

You liked that. How Marc was beginning to understand you without you having to say a single word. You hoped that one day you would understand him like that. Though he had begun to open up to you, you could tell that there were a lot of things that he was still holding close to his chest. You understood it, of course, didn’t fault him for it. This entire situation was still so new. Of course he would’t open up about everything so quickly. You could only hope that, one day, he would be comfortable enough to tell you about his secrets.

Marc twirled you around the dance floor, and for a moment you let yourself forget about everything you were thinking of. The wine no longer mattered. The fact that your social battery was quickly depleting was a thing of the past. Your father having been uncharacteristically kind to you this evening no longer weighed heavily on your mind. All that mattered was that Marc was there and he was trying his hardest to fit in and that he made you…Happy.

Yeah. Happy.

Such a foreign feeling. Some days—most days, actually, if you were being honest—you forgot what that feeling was. But when you were with Marc, it consumed your very being. It lit your soul on fire. It made you feel alive. You wanted to remember that feeling, capture it in a jar and hold onto it forever.

But, god, something wasn’t feeling right.

The more you spun around the dance floor, the more…off you felt. Your limbs felt weak, like they were being weighed down. You couldn’t see straight. The sound of the music was reduced to a dull thump in your ears. Something was right at all.

You found yourself stopping, smacking straight into Marc’s chest, not caring that people were starting to stare at you. He looked down at you, his brows furrowed, a question on the tip of his tongue. But you got there first.

“Marc?” you asked, looking at him, eyes wide, pupils blown out. You didn’t look well. You were clammy, thin beads of sweat collecting at your hairline. You were swaying on your feet, unable to keep your balance. You hadn’t drank that much, had you? Only a glass of champagne and…And the wine. Had you asked for there to be wine tonight? You couldn’t recall… Who had given it to you? Surely it was a waiter… But why couldn’t you remember? Had anyone else been given wine? You hoped no one else was feeling as ill as you… “I think I would like some pineapple right now.”

“Pineapple? Of course,” Marc said, brow furrowed, reaching out to lead you to the most convenient safe haven. But before he could even touch you, your feet gave out on you and you slumped to the ground, your world going dark.

Oh, dear. You hoped this wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.

Everything felt…wrong when you began to wake up. It felt like someone had placed a giant weight on top of you, like if you tried to move any of your limbs then they would surely break off. Something was stuck in your arm, too, and you so desperately wanted to just rip it out. And the goddamn beeping! Why would anyone have something so annoying in your room? Who could possibly be expected to sleep with someone like that in the background?! And…was that…shouting? Who was shouting in your room?

A wave of annoyance washed over you, giving you the energy to finally peel your eyes open. The room was bright—too bright. You immediately wanted to shut your eyes again and go back to sleep. You were slightly propped up with pillows, forced into an half-up sleeping position. That was strange. Why would you go to sleep like that? You were a side sleeper through and through. There was no way you would willingly sleep on your back like this.

The shouting became louder as you pushed yourself up, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. The room you were in, though, looked entirely unfamiliar. You looked at the plain white walls, took in the fluorescent lights, the machines surrounding you, and you realized what had happened. Somewhere in your tired state, you’d forgotten about what had happened at the ball. So much for not being an inconvenience.

Were you alone? No. No, someone was shouting. Who was shouting?

Finally, your eyes landed on the open bathroom door, your fiancé’s hands clenching the sink, staring straight in the mirror, shouting obscenities at…himself?

“No, I don’t know anymore about what’s going on than either of you two do!” he snapped. “Don’t you get snarky with me, Steven! You and I both know that we couldn’t just leave her here alone. Layla’s been fuckin’ busy! If we weren’t here, who would be here for the princess?!”

There was a moment of silence before Marc scoffed. “You’ve been talking to Steven too much, Jake. His snarkiness is wearing off on you. Look—this is where we’re needed right now. Y/N is going to be waking up soon, I’m sure of it. As soon as she’s awake and understands what’s happened, we can start looking more into what happened. Yes, yes, I know it’ll probably happen again. It happened in the fucking palace—do you really think it won’t happen again here? She needs someone here, in this hospital, to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

“Marc?” you called out, your voice strained from lack of use, concerned about his conversation with himself. “Is everything alright? Who are you talking to?”

Marc’s head whipped towards you, the color draining from his face. Uh oh, you mused, someone didn’t mean for me to hear any of that. He slowly walked out of the bathroom, sinking into the chair beside your bed, reaching out, taking one of your hands in his. “Hey sleepyhead,” he said in that silly British accent. “How you feelin’? You gave us all quite the fright.”

“Don’t change the subject,” you mumbled. “I feel okay. Sleepy, kinda like I just got hit by a truck…What happened?”

“You were poisoned, dove,” Marc said after a long pause, his voice strained, as if he was trying to hold himself together. “The doctors said it was nightshade…The king is having it investigated right now. So am I.”

“Nightshade?” you repeated. “But…I don’t understand. Why would someone poison me?”

“That’s why it’s being investigated,” Marc explained. “They don’t know if it was someone with an agenda against the royal family in general or if someone specifically had it out for you.”

“Out for me?”

“It’s a possibility. We aren’t sure yet.” Marc sighed, looking down at his lap for a moment before glancing back up at you. His voice had changed to the accent that was almost his natural one but not quite. “We can talk about this more later…in private. There’s too many people here who can listen. When you get discharged, we’re going to take you to a safe house, okay?”

“But wait, you said you had someone investigating it…Why would you do that, when my father is having it investigated?” You paused, the gears slowly turning. “Unless you think…”

“It’s a possibility,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a photograph, passing it to you. “I saw something when I was in the library. I had this old friend, Jessica Jones, look into it for me. After you were poisoned, I thought that maybe it could be connected, so I asked her if she could try and figure out if…well, if the palace had something to do with it.”

You stared at the picture, your heart starting to sink. It was a picture from Kieran’s first birthday—you only knew that because you recognized the outfits your parents and Kieran wore from an official portrait made of the day. Your mother was holding Kieran. She didn’t quite look like herself. She had this distant look in her eye, her mouth turned down into a frown. She was a far cry from the woman you recognized. Your father looked just as stoic as ever, not a single emotion present on his face, though…Though, he was glancing off to the side, at a maid in the background. And, as you looked more closely at the maid, you felt your throat start to close up.

“She looks just like…” you trailed off, shaking your head. No, no, no. That couldn’t be true…Could it? “Do you know she is?”

“Jessica is still trying to figure that out. That woman’s been well-hidden over the years,” Marc said. “I’m hoping she’ll get a lead by the time you get out of the hospital, and then we can all meet up to discuss what she found.”

You nodded slowly, running your finger over the maid’s face. You looked up at Marc again, and asked, “Can I ask you something? And you promise not to change the subject?”

He nodded.

“Who is Steven? And Jake?”

He sucked in a breath, looking away from you. “I was really hoping you hadn’t heard that.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…When I woke up, you were shouting at yourself in the bathroom.”

“No,” he corrected, “I was shouting at Steven and Jake…I was going to tell you, I promise. I was just hoping it would be under better circumstances. Dove, how familiar are you with DID?”

#do not chastise the dove: a royal moon knight au #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x female reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector x reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x female reader #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x female reader #starrywrites #starryevermore

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mockiery · 2 years

Note

(jumps into your inbox with a lil Steven wave)

Could you tell us a favorite little headcanon you have about Jake?

(runs away, chased by Marlene swoopin down from the sky)

lemme just. dig into the file in my brain of jake headcanons real quick.

oh, did i say file? i meant filing cabinet. she thicc

Let's talk Jake Lockley and music.

I am. Very passionate about Jake Lockley getting to live life. And music? Music is one of those things that truly, truly, is difficult to ascribe to utility, as Jake is often wont to do with the few things he allows himself.

Coming back to Jake protecting Marc and Steven from their self-destructive tendencies, Jake is constantly fighting for life. So. Of course he has a fire in him for it. Passion thy name is Jake Motherfuckin' Lockley.

I think of the three of them, Jake is the most in tune with his culture, particularly as a greater, communal thing. Latino New Yorker, that is. And I think that reflects in his music tastes. Of the three, Jake absolutely has the most diverse music taste, and I think he likes it loud, likes to feel the beat and the bass of it through the seat of his cab or the ground of the dance floor.

Yes, the dance floor. Jake Lockley is a frequent patron of Latin dance clubs. He can disappear into it, just feel alive amongst the anonymity of crowded solo dances and the casual nature of partnered dances. And as a precise man of taste? Jake is a phenomenal dancer. He has to mix up what clubs he goes to otherwise he'll become a heartthrob start getting noticed, but that's not too hard for someone who makes money driving all around a city.

We already know he whistles, as seen in his introductory scene on the way to fuck up Harrow's shit. He whistles and hums constantly. Bounces his fingers against the wheel while driving. It's probably a bit annoying to some of his passengers, but it's one of the few things that he really can't find it in himself to cover up and mask for other people.

He can play the guitar. Tio energy. Portable, as far as instruments go, and not hard to find and pick up. If he has his own, he keeps it in the trunk of his cab. He likes things to do with his hands, and the guitar is perfect for that.

After a long night solo Moon Knighting, in the wee hours of the morn, the sun not quite reaching towards the horizon, but tainting the sky with its light, I like to think he takes a moment to calm his mind, his body, so when he hands over the reins to Steven and/or Marc, it's harder for them to tell what their body has gone through. It's utility, of course. It's what works, he tells himself. Not much else does. So he plays to himself. Hums. Maybe even sings ever so quietly, but not much. Just a word here or there, slipping out. He's not the one who gets to have a voice, not really.

#oooooo i went OFF #i said i was passionate about this ok i was given a platform and i fuckin RAN with it #sorry if other asks take longer i genuinely did not plan to take so long on these i just ahve a lot of Thoughts #mk meta #asks answered #moon knight #also we're not gonna acknowledge the framing device of this ask ok we're just not #jake lockley

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sgt-morgan · 2 years

Text

Okay I made the Moonboys personal playlists. 🎧

Moonknight Masterlist

Hear me out, I know there are tons of them out there, but I’m doing you a favor. For these lists I took into mind a lot of personality stuff, and time frame stuff. When they were in high school, languages they’re likely to be able to read and understand, the idea that 30 year old men ain’t listening to no Olivia Rodrigo, nor do they probably really care about Mother Mother. (I get it, they’re great artists, but in your heart of hearts, do you really see Jake Lockley jamming to Hayloft?) NOT TO DIS OTHER LISTS! If that’s the vibe you get for them, that’s the vibe. After all, these are fictional men. But, I’m gonna give you my lists, the reasoning, and the guilty pleasure songs that I DIDN’T INCLUDE on their playlists, because I wanted to give you the vibe lists I use to write with. (Yes I have a vibes list for every character I write for, sue me.) without further ado, the MoonKnight boys, and their lists.

Jake Lockley🌘:

Man is a punk at heart, truly.

Punk is an angry music, but it bites at its own expense.

Punk often dips into themes of mental illness and bitterness at the system, all things that have failed Jake and his brothers at some point.

Punk is a way of expressing raw emotion, something this man runs off of.

Punk is also very clever, you get tongue and cheek a lot with those artists.

You also hear a lot of struggles with personality, the meaning of identity, the idea of self.

The other thing about it is, punk is about the working class fighting back.

It’s a lot about being broke and cursing at the wind, so Jake as a Working class individual would be subject to a lot of it.

Imagine Jake turning on a rowdy punk song and hitting a punching bag.

Imagine Jake being pissed he had to do a job for a big half dead pigeon that’s probably gonna get him shot at for the fifth time this week, so he turns on a song all about fucking over your boss.

It’s loud, it’s brash, it’s raucous, it’s off putting. Jake can’t afford to be those things, so it’s nice to hear someone who can.

The other thing I imagine Jake likes, is Salsa.

Can’t get enough of the shit.

It’s smooth, danceable, and it’s very very fun.

I imagine this is Jake’s Dance music.

I think this man is a dancer

“What Cariño? Dancing is a good way to keep loose, can I not keep loose?”

Also, I imagine this man is very suave, he’s slick.

Salsa is a good reason to hold your partner close, it’s sexy, up beat, and good for swaying your hips.

“Oye mi vida, let me see those hips! I like the way they move to this one, I gotta see them up close…”

Guilty pleasure is Selena. Man LOVES the queen of Tejano and you cannot change my mind. Mother fucker is getting DOWN to Baila Esta Cumbia and Carcacha in the kitchen, dancing with a spatula in hand just to make you giggle while you wait.

Steven Grant 🌒:

He’s a sleepy boy who likes soft tunes.

Bon Iver is a biggie on his list.

The music he enjoys most is soft, music you could sleep or read to.

It’s also multi lingual.

He’s got some stuff in Arabic on there, his time studying Egypt contributes to this fascination.

Arabic is one of the major languages in Egypt.

French is also heavily used on this list. Steven’s love of French Poetry can attribute to this.

Whatever it is, it’s slow.

Steven feels like his life is fast paced enough, music should be a means to unwind.

Lots of music for sleeping during rain storms on the list.

Lots of snuggling under blankets to his music.

Lots of reading and falling asleep to music here.

The other thing though, is that the music has really deep lyrics.

He likes the themes that the artists explore.

Tons of slow dances with this list.

It’s used as a tool to fend off distraction, a means to keep the storm at bay.

“Baby? Will you turn the music on? The Neighbors raucous sex life is inhibiting my ability to read.”

Steven’s guilty pleasure? Broadway.

He likes broadway because he is a sucker for a good story.

Telling the story through song? A fun little bonus!

“Good lord! Does he have to sing so dramatically? He’s almost overreacting, it’s taking me out of the story.”

Marc Spector🌔:

He was a teen/young adult in the 90s and a mercenary, the man loves Grunge music.

I bet this mother fucker bought Bad Motor Finger when it came out on CD.

His taste feels like a mix of Steven and Jake. It’s got that loud mouthy quality, with 90s staples such as Sound Garden and Pearl Jam, but the softness and comfort as well with Radio head and certain Nirvana songs.

Heavy themes of depression on this list.

Lots of Karma talk, self blame for harsh scenarios.

There’s a defying of reverence in this music as well. Shaking a fist at God so to speak.

Lots of talks of suffering terrible hardships with a sarcastic grit.

Lots and lots of talk about the world being against him.

I think Mark is a harbinger of Internal guilt.

He’s a “nothing can ever go my way” type

His songs live in the early 90s and 2000s

Lots of this stuff was popular in coffee shops (the 90s version of coffee shops)

I cannot be convinced that Marc doesn’t do air guitar at his favorite hits.

He plays music very seldom though.

He doesn’t have much interest, it’s not his thing.

He has a fine taste, he’s just not the type to turn it on whatever.

His taste is built around what he likes to hear, but it isn’t really important to him.

He’s not using it while driving like Jake, or while reading like Steven.

He only really listens if he is traveling and needs noise filler.

However, if you are a music person, if you’ve had a bad day, a lot of his music is good for jumping around and head banging. It’s a stress release.

“THE WORLD IS A VAMPIRE! Go on baby, SCREAM IT OUT!!”

His guilty pleasure? Oh boy baby the crooners! Frank Sinatra love songs? Slowly swaying in the kitchen? Oh, he’s got you covered. He loves the sappy lyric’s, the way they make you blush.

He really loves music when he’s using it to romance, swaying you in the moonlight of your darkened apartment, dancing with you leaning up against his chest half drunk. This is the stuff he lives for.

He will softly hum the tunes to you while you dance, leaning his head on top of yours as you dance the night away.

#moon knight #Moonknight #moonknight fanfiction #moon knight story #steven grant x reader #Steven Grant #steven grant moon knight #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley moon knight #marc spector x reader #Marc Spector #marc spector moon knight #moonknight x reader #konshu #the moon

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kissitbttr · 2 years

Text

𝒓𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏

summary: Jake Lockley is the most dangerous man in the city and you happen to be his favorite girl

pairing: jake lockely x stripper!reader

words: 1635

New York City is one dangerous city to live in. It’s crowded and 90% of people who live here are either on their way to pursue dreams or to escape from reality. The thing is though about life, reality isn’t going anywhere. It sits there waiting patiently for us to do another fucked up or illegal shit and let the entire world punish you for it. ‘New York is a dream’ is probably what people would’ve said about this big city. What they don’t know is, behind all that jazz and glamour, people are struggling. Surviving. Willing to die for money.

Now y/n loves taking chances. A risk taker that she is and thought to herself that maybe the world wouldn’t be so bad to her and the chance of becoming a contemporary dancer was closer than she thinks. She could perhaps make it big on Broadway or perform at Duane Park NYC. yet faith seems to fucked her up even more.

Being a stripper had its perks. You dance provocatively, showing off your assets for a living and money will go straight into your panties. People adore you and would buy time to spend an hour or two with you. Especially men since they are very easy to manipulate over and will get down on their knees for you the second you promised to suck them off in the back of the room.

However, the downside of it is that being the apple of men’s eye isn’t exactly an easy thing to go through. You’ll make enemies along the way, few girls will try to screw you over and get you in a deep deep shit then take your money. Being forced to do something you won’t like and will have you crying in the dressing room that you won’t be able to continue your performance. y/n had experienced that countless times and she had to shake it off every time a dirty old pervert tried to get her to sleep with them without paying. And another thing, each amount of money you make at the end of the night? You don’t get to bring it home right after the sessions are over. The manager decides how much you’ll be taking. And y/n’s manager isn’t a peach, he’s a total prick.

“Your man candy is here.” Josie informs as she walks into the dressing room. “He’s talking to Brian. Asking for you.”

y/n finishes applying her cherry red lipstick before getting up from her chair. “I’ll be right over.”

With a smile, Josie nods and heads back to the room.

y/n looks at herself in the mirror one last time before walking out, opening the bead curtain as the door for the dressing room. It’s quite dark, you can’t easily see things when you’re here but no one could’ve mistaken a black shirt under a dark colored tweed suit with a grey cap securing his head, the overall fit that Jake only specifically owns. It’s his signature style.

He looks extremely good tonight. Really good. y/n knows the second she got involved with him was a bad idea. Considering what his past looked like and what he does for a living. She learned it all yet she couldn’t help herself. She keeps coming back for more, she’s not afraid of how many souls he had taken away or his blood-tainted hands whenever he comes around. It excites her, actually. More than she could imagine. and plus,

How could she ever turn down a gorgeous man like him?

as she walks out, she feels the envy of the girls in the dressing room. they have always wanted to have what she has. and that is to have Jake Lockley wrapped around their little fingers. they're so wired over the fact she is able to tame him, what is it that she had done and made it so easy for him to want her?

a few nights before, she saw how there were girls trying to get his attention. coming up to his table and invaded his privacy and not once did he pay any mind to them. one took it too far and said her name, saying how she could've given him more than what y/n could give him,

and he snapped. looking at that girl dead in the eye she swore she felt her soul leave her body.

'you're not y/n and you will never be her, you bitch. now get out of my fucking sight.'

yes, he's quite a talker when he speaks to other girls that's not her. it's something that she has always admired and loved

She casually walks over to his table and puts her delicate hand on his broad shoulder before whispering on his ear. “Hi, handsome.”

Jake turns around and smiles fondly at his favorite girl. His large hand makes its way on her back before rubbing it softly. “Hi, sweetheart. Was starting to think you bailed on me.” His New Jersey accent is another thing that she can’t ever get enough

She chuckles, settling herself on his lap as he moves his hand lower to give her ass a squeeze. “How could i forget a man like you, Mr. Lockely. No one could run from you. Not even me”

He lets out a laugh, giving her cheek a sweet kiss. “You know I was talking to Joe earlier and he told me you were making over a thousand this week. Must be quite of achievement, eh darling?” he says, taking a sip of the bourbon. “No lap dances though right?”

Jake had made it clear before that she is off limits. He had claimed her as his long time ago and Joe had to apply that rule outside of the club to make sure there won’t be a bloodbath. Jake has a short temper, whoever touches that belongs to him is dead. Especially if a man dares to lay one fucking finger on her. One night, a man disobeyed and tried to take y/n to the red room and before you know it, he’s gone. Dead.

She shakes her head, playing with the chain of his necklace. “Of course not. You know i’m yours. And i like to follow rules.”

“Mhmm, that’s my good girl.” he brushes a strand of her purple wig that’s covering her pretty face. “I missed you. You look so beautiful tonight. Saw you dancing with that pole and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Good. I did that for you. Hoping you would notice me and make you hard” y/n jokes, biting on her bottom lip softly and wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

He raises his eyebrow, smirking as he watches her bite her lip which he thinks, is the most sexiest thing he has ever seen. “Was that your plan? Just to tease me and get me all uncomfortable with my cock hard? Such a bad little devil.”

“Yet you can’t get enough of me” y/n whispers seductively before giving him a naughty smile. “I’ve missed you too. Were you that busy you couldn’t even meet me?’ she pouts, looking at his gorgeous brown eyes

He sighs, rubbing her soft thigh. “You know I want to, baby. But i’ve had too many shit to deal with the last couple weeks. Few of my men keep messing it up and I had to take the matter in my own hands.”

He won’t admit it but she’s his weakness. She’s the only reason why he goes to this place almost every night. To spend time with this beautiful dove. This is the only place, the only sanctuary that he can get alone time with her. Being out there? It’s far too dangerous and he doesn’t want to put her life at stake. She’s too precious to be taken away

If something happened to her, you bet he’d turn this whole city into a warzone. Kill anything that moves before he gets to see her. That’s how much he adores her. Because as both a mafia boss and a –something he won’t admit– a lover, he doesn’t mind killing everyone for her.

“Well” y/n exhales, softly padding his chest with her thumbs. “At least you’re here now.” she giggles, admiring how gorgeous he looks when he smiles at her like that.

“You know” he starts, changing the subject while twirling a glass of his drink causing his ringed fingers to clad against it. “Haven’t seen you properly up close in two weeks. Mind giving me a dance tonight, love? I’m dying to have you close to me.”

y/n smiles as she bites her lip, she begins to stand up and grab his hand. “Of course, Mr. Lockely. I have a room ready for you and a glass of Cheval Blanc”

He finishes his glass of drink and stands up, drawing her closer to his body so her breasts are pressing against his chest. He puts his lips dangerously close to her ear. “And perhaps we could stay a little while longer so i can taste that sweet cunt of yours? It’s been a while.”

Any form of sexual actions are not allowed. Joe had made it clear from the start, and whoever breaks that rule will have to face a punishment and that includes getting blacklisted. Yet again, it’s Jake Lockely. The most dangerous man in New York City, the leader of the most vicious gang and no one dares to tell him no. be that person, and you will have your head hanging on his wall.

“Absolutely Mr. Lockely. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

#moon knight #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #oscar isaac #moon knight fics

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arcade-writing · 2 years

Note

I fell in love with ur Jake x reader I wanted to put in a request for a Jake x reader smut where the reader is a dancer of any sort and Jake has a mission but gets distracted and so on so forth🧍‍♀️ Please don’t feel ikr you need to!! Only if you have time

Aww that's wonderful to hear! To make this work it'll be abit of a club like the one in Detroit become Human. Jake just can't stop himself when he sees something he wants

Dancer

🍋 NSFW

Pairing: Jake lockley X reader (GN)

Warning: lap dance, belt bondage, protected sex, nipple play, rough sex, finger sucking, Jake is really holding himself back, sir kink, unrealistic positions, fingering, dirty talk in Spanish, reader is flexible, mentions of blood and implied death, little bit of angst at the end

This is my third fic with Jake and once again, he's hitting it from behind. Jake is an ass man confirmed??

We really need more pictures of Jake

It's probably be really obvious I've never been to any form of club and don't know how expensive anything is

(S/N) = stage name

Also, to emerse yourself abit here's a playlist I made for this ask! Spotify link here

Another one of these scenes. Jake sighed as he leaned on the steering wheel. Eyes locked on the back door, men smoking by it as they waited. What they were waiting for? Their boss. The man he was going to kill.

A car pulled up, his target exiting with two guards by him. Of course. He clutched the gun in his hand, frowning as he watched them speak. He just got sight of the suitcase they carried, an impressive stack of money inside. Whilst large crowds was never something that stopped him. There was going to be too much attention brought to the scene. Police were always lingering around these streets, ready to jump at the opportunity to put someone in cuffs.

His target disappeared into the building with his guards. The rest of the men took out their cigarettes before following after. Jake rolled his eyes as he got out his car, grabbing the suitcase in the passenger seat. Hiding his gun as he marched through the back door. Watching them get led towards the pounding music. He stalked the halls as he peered into the room. Women and men were on small stadiums, twirling around poles. A few dancers in cages. This place was real fancy.

But he didn't have time to admire the view. He adjusted his hat as he walked further into the club. Eyeing the crowd as he tried to find his target. Much to his annoyance he was sitting on a large sofa. Surrounded by guards and goons. Jake muttered to himself as he sat in the nearest seat.

"Introducing - our pearl of The Ocean! Get your wallets ready for (S/N)!"

Heels clicked as your silhouette emerged from the back stage. Your hips moved to the beat as you immediately reached for the pole. Rolling your hips as you slowly bent down to a crouch. Gripping the pole as support as you slid on your knees, rolling your upper half as you ran your hands over your body.

He let out a whistle as he adjusted his hat. Trying to get a better look at you.

Jake held up a 20 dollar note at the waitress, she happily took the money as he took a glass off the tray. Dark eyes fixated on you as you twisted your body. Still on your knees as your arm was behind you. Two fingers going down your body as you thrusted your hips to the beat.

It was to no surprise you were a favourite. Dollar bills being thrown carelessly as you stood up. Blowing a kiss to the crowd as you mounted the pole. Twirling as you sticked out your leg. A confident smile on your face.

You were mesmerising.

One of the men whispered something to their boss, pointing to you which caused the boss to smile. Jake watched them with a frown. The boss leaned forward and handed you a large roll of money. You took it, kissing his cheek. You tucked it into your boot as you resumed your routine.

The boss was a regular it seems. And you were his favourite. Jakes fist clenched as he sat there. Taking a large gulp of his drink to soothe his annoyance.

As soon as your performance ended, he stood up. Keeping his suitcase out of view as he 'accidently' bumped into one the guards. He landed on the floor with a thud. During the collision his drink spilled over the guards suit.

The guard seethed with anger as he glared down at him. The boss told him to get himself cleaned up, everyone focusing their attention away from the suitcase. This was way too easy. Jake wanted to laugh as he swapped the suitcases. Rushing off with a grin on his face. Going straight for the desk in the far corner, he shoved past a drunk man as he slammed down his hand.

"How much for the pearl?"

It took a few moments but the person clocked what he meant. They shook their head as they looked at him with pity. "(S/N) isn't doing VIP sessions this week but we have other beautys to pick from."

Jake dropped the suitcase on the counter, rraising a thick brow as he opened it. They hesitantly reached out for it as they took in the fat stacks of money. Seeing it was all 100 dollar bills. A grin grew on their face as they looked back at the mercenary.

They put the money back in the case and clutched it close to their chest. "Give me a moment, sir, I'm sure we can get something arranged for you."

And just like that. The person left through the backdoor.

You lookeed up from your mirror as you heard a hurried knock at your door. You raised a brow as you opened the door. Watching the breathless receptionist hold up case. You flipped it open and stared down at the stacks of money. You looked back at them then the money.

"Is it that man again?"

"No- someone different! I've never seen him before and he only wanted you."

There was a pause. You thought over their words as you looked to the side. "Is he handsome?"

"How would I know? I'm not into men, dumbass."

You wanted to protest. Bring up objective opinion but you just shook your hands. Looking back down the hall.

"Ok- wait - let me go see."

You both rushed back to the reception desk, peering through the door to see the man standing by it. He was flexing his hand as he glared at the man slumped on the desk. You both gasped that was luckily muffled from how loud the music was.

"He was drunk, maybe he fell on his own." The receptionist reasoned, looking at you.

You really shouldn't, this screamed bsd news but who didn't in this place? You knew what kind of people sat in those seats. Watching you and the others.

You turned to them as you hid yourself against the wall. "Only for this guy, ok? He's loaded and I refuse to let that creep buy me again."

They nodded as they returned to the desk. Smiling at Jake as he tilted his head to the side. "Well?"

"All good to go, head to our VIP room and (S/N) will meet you there."

He grunted, the receptionist took the money that was needed and handed him back the suitcase. He took it without saying anything over than a gruff 'gracias'.

He pulled out a cigaretteas he slumped into the plush chair. Completely ignoring the 'no smoking' sign. He cursed as the lighter flickered, refusing to light but after a quick shake it finally worked.

It was a nice room they had set up. Pink and blue lights illuminating the space, white walls and floors reflected it nicely. The sofa was a dark navy that was just as comfortable as the seats in his car. The door was automatic with security waiting outside it. A real high class place.

He didn't have to wait long until you arrived. Swaying your hips as you leaned against the small stage. You were wearing something different; a silk jacket wrapped loosely around you as it slid down your shoulder. Your outfit exposing all your best assets as lace decorated the fabric. The colour was perfect against your skin tone.

"You got a name, sir?"

"Jake." He grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles. Surprising you as you smiled.

Once he pulled back, he inahled a long drag from his cigarette. Blowing it out to the side. Eyes boring into you as he repeated how you said sir in his head. Excitement flaring.

"Well - Jake, what can I do for you?" You pushed yourself towards him, Leaning down as you trailed your fingers up his arm.

"A dance first would be nice."

His smile was stiff as he nudged his head to the pole. You returned the smile as you shrugged your shoulders. "As you wish."

You leaped up, wrapping your legs around the pole as you listened to the music. There was a small speaker in the room. Most guest usually started playing their own song but he just sat there.

Once you got a good sense of the beat you began to move. Letting your upper half fall as you spun. Your hands squeezed at your your body as you reached out a hand for him.

"You're Magnífico." Was all he said as he intently watched. Eyes glued to each movement. Each breath. You were a piece of art that no language had the words to describe. But he settled on a word from his mother tongue.

You smiled at the praise. Making sure to add an extra sway and exaggeration in your movements. He just took another drag as you quickly grabbed the pole. Swinging your body with impressive speed.

"You know-" you started, sliding down the pole as you twisted your body. Keeping one hand on it as you curled your finger towards him. He let out an amused scoff as he leaned forward, you were finally able to reach him.

You took the cigarette from his hand as he blew out another huff of smoke. Putting it between your legs as you spun. Landing on your feet with a thud. You blew out the smoke before dropping it. Crushing it under your heel.

"We have those rules for a reason."

You slid off the stage, crawling towards him as you grabbed his knees. Using it as a way to give yourself some balance as you sunk to the floor. Legs raised In the air as you glided one foot up the other leg. Clicking your heels to the beat. He moved his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Lifting yourself up as you grabbed onto his shoulder.

You slowly went down on his lap, grinding against him as you hummed the song. He gripped your hips as he guided you. Your mouth hovering over his as he let out a strained groan. You buried your face in his neck as you left small kisses over it.

He didn't even time to react as you snatched his hat and placed it on your head. Adjusting it as you stood up. Turning so your ass was on full display, holding the stage as you moved your hips to the beat. Sitting back on his lap as you grinned.

You pushed yourself off, going back to your pole as you tipped his hat at him.

Jake just stood up, following after you. Jumping onto the stage, you moved to keep some distance. Springing back up on the pole as you locked your ankles together. Back pressed to the pole as you gripped it.

"Anymore rules I needed to know about?" His hands found your waist as his mouth pressed to your exposed skin. Teeth grazing your chest as he kept his eyes on yours.

"No leaving marks." You grabbed his jacket for support. Smiling as you felt him huff.

"Anything else?" Sounding alot less enthusiastic.

"You got to keep it wrapped."

He bit back his words. He knew exactly why but that didn't stop the little voice in his head cursing at the rules. But the way you moved in his hands, he knew you'd feel so good around him regardless.

He kept kissing down your body. Only grazing with his teeth making you let out an amused scoff. He was on his knees. Mouthing your crotch through your booty shorts. You let out a moan as your hold on the pole faltered. Grinding against his mouth as you grabbed his curly locks. Pushing his face closer as he prodded his tongue along the fabric.

"Baby, you're gonna be wanting to change careers after this."

You bit back your laughter. In utter disbelief at his confidence. You could tease the clients and test their buttons but you tried to not test your luck too much. Unsure who was locked in a room with you. But you couldn't help but feel at ease. He was so...relaxed in a strange way. Like he truely didn't care about a single thing.

"Oh really? You're gonna have to prove it."

"I plan to." He pulled your legs towards him, it was abit awkward as he took off your shorts but he made it work.

As soon as you were exposed he was standing up. Bending your legs back until they reached your shoulders. Letting out a whistle as he took in the sight behold him. You were thankful you trained yourself to be more flexible for this career, knowing it would come in use.

He gripped your ass with one hand. Using strength you didn't even think was human to keep you up in the air as you adjusted your arms. Wrapping them around your legs to keep them to close to you as you gripped the pole.

You better have abs after this because your muscles were screaming.

You snapped out of your thoughts as he swiped his thumb on your mouth. "Suck." He ordered with expecting eyes. You wrapped your lips around his thick fingers. Moaning around them as you licked them up and down. The leather of his gloves was rough on your tongue but you didn't mind.

Once he deemed his fingers coated enough he pulled them out. Easing into your hole as he watched the way you quiver. Soaking in every noise you made as he thrusted his finger in, working you up to two. He bit at your 'shirt', mouth hovering over your nipples as he tugged on them lightly. Your back arched as you pressed your chest closer to him.

"Parece que quieres más, bebé, tan lindo."

(You look like you want more, baby, so cute)

He switched to your other nipple, tugging down the fabric to finally get to it. His hot tongue swirled on your sensitive bud making you buck your hips. His knuckles pressing against your entrance as he fucked his fingers in deep.

"Jake-"

"Call me sir." He growled out as he kept his fingers deep inside.

"Sir, fuck me - please."

His brows scrunched as he looked over your expression. You looked at him pleadingly, rolling your hips. He inhaled a deep breath as he finally pulled out.

"Since you asked so nicely, Cariño."

Your body slumped in relief as he helped you down. Your legs around his waist as he rubbed under your knees. Giving you a moment of rest before he put you down. You stood there unsure what to do as he pulled his belt off with one sharp snap. You shivered as you watched him snap it.

"Turn around." You did it in record time. Excited to see what he had in store for you. "Wrists together around the pole."

Once again you did as he ordered. Watching as he wrapped the belt around your wirsts, they felt tight but not enough to be painful. He gave them one tug, testing them before he took his place behind you.

"Bend down, won't ya? Give me that beautiful ass."

You smiled as you bend down, your cheek pressed against the pole as he took hold of your bum. He nudged your legs, you complied and spread them out further. Wiggling your hips to show off your asset. He chuckled as he patted your bare cheek. Wanting to smack and squeezed until his hand prints painted your skin but he held back.

He didn't care much for rules but he was a business man in a way. He understood you were simply following orders. Couldn't bruise the merchandise.

He spread you open as he pulled himself out of his pants. You looked at him over your shoulder, eyes widening at the utter girth he had on him. Your mouth watering as pre-cum was already leaking from the tip.

"Condom's by the alcohol." You reminded.

He scoffed as he took a moment. He didn't want to move away from you but he had to grab one. With great reluctance he stepped off the stage and snatched a packet from a small bucket. Ripping it with one smooth motion with his teeth.

"Really? Neon?" He was speaking more to himself as he snarled at the bright pink condom in his hand.

"Matches the aesthetic."

You shrugged, unable to stop the shit eating grin that was now on your face. He groaned as he rolled it over his length. You bit your lip to hold back your laughter but a few slipped out. His head snapped up at the sound of it as he smirked. Annoyance flickering in his eyes.

"You think that's funny, huh? Gonna fuck that grin right off your face." You let out another giggle as he jumped back on the stage. "Ya hear me?!"

You could hear the smile in his voice. It made you pleased. You wanted to scold yourself for getting attached to a client but you couldn't help it. It just felt so natural. As if you've always known each other.

"Yes sir!" You cheered.

He slapped your ass, you gasped as you looked back at him shocked. He just flashed you a satisfied grin. Jake aligned himself before pushing in with a hard thrust. One hand on your hip sndnthe other on your lower back. Going slow and deep as you grew more accustom to his size. He stilled when he felt you clench.

As soon as you moved your hips back he was picking up the pace. His grip was almost painful as he slammed into you. Moans filling the room. Your hands clenching as his hips met your lower half.

"Me gustaría sentirte en mi polla, apuesto a que te sentirías tan bien, cariño - tan caliente!"

(I'd like to feel you on my cock, I bet you'd feel so good, baby - so hot!)

You bit your lip as you tried to hold back your noises. You always scoffed at the erotic books you read when you were younger. Growing to realize it was too ideal and pure indulgence. And that was okay. It was meant to be like that but the way you felt right now? It was too good to be true.

You could feel him twitch inside everytime your walls squeezed. He was so thick he split you open so deliciously. Long too. Perfectly able to hit deep inside with harsh thrusts.

"Puedes sentirlo? Follándote tan profundamente"

(Can you feel it? Fucking you so deep)

"Feels good, sir." You whined as he grabbed your leg. Your body twisting as you tugged on the restrains. He propped up your leg over his shoulder, using the new angle to go deeper.

Your forehead pressed against the pole, your breath clouding the sleek metal as you couldn't stop the moans being ripped from you.

Jake groaned, kissing your leg as he slightly pulled down your boot. He sucked on the skin as he let out a grunt. Thrusting as hard as he could watching your expression. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your mind was too fuzzy to care that he left a hickie. Just focused on the way he felt sliding in and out. How empty it was when it was only the tip only to get completely stuffed when he jerked his hips. And endless cycle that had you drooling.

"I'm gonna-" yoy tugged on your restraints. Trying to push back your hips in time with his.

"Jake-! Fuck-!"

He was going to forgive you for that. The way his name rolled off your tongue with such need. So desperate. It was enough to bring him to brink. You cried out as you came. Clenching down hard as your eyes rolled back. Jake following soon after at the sheer force. Nuzzling his face into your leg as he bit down, muffling his moan.

As soon as he pulled out you whined. Trying to find his cock mindlessly, your ass pressing against him whilst he chuckled.

"There there, Cariño." He smoothed his hand over your ass as he kissed your back.

He helped you stand up normally, keeping a firm hold on your wrist as he undid his belt. You rubbed your wrists noticing the red marks. They'd heal and there wasn't any breakage on the skin. But you still let out a huff. Knowing the head of the dancers won't be too pleased.

Jake led you to the sofa where he bent down on one knee. Helping you slip off your boots as you let out a sigh. They were really pinching at your ankles.

He suddenly stood up and adjusted his clothes.

"How about you stay here for a little bit? The hour isn't over yet."

"Where are you going?" You pawed at his leg. confused on why he was leaving. Your mind still hazy. Usually you'd be happy when clients leave early but you wanted to spend more time with him.

He tucked himself away as he did up his pants. He looked down at you with a soft expression.

"I need to settle some bussiness, I'll be back before time ends."

"But- security-"

You started but he cut you off. Leaning down to take back his hat as he kissed your forehead.

"I'll handle it - treat yourself." He winked as he handed you 200 dollars.

And just like that he was gone. You hugged a pillow as you grabbed your pants. Putting your clothes back on with a frown. You eyed the alcohol that was waiting there. You weren't allowed to drink it - bad to be drunk on the job.

If clients were nice enough they'd let you have some but then you had to decline after one drink. He did say treat yourself. As long as you don't get drunk you'll be fine. And so with a shrug you decided to finally let yourself relax.

Jake panted as he stared down at the mess before him. Blood splattering the back alley as he brushed off his jacket. Anger still sizzling his blood as he looked down at the time. The fight took longer than he hoped. He snatched one of the men's Handkerchief, shoving it in his pocket as he went to his car. It was time to load up these bodies. He remembered your sad expression before he left. Rolling up his sleeves as he grabbed the body bags.

Somehow, he was able to keep his word. Rushing back to the vip room with 10 minutes left. He had to pay the security extra but he didn't care. It was that gangsters money - not his.

He put down the suitcase he originally had down on the sofa. You looked down at it confused.

"What's inside?"

He shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over."

he turned to you and patted his lap. You shuffled over and sat down, he hugged you close as he inhaled. Shoulders relaxing as he took in the smell of your deodorant and the Champaign you were drinking. You cradled his head to your shoulder, making sure he couldn't see as he slumped against you.

Testing someone's limits was one of your worst habits. You lifted up the suitcase, it was unlocked making it easier for you. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw a bird skull inside. A bussiness card that simply read 'Usted pierde' (you lose). What really got you was the splatter of fresh blood on it.

Your eyes trailed down to the man holding you, peppering light kisses to your skin.

You knew exactly what kind of people came into this club.

You nuzzled into the side of his head as you closed the suitcase shut. Ignoring the lingering scent of blood as you closed your eyes. Enjoying the warmth the man provided.

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