#jake lockely imagine
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press your tulips to mine
steven grant x female!reader
wc: 4.6k
warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n
an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers
summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.
Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.
Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.
Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.
He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?
In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.
Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.
Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.
Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.
Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.
He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.
Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.
Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.
The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"
Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.
By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.
There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.
Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.
Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.
It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.
"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"
Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.
The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.
Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.
"That was mortifying." He muttered back.
The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.
"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.
He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."
"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.
"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."
Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."
Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.
He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.
It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--
"Steven don't even think about it--"
Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.
"Oh my god, are you alright?"
The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.
As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."
Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."
Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"
Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."
"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.
"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.
"Jesus, Steven."
Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.
"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"
An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.
"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."
"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.
"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.
"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.
"Who's birthday is it?"
Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"
"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"
"My girlfriend's."
"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"
"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.
"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."
"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.
Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"
Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"
You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"
Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.
You blushed a velvety red.
"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"
"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."
Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."
He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.
"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."
Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?
"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.
"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.
"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."
Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.
"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"
"Let her respond, Steven."
But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.
"So, uh, yeah."
"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"
Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."
You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"
"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."
You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."
"Thanks."
"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.
"Uh-- and you are?"
"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.
Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.
"It's ... it's a beautiful name."
You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."
His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."
Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.
"Good job, Stevie."
-
Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.
Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”
His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”
-
In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.
Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.
Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”
But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.
Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.
He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.
Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.
“What’s up, Stevie?”
The nickname made him shiver every time.
“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.
When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.
“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.
You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”
It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.
Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.
“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”
Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.
He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.
“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.
Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.
Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”
It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.
He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.
The day passed like most of them do.
The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.
Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.
Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.
He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.
A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--
"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."
The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.
Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."
Your eyes found him, waving a hand.
Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.
"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"
"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."
He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”
Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.
“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”
Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.
“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”
“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.
The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.
“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”
With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."
"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"
"Of course."
Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.
When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.
"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.
The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.
Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.
With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.
"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"
The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.
Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.
Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.
“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”
He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.
The silence was beginning to turn stale.
“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.
“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”
Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”
“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”
“And you’re very beautiful.”
The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.
Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”
Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”
An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.
“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”
“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“
A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.
The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.
Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.
He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.
“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.
He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.
In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.
Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.
“Steven?”
The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.
He didn’t.
Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.
Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”
If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.
“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“
He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.
“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“
“Will you go on a date with me?”
You blinked up at him. Once, twice.
The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.
“When?”
Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?
“Now. Right now, tonight.”
The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.
“Don’t you have work?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”
Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“
He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.
“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.
He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.
They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.
With his experience being limited to the pool of:
A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.
B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,
C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,
It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.
“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.
You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.
“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”
-
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✧ 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤 ✧
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑: 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | 18+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭
◦𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Warnings: p in v, semi-Hunter x prey roleplay, unprotected sex, choking!, bathroom sex!, pet names, language, catcalling, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, fearful situations, slight dubcon, reader is dressed as a playboy bunny, implied age gap but not specified (18+)
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
You walked around the party in your slutty playboy outfit, ignoring the cat calling and comments by other men. You waited for Jake but he was no where to be seen. Was he really that low to ghost you at a party?
You began to grow anxious, your eyes darting around for him but to no avail. You sighed, leaning onto the wall with a red party cup at hand. Just as you gulped down some of the shitty liquor, you felt eyes on you.
Looking up, you saw a masked ghost faced staring at you from across the room. The black cloth cloaking them enough to make them blend into the dark of the party. Small party lights lit the room, the dj having some extra lights on giving you enough light to make out the very little feature they had.
You thought it maybe Jake but he isn’t really the type to dress up, he’d probably walk in with his gloves and hat on as a ‘costume’
You pushed your way through the crowds of people, making your way towards the figure in hopes to see Jake. You looked down once and they were gone. The corner the ghost face once stood now empty. You sighed, they were probably looking at someone behind you.
You plopped down onto the couch. Sighing in disappointment as the party went on. A few minutes pass of meaningless conversations and sips of your cup until you see the figure again.
This time, the ghost face was now a few steps away. The mask looking as if staring right at you “hey, do you know who the ghost face is?” You asked someone next to you.
“Nah, a few people were a little freaked out since they’ve been lingering around for a while but it’s probably just some rando” they replied with a shrug.
You decided to let it go, if it really was jake he’d at least give you a sign. You noticed your red lipstick smudged all over the cup, it’s time for a touch up.
You made your way out from the loud crowds and walked towards the bathroom you remember walking past when you first came in. You sighed as you finally made it down the hallway.
Before you could process your surroundings, you felt a hand wrap around your mouth and a large arm wrapping around your stomach. You screamed into the palm as you got dragged into the restroom. You kicked and scratched at the persons hands as they locked the door.
You heard them grunt as they pinned you onto the sink. Your eyes widened as you saw the reflection of the masked ghost faced from before. “Don’t you remember my touch hun?”
You heard Jakes voice from under the mask as he pinned your back to his chest. You could feel his cock poking your plush ass that was on full display due to your tight costume.
“Son of a bitch” you yelled as you smack his chest “scared you huh?” He cooed as he pulled his mask off. You let out a sigh of relief as Jakes face came into view. “Of course you did you asshole” you hissed while giving him an eye roll.
Jake gave an amused chuckle as he buried himself in the crook of your neck, his eyes looking at you through the mirror as he rubbed his hands up and down your hips. “Dressed up as a bunny for me? All dolled up and pretty” he hummed as his fingers trailed up the curve of your ass.
You moaned at the feeling of his lips softly pressing on your skin, his tongue sucking softly onto your flesh as he bit up your neck and onto your jaw “mi conejita se míra tan guapa” Jake teased.
Your hips jerked back onto his as you felt his fingers play with the back of your zipper, his calloused fingers rubbing up your shoulders and back down to the zipper before slowly pulling the metal down.
Jake groaned as he unzipped your costume, your strapless bra and tiny panties coming into full view as he dragged the thin material off you. “Don’t look away from the mirror, I want you to look at yourself when I fuck you.”
Your mind went blank as your eyes followed his fingers down to your clit “me escuchaste?” Jake hummed as his palm slapped the back of your ass “yes yes.”
“Good girl” Jakes hands unzipped his own costume, his shorts and boxers getting yanked down in a hurry as you rubbed your thighs together. His fat tip slapped against your panties as he strung out of his boxers causing you to whine.
His eyes didn’t leave yours as he ripped your panties off, throwing them somewhere into the pile of your costume. You could see how impatient jake grew as you whispered teasing words “please jake I need to feel you” ; “Wanna make you a daddy jake, hurry” you pouted.
The last one made him snap, within seconds he was slamming into your walls. You felt the air get knocked out of you as he held you close for a few seconds, a loud moan leaving his lips as you squeezed his cock in the best way.
His hand instinctively moved to your neck, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other with a fist full of your hair. Jake watched the way your tits bounced, watched them spill out of your flimsy strapless bra with each hard slam.
You were sure someone could hear you, his fast pace echoing through the bathroom as you hugged his arm. You moaned into his bicep as he pushed you onto the counter, the wet sounds of your pussy loudening as he continues his brutal pace.
“Mira que chula” he cooed. You whined into his arm as you felt every vein and curve of his cock rubbing against your tight walls. “My pretty girl letting me fuck her in bunny costume? Letting an old man like me fuck you out?” Jake hummed as he watched your tears stream down your face.
You hummed in agreement as his cock became overbearing. Jake loved the way you looked whenever he fucked you, you were always so fucking sensitive when he touched you in anyway.
You were completely dumb fucked as Jake let go of your throat, a loud gasp leaving you but before you could even catch your breath his hand wrapped under your thigh, lifting it up onto the sink and pushing your hips down to fuck you at a new angle.
“J- Jake b- ah-“ not a single coherent word came out of you as he slammed you onto his cock. You could feel his pubic bone dripped in slick as you focused on the sounds filling the room.
All of your senses were heightened at the feeling of his hands pinning you onto him. It was unfair how easily he could manhandle you into submission but neither of you complained.
You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten as he lifted his hips up, angling his hips and hitting the perfect spot deep inside.
Your eyes connected with Jakes through the mirror while you bounced along with his thrusts “look at how pretty my little girl looks, look at yourself baby. So fucking gorgeous” Jake gritted.
Your vision went blurry as you finally let go. Your orgasm washing over you all the while Jake fucked his messy cock into you “yeahh sweetheart” he hummed, hand wrapped under your jaw and head thrown over his shoulder as he felt you squeeze him to the brink.
You watched in the mirror as Jakes eyes squeezed shut and mouth flew open. A loud gruntled moan spilled out of him as he came inside you.
His warm liquid coated your gushy walls with pride “you wanna make me a daddy baby? Want me to fill this pretty cunt up with my cum yeah? Don’t worry honey. I’ll make sure it happens”
#smut#marvel smut#moonknight x reader#moon knight smut#jake lockely smut#jake lockely x reader#kinktober#jake lockley#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely x you
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Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
Summary: It's been a month since you've broken up with the moon knight system, and you start to notice someone.. watching you
Warnings: Stalking, breaking and entering, kidnapping, yandere themes, angst, no beta we die like harrow
Notes: So after all the positive responses on this post I just had to create in headcanon form- for those who want to listen to the song that inspired this fic, here :)
Breaking up with the moon boys was the hardest thing you'd ever had to do, but it did need to be done.
With the near constant dissappearing to do Khonshu's bidding, sometimes for weeks on end, with only a note or a text to tell you where they were and then radio silence, it was just too much for you. Your heart couldn't take waiting for them, worrying that they would never return, even if Khonshu was protecting them.
And so, you had begun the process of moving out during the time they were away on a mission.
Marc had come home to find your clothes, trinkets, anything that would indicate your presence gone.
You were there though.
Normally you'd be so happy to see him again, running up to him and kissing him with all your might.
Today, instead, you sadly smiled at him.
"Baby, what's up?" Marc had asked, gently holding your forearms after you had rejected his hug. He could tell you were upset.
"Baby?" "I'm leaving, Marc. I'm sorry."
He had stared at you, dumbfounded. You swallowed down your tears- "I can't do this anymore." You didn't have to explain, you knew what he meant.
You waited anxiously for his response, instead spying his eyes roll back into his head, and now you were faced with Steven and oh god, his eyes, they were already tearing up.
Coward, you thought of Marc, which was admittedly a little harsh but breaking up with them would be so much harder facing Steven's sorrowful gaze.
Steven looked terrified, moving to cup your face in his hands and you had to physically move back to stop him.
"D-darlin', please, what'cha talkin' about?" "I'm sorry steven-" "Please don't leave us love, please, 'can't do it without you please-"
"Stop it." You'd said firmly, Steven sobbed. You couldn't help but take his hands in yours, ever wanting to comfort him.
"Steven.. I will always love you," "Then why'd you have to leave!?" "Because I can't do this anymore!!"
You were both crying now. "I-i can't take waiting for you to never come home to me anymore, Steven, I can't do it."
Steven's gazed was fixed on the ground, his tears dripping onto the floorboards. You gave his hands one final squeeze, before pulling away.
"I will always love you, all of you, but my heart cannot take it anymore.. goodbye."
The strength with which it took to pull yourself away from Steven should have won you a medal, and you couldn't stop yourself from crying even more as you left him.
That was a month ago- with the help of a few friends you'd found yourself a decently priced flat for rent on the other side of London. Far enough away, you hoped.
It wasn't far enough. Jake had found out where you lived within days of you leaving. He knew it was wrong, but the part of him that didn't care grew and grew into something monstrous. At this stage the other boys weren't saying anything to disapprove of his actions, and so he continued to watch you.
He'd drive circles around your block to relearn your new routine, and you hadn't yet realised it was his cab you kept seeing.
The one person you actually hadn't said goodbye to was Jake- he hadn't fronted when you'd left, and you would always wonder if he was there, just choosing not to show himself. But if he wasn't? He'd have woken up to the discovery that you weren't together anymore and you'd always feel guilty for that.
But... you tried to move on with your life, as best you could.
It felt wrong to start dating again, but your friends had urged you to, even if it was a one night thing.
The guy you'd matched with on bumble was nice enough, smart, good looking- he wasn't them though. While he was polite and friendly during your dinner date, he wasn't your boys.
He'd walked you home, and you'd set up a second date. All things considered it was successful- but you just felt.. wrong about the whole thing. Like you were cheating, even though you weren't.
You'd guessed it wasn't all that successful, as he'd ghosted you a day or so after your date.
It was a week or so later that you'd seen the news report of his body having turned up in the Thames. God how awful! He hadn't ghosted you- the poor guy had been murdered.
Jake had really earned a bollocking off of Steven and Marc for that one, but he knew they were relieved you wouldn't be seeing that man again.
You'd decided to halt the dating game after that, for a while at least.
You were lonely though, there was no denying. Having no one to cuddle up to in bed sucked.
And so.. the logical conclusion was a pet, no?
Eventually, you found a young, ginger tomcat named "Franklin" in a nearby animal shelter and you just fell in love, you brought him home the same day.
He was great, not exactly filling the whole in your heart left by three men but you certainly adored him, and who wouldn't say no to curling up in bed with a cat every evening? Certainly not you.
One day, you'd left work for your lunch break only for the horrifying realisation to hit you: You'd forgot to feed Franklin that morning! You rushed home as fast you could- only to discover that, you had fed him, even when you were sure you hadn't.
And yet there he was, munching on his bowl of kibble.
Something squeaked under your foot- you looked down- oh, it was one of Franklin's toys. You threw it across the room for him to play with but- hang on... you didn't remember buying him that toy.
You shook your head free of thoughts that you were going mad- everyone forgets things, even buying specific cat toys. Or maybe one of your friends had left it when they'd been over- it didn't matter.
You moved to leave your flat and return to work- only to find your door lock jammed.
The locksmith you'd hurriedly called in was able to fix it in a jiffy, though advised that the jam was probably due to a break in, and that you should change your locks.
A chill ran down your spine- you checked and double checked, nothing of value had been stolen, but someone had been in your home! Is that who had fed Franklin? Who'd left him the toy?
You changed the locks, and threw out the strange toy.
Jake couldn't stop watching you. It was becoming more and more of a problem.
He was ignoring Khonshu and actively pushing Marc and Steven out when they tried to front, knowing they'd put and end to his antics.
But none of them could deny that they wanted, needed you back. Jake just considered himself the only one with the balls to get you back.
There was no warmth in his life now that you weren't there. Steven's flat no longer felt like home without your t-shirts in the laundry, or the brand of coffee you love but Marc hates in the cupboards.
He knew he ought to leave his little girl alone, but the fact remained you were his little girl. Jake would stop at nothing to have his bebita back.
Now it was two months since you'd broken up with the system. Life wasn't perfect, but you were chugging along.
You turned the lights on in your flat, yawning. Work was tough today, but it was Friday, and you had some left over popcorn in the cupboard. Film night~!
"Franklin? Baby? Mummy's home~!" You cooed, knowing that he always came bounding up and purring whenever you came home.
But.. he didn't. Your flat was silent. No distant meowing or the jingle of the bell on his collar. Nothing.
"Franklin?" You stepped further into your flat, worry seeping through you.
"Franklin..?!" Your tone became more and more erratic with the realisation that Franklin wasn't home- and then someone had covered your eyes with their hand, and pressed a strange scented cloth to your mouth. You kicked and screamed and struggled but it was no use- the chloroform had knocked you out in seconds.
Jake held you tenderly to his chest as you faded into unconsciousness. Steven had earlier expressed his distaste at this plan, but neither him or Marc said anything now, so close to having you again.
You woke the next day, nauseous and tired. The distant meowing you heard gave you comfort- it had all been a bad dream.
But when you opened your eyes, you were met with the horrifying scene of Steven's flat, not your own. So familiar, in any other situation you would have been glad to be here.
You shifted to sit up, eyes working their way down to notice your ankle tied to the bed with the restraint normally reserved for Steven.
You choked back a sob- a hum ripping your gaze to the other end of the room.
There lay Franklin, enjoying some pets from the man who's lap he laid on.
Jake Lockley stared back at you, you could tell it was him, you could always tell between them.
"Buenos dias, hermosa." His voice was rich like coffee, normally so comforting but now? It sent a shudder down your spine.
"You and I have some things to discuss, sí?"
#jake lockley moonknight#jake lockely x reader#jake lockley#jake lockely x you#jake lockely imagine#jake lockley angst#jake lockley headcanon#moon knight x reader#moon knight#moon knight angst
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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO MASTERLIST
DESCRIPTION: She’s all Steven can think about in between the missing days and the American man inside his head. When Harrow’s jackals leaves Marc with a difficult choice, his hectic life is spun out of control as Seth, God of Violence and Chaos, comes to reap his reward in the form of a woman from Soho with a dark past and a crush on Steven Grant. (Lightly inspired by Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: (specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter) 18+ DARK PAST. Sex trafficking/prostitution. Grooming. Explicit. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Abuse ex-boyfriend/lover, death, murder, gore, drug use. Any smut written will be consensual sex only, but there will be some implication to dubcon content. PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. AGAIN MINORS DNI. * = smut warning
STEVEN GRANT & MARC SPECTOR X (EVENTUAL) AVATAR!READER. Friends to lovers trope (Steven Grant) Sunshine x Grumpy trope (Marc Spector), Light smut, explicit language, no use of Y/N, goes by nickname Dove. I ADORE LAYLA EL-FAOULY so she is still in the narrative but as Dove’s reluctant friend. Female!reader. AFAB!reader. I am English and do not have DID but have tried my best to do all the research I could on the themes I talk about (Ancient Egyptian culture/history/language. Experiencing DID etc) but if I am misinformed and offend anyone, know I am truly sorry and am more than happy to hear anyone’s corrections in my inbox and will do my best to fix it!
main masterlist
CHAPTER ONE - Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted.
CHAPTER TWO - She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death.
CHAPTER THREE - With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward.
CHAPTER FOUR - Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment for the second time covered in blood with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?
CHAPTER FIVE - Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.
CHAPTER SIX - Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.
CHAPTER SEVEN - Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?
CHAPTER EIGHT - Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest. Why does Dove look so guilty?
CHAPTER NINE * - Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.
CHAPTER TEN - Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.
CHAPTER ELEVEN -
CHAPTER TWELVE -
CHAPTER THIRTEEN -
CHAPTER FOURTEEN -
CHAPTER FIFTEEN -
Comment or send an ask to be tagged in new chapters!
#moonknight x reader#moonknight fanficiton#marc spector x reader#mary palmer#moonknight imagine#moon knight#moon knight x reader#steven grant fanfiction#steven grant x reader#steven grant#steven grant imagine#marc spector#marc spector fanfiction#marc spector imagine#jake lockely x reader#jake lockely imagine#Jake lockely fanfiction#oscar isaac imagine#oscar isaac x reader#oscar issac fic#marvel x reader#marvel#smut#steven grant smut#marc spector smut
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tipsy
pairing: jake lockley x fem!reader, slight marc spector and steven grant x fem!reader (reader is in a relationship with the system)
description: y/n returns from a night out with her girls and can’t resist from how beautiful her boyfriend is.
warnings: SMUT, reader is intoxicated (just tipsy, not wasted) and kind of a bitch, mocking, oral (m receiving), shower sex, moonboys arguing
words: 3K
date posted: 18/01/23
The apartment was silent when Jake jolted awake, save for the bubbling of Gus’s fish tank and the faded roar of London’s nightlife. He groaned, neck clicking back into place as he leaned back into the desk chair, cursing at Steven for nodding off in such an uncomfortable position. His sight was fuzzy, eyes still heavy with sleep as he glanced at his surroundings; several books on Egyptology laid spread open across the top of the desk, an uncapped highlighter tossed carelessly on the floor and a series of fluorescent yellow smudges staining his fingertips. Sighing, he pushed himself away from the desk, leaving it exactly how he found it–Steven could clean up his own mess–as he reached into the cupboard for a bottle of amber whiskey.
He took three small sips from it, careful not to allow himself to feel any sort of strong effects from the alcohol, as he always did when Y/n went out with her friends, always prepared to go pick her up in the early hours of the morning if he needed. He glanced at the clock on the oven, squinting to read the bright green letters.
3:36 AM.
His eyes immediately shot over to the bed, alarmed when he found the blankets in the same haphazardly made fashion that Steven had left them in as he rushed out the door to work; the boys had quickly learned to do so in order to avoid a lecture from their girlfriend.
“Damn it Steven, you were supposed to stay awake until she got home,” He swore as he turned to meet Steven’s snarky stare in the reflection of the window.
I’m sorry, but she’s not normally out this late, Steven huffed, Usually a night out has her home and in bed by midnight.
Jake, He turned his head to find Marc in the reflection of Gus’s tank, He's right, she should be home by now.
Panic arose in his chest. Quickly, he abandoned the bottle of whiskey on the desk as he crossed the small studio apartment, forcing himself through the closed bathroom door. He called her name frantically, catching Steven once again in the bathroom mirror.
I’m sure she’s alright, maybe she called after I nodded off.
Jake nodded, turning into the bedroom and pausing. The personal cell phone that they all shared was not in its usual place on the bedside table, nor was it in the pants that Steven had worn to work that day, or small pocket inside his satchel. Jake ignored the Brit’s yelling of discontent as he watched him dump the contents of his brown leather bag on the floor, searching through the mess of papers and granola bar wrappers.
“Where the hell did you leave it, Steven?”
He stopped in his tracks at the sound of a key shakily being jammed into the lock, trained eyes watching as the lock began to turn and the door slowly creaked open, and finally letting out a breath of air as he watched his girlfriend stumble over the threshold of the apartment.
“Helloooooo,” She sang out, jumbled giggled falling from her lips, “I’m here, somebody come love me, please!”
Jake shook his head as he stifled his chuckle, stepping forward and into the dim lighting provided by Steven’s desk lamp. His eyes did a quick scan over her body, searching for any sign of blood or injury, though the only sign of a struggle was the long run in her tights and her lack of shoes.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, though a mischievous grin spread across her cheeks as she leaned across the back of the couch, “Well hey there, big boy.”
He smirked, copying her posture as he rested his shoulder against one of the many vertical beams. He could tell by the way that she was looking at him that she was attempting to figure out exactly who she was talking to. Her eyes flickered over to the desk, taking in the dishevelled appearance of the books and the man who had once been sitting there.
“Are you just gonna stand there?”
He nodded at her, refusing to speak so that she would need to guess which one of the three it was. On a regular day, it would be easy for her, but in her state it might have been more difficult.
“Well,” she slid forward to stand in front of the desk, “These are all Steven’s books here, but from the looks of them,” she fingered at the crumpled and folded pages before glancing over her shoulder at him, “And you, he fell asleep.” She turned, pushing the books back so that she could boost herself onto the edge of the wooden desk, “But Steven doesn’t drink whiskey.”
Jake nodded once more as she gazed at him through hooded eyes, slowly fluttering her lashes in a manner that she knew would have any of them weak in the knees. He shifted, crossing his arms over his chest to mock the way that Marc might stand.
“Hi Jake.”
He scoffed, dropping his arms as he crossed the room to stand right in front of her. He allowed her to tug him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her hands over his arms to knead his biceps gently.
“How’d you know it wasn’t Marc?”
She smirked up at him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear, “You didn’t look grumpy enough.”
His head rolled back as a hearty laugh rumbled out of his chest, growing even deeper as Marc shouted in protest and Steven agreed with her.
“Oh,” He rested his hand on his belly, “He didn’t like that, princesa.”
She shrugged, leaning forward to nudge his nose with her own, “He can punish me for it later. But for now…” Her hands slid down his arms, around his back and landed just above his bum as she tightened her legs around him, “I’m all yours.”
He allowed her to press a warm, sloppy kiss to his awaiting lips, but didn’t allow it go any further as she began to wiggle against him.
“We were worried about you,” He told her, “You’re usually home a lot earlier.”
“I know,” She shrugged, “I called and texted.”
“I couldn’t find the phone,” He admitted.
She raised a brow as she glanced down, nodding in the direction of where the phone was almost entirely covered in scattered paper, save for the corner.
“Well apparently I didn’t look quite as hard as I could have.”
“Apparently not.”
Where are her shoes?
“What happened to your shoes?” He asked, both genuinely concerned and hoping to change the subject from his failure to find a scarcely hidden cell phone.
“I took them off.” She shrugged, “I think Jenny has them.”
Now what if she had stepped on a needle or-or a sharp rock?
Check her feet, they might be bleeding.
Jake did as Marc instructed, stepping away and unwrapping himself from her limbs so that he could inspect her feet. They were dirty, of course, and the sheer fabric around the bottoms of her feet was torn up. There appeared to have been a few scrapes from the sidewalk, but the worst of the injuries were the two large busted blisters on each of her heels, oozing blood and various other fluids.
“Shit, cariño.” Jake rushed to the bathroom, returning a moment later with the first aid kit.
“That’s why I took ‘em off.” She shrugged, leaning back on her palms and allowing him to care for her feet, flinching as his fingers touched the swollen areas around the blisters.
He sat in the unsteady office chair, carefully pulling her feet into his lap and tugging at the tights, “Can I rip these?”
She barked out a laugh, “Now you’re asking? You’ve ripped a lot of my nicer things off of me without any notice.”
He grinned up at her, ignoring the heat that grew in the tips of his ears at her lewdness. One thing that he always appreciated about these nights out was that she always lost all shyness and reservation the moment that a single drop of alcohol touched her tongue.
“You certainly didn’t mind all those other times.”
“That’s because you rocked my world right afterwards. You gonna do that now?”
He glanced down, not ignorant to the way that his pants grew tighter at her words.
She’s drunk, Steven argued, Don’t take advantage of her.
“You’re drunk,” He noted, tearing the material away from her feet and beginning to dab at the open sores.
“Tipsy,” She corrected, “And horny. Please?”
He shook his head softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her kneecap, “Tomorrow, cariño.”
Y/n groaned, “I don’t want it tomorrow.”
He raised his brow as he finished cleaning her heels, “Oh really? I’ll keep that in mind. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”
She shook her head, pushing past him–making sure to bump his shoulder as she did so–and pausing in the bathroom doorway, “I need to shower.”
He sighed, carefully packing the first-aid kit back up and leaving it on the desk before making his way over to the bed. He leaned back against the headboard, glancing over to the partially closed bathroom door, only allowing him to see the vanity, though the mirror allowed him to see the figure he’d been longing for.
He watched the reflection as she carefully peeled herself free of the ruined tights before reaching for the zipper on the side of her dress. His breathing became laboured as he watched each article to fall away, leaving her bare to the world as the mirror began to gloss over with steam.
Go for it, Marc advised, If she’s really that mad about it then she’s definitely not that drunk. She’s never this unreasonable when she’s drunk.
Don’t, Steven argued, She’ll get over it.
Jake groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as the two argued in his mind, “Shut up, both of you. I can’t even hear myself think.”
He pondered for a moment, then finally made his decision.
The bathroom was frosted in steam, Jake’s body temperature skyrocketing as he stepped inside. He glanced down at the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, withholding a groan as he recognized the familiar pair of pink lace panties that had been thrown on top, carefully dropping his own clothes on top.
The curtain prevented him from spotting any details, but he could faintly make out her figure as she stood beneath the pounding stream of hot water. She did not seem surprised to hear the curtain run quietly along the track as he stepped in, refusing to turn to face him as he stepped into the stream as well, wrapping his arms carefully around her waist and holding her back to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” He murmured into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, “I don’t wanna take advantage of you, mi amor.”
She was frustrated with him, but she simply couldn’t avoid the way that she slumped into his embrace so easily. She sighed, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder as their eyes met, a silent understanding.
“You wouldn’t be,” She argued softly, “But it’s okay.”
He kissed her lips softly, one hand coming up to grasp at her hair and help her to remove the remaining suds of shampoo. He pushed her gently to stand a bit further from him, allowing him to run a generous amount of conditioner through the ends of her hair. When he was finished, she turned, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing herself against him.
“I love you,” She whispered into his shoulder, but he heard nonetheless.
“Yo también te amo angel.”
He felt the corners of her lips turn up against his flesh as she glanced up at him, wickedness clear in her eyes.
“What are you–oh!”
He gasped as her hand moved down, wrapping firmly around his length, which had been unabashedly erect against her thigh as they embraced, proving to her that he truly did want her.
“Let me do you,” She whispered to him, beginning to administer slow pumps, “That’s all. Please, Jakey.”
NO!
Looks like she’s going to either way, bud. May as well enjoy it.
She kissed him softly, taking his eager response to her as permission. Cautious not to slip, she lowered herself to kneel in front of him, gazing up at him through her lashes as she carefully dragged her tongue up the bottom of him, cupping his sack in her slick palm.
He groaned, leaning back against the wall in submission to her. She giggled, pressing the softest of kisses to his flesh before finally taking as much of him into her mouth as she could manage. Jake choked on his own spit, one hand carefully finding the nape of her neck to support her movements while the other ran through his own locks, smoothing the wet curls out of his face so they couldn’t obstruct his view.
“Baby-shit,” His hips stuttered forward, his tip grazing the back of her throat.
Her mouth curved around him, though she did not pause or slow her movements to respond with some witty comment, as he knew she had wanted to.
Hey!
His eyes snapped up, finding Steven staring back at him in the reflection of the stainless steel shower head.
“W-what now?” He stammered out, not noticing the way that she glanced up at him, but didn’t stop; she was more than accustomed to the boys talking and arguing with one another while she was having sex with one of them.
Shut the water off! I don’t even wanna look at the bill we’re gonna get this month.
Jake almost laughed, hell, he probably would have if he hadn’t been balls-deep in his girlfriend’s mouth. Reaching over, he grasped the handle and turned the water off before turning back to watching her. She raised a brow, a silent question.
“Steven complained about the water bill,” He explained, groaning as she choked slightly around him as a small laugh vibrated around her body.
He pressed on the back of her neck, prolonging the feeling of her choking around him for a few moments before pulling her back and hauling her up to her feet. His lips met hers in a furious kiss, tongues intertwining and teeth gnashing as he grasped at her thighs, carrying her out of the shower and dropping her onto the countertop as if she were a doll.
Eagerly, she spread her legs, grinding against him. He pulled away, moving down her body in hopes of returning the favour, though he was stopped by her, grasping his chin tightly and pulling him back up.
“No, no,” She gasped, “I need you. Please, I just need–”
“It’s okay,” He soothed, pulling her to the edge of the counter and lining himself up, “I got you, I got you.”
He slid into her easily, her folds sopping with arousal. Another perk of these nights out was that she was always so ready for him, and was always so responsive to his touch. He laughed as she squirmed against him, crying out louder than she normally would as his tip kissed her cervix.
Y/n rocked against him, meeting his every thrust without fail and shivering as her clit continued to be tickled by the dark curls on his pubis. Her arms wound around him, nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his muscular back as she gripped him for dear-life.
“Jake,” she gasped, “I’m not gonna last long.”
“I know,” He grunted, hands grasping her bum to pull her into his thrusts even more, “Me neither, princesa.”
“I love you,” She cried out over and over as if it were some spell that she might have been using to bewitch him–that was the only way that Jake could explain how he was so easily manipulated by her every whim and became so enthralled by her simple presence.
“I love you,” He panted, “I fucking love you.”
His mouth took her lips, absorbing every sigh and moan that dared escape and committing them to memory. He wanted to encase every little bit of her being within himself, consume anything that she was willing to offer, especially her jerking movements and desperate whines as she tightened around him, spilling her release all over his member as he struggled to hold on.
“Come on,” She urged him, eyes hooded and hazy as she came down from her high, “Jake, come on. Please give it to me.”
Her words were enough, his hips stuttering through his final few thrusts before white-hot pleasure exploded within him. He groaned out loudly, following through with a few gentle movements to work himself through it before he slipped out.
They remained there for a few moments, wrapped in each other’s arms as they both came down, melting into one another and whispering sweet nothings. She kissed his shoulder softly, then reached up to meet his lips once more, allowing herself to force every ounce of love she had for him to flow through the embrace.
He chuckled when she pulled away, “Aren’t you glad I said no now?”
She shook her head, “You only made yourself suffer, I could have woken up Marc or Steven to do me the second you fell asleep. I was getting it one way or another.”
He frowned at her, pinching her thigh in retaliation, “You think that either of them could do what I just did?”
Watch it, amigo. I could have done her twice as hard as you did.
Jake grinned at his reflection over her shoulder turning back to his girlfriend, “By the way, Marc called you unreasonable.”
HEY!
#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely smut#jake lockely x reader#marc spector#marc spector fic#steven grant#steven grant x reader#moon knight#jake lockely fic#marvel#mcu#moon knight x reader#moon knight imagine
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Random Headcanon: Moon knight
Your neighbors think you're having an affair with two different men. No matter who it appears you’re dating or married to, let it be Marc, Steven, or Jake, the neighbors surrounding your home will think you cheating on him.
They overhear conversations between you and a different man every day and sometimes they overhear you moaning a different man’s name.
And not to mention they see the same three men leaving your house in the morning.
You’ve become the gossip of the neighborhood. Everyone knows your name and your apparent “infidelity”.
Honestly, it’s hilarious to you.
#moon knight#marc spector#marc spector x reader#steven grant#steven grant x reader#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely smut#jake lockley#jake lockley x reader#moon knight x reader#yandere moon knight#yandere moon boys
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Could you make a fic with Jake x reader that maybe she is in a relationship with the other two (Marc and Steven don't need to be in the whole fic, just mentioning them maybe?) And Jake at first is rude to her until one day she comes late from work and Jake is covered in blood (not his) from a mission that left him like really bad and he can't stop thinking about it, so the reader helps him (although she's a bit hesitant at first because one day he told her that he didn't want her close), she helps him get a shower, cleans some little cuts on his face, and then when his dressed and ready to sleep, he asks her to stay with him.
I hope it's not too much 😅💖
hii honey!! I love this! so very sorry this is so late. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 @thewinterv
stay a while
jake lockley x f reader
wc || 0.8k
warnings || none? brief mentions of blood
I haven’t wrote for jake before, so I really hope this feels like him
masterlist + rules
taglist
Being in a relationship with Marc and Steven was always very entertaining, never shying away from a dull moment when you shared your time with them. As Jake didn't front as regularly as the other two, you were still foreign to one another, only ever meeting him occasionally. On the very few chances you've met, he was rather hostile towards you, much preferring to keep you at arm's length. You weren't sure if you upset him or offended him in some way, but you couldn't quite figure out what you may have done wrong for him to dislike you.
Returning home from an extra long shift, you pull your keys out of your bag, jingling in the lock before twisting. You open the door, and your eyes immediately land on a very thin trail of blood. Following the blood drips, you see the silhouette of someone hunched over your sink.
"Marc?" you whisper, reaching for the light switch.
Stepping forward, you see a newsboy cap on the counter. A heavy feeling now clouds your stomach. "Jake?" you ask, almost in disbelief.
"What's going on? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" you anxiously blabber, slowly walking towards him.
He grunts in response, yanking the small towel from the hook to dry his swollen and bloodied knuckles.
"That's a white towel," you mumble, watching the fabric fill with small red spots that were sure to stain.
His head snaps over his shoulder towards you, practically glaring at your comment.
"Don't worry, I got more," you awkwardly laugh, reaching into the cupboard for the first aid equipment. "That cut up there looks pretty bad," you start, nodding to the bust piece of skin above his eyebrow. "Let me help you clean it?"
"It's fine," he grumbles, dabbing the towel over it to 'clean' it, instantly wincing at the painful sensation.
"Doesn't seem fine," you say quietly, flicking on the tap and thoroughly washing your hands. "Just-" you say, pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto a cotton ball. "Can I?" you question, hesitantly extending your hand towards his face.
He nods in response.
You watch the way he flinched at your soft, delicate touch, practically cowering away from your comfort. "I'm gonna hurt you," you whisper, lightly blotting around the open skin. "It's okay," you say tenderly, cupping his cheek with your other hand, angling his face downwards as you clean his wound.
He closes his eyes as he melts into your tender touch, finally allowing himself to feel a moment of warmth.
"Okay, some of these are gonna need covering… I think you should have a shower first. Clean yourself up, and I can bandage you up after." you sweetly instruct, sorting through the bag as you search for everything you need for later.
"A shower?" he repeats, looking down at his blood-covered clothes.
"I have a change of clothes for you," you cutely laugh. "They're your exact size too,"
A sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his lips, watching you with softened eyes.
"Bathroom is just down here. I'll put a pile of clothes on my bed for afterwards," you smile, leading him down the small hallway. "The controls are easy, but if you need me, call me…. oh wait, also. Clean towels in there," pointing to the cabinet behind the door.
As you turn on your heel, a soft yet firm grip on your arm halts your movements. "Thank you," Jake whispers, wryly grinning.
You sweetly smile. "No problem, take as long as you need,"
Allowing Jake some time alone to recuperate after his clearly intense mission, you make your way back into the kitchen to clean up the mess. Wiping the blood from the floors and counters, throwing the tissues, anything and everything to keep your mind busy.
You notice the quietness from the bathroom down the hall, hearing nothing but a few scuffles and small groans. You collect the first aid equipment, stuffing everything in the bag, walking towards your room. Waiting a couple extra minutes, you knock on the door, waiting patiently to enter.
"Yeah," Jake calls out from behind the door.
"Hi," you say slowly, making your way in, laying the creams and bandages on the bed. "I'll just quickly put these on, then you can get some rest,"
"Okay," he nods, sitting at the edge of the mattress, facing you.
With clean hands, you apply small dots of antiseptic cream on the cut areas, lightly rubbing it in as you gaze at his face, watching the dozen tiny expressions play out. You tear open a plaster, laying it across his temple, covering the bust part of the skin from earlier and gently smoothing the sticky part to his forehead.
"There we go, all better," you smile, kissing your finger and placing it over the fabric. "I'll let you get some sleep," you say somewhat awkwardly, not quite sure if you overstepped a boundary.
"Stay," he whispers, holding your arm to stop you from leaving. "I won't see you for a while. Please stay.”
#jake lockley#jake lockley imagine#jake lockley x you#jake lockley x reader#jake lockley fic#jake lockley fanfiction#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely x you#jake lockely x reader#jake lockely fluff#jake lockley fluff#moon knight#marc spector#steven grant#moon boys
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Bonita.
Paring: jake lockley × fem! Reader.
Genre: smut to Angst to fluffy
Warnings: sex, dom!jake, sub!reader, p in v with no protection, use of safe word, panic attack, low self-esteem, reader being insecure about herself, jake being so lovely with reader.
A/N: It's a bit rushed at the end, but i couldn't think of a better ending lmao
~°~
Hot hands rambled on my body as I was merciless fucked by my boyfriend, Jake. He had no mercy when it came to sex, an animal caging his prey with his strong arms. It felt so good, his cock buring inside of me, sliding in so easily thanks to my wetness. He was so big I could see the bluge forming on my lower belly. That could have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I could hear thunders outside, rain droples hitting the window outside.
–Jake, Jake, please...– I managed to say in tiny whispers, his hand now moving to grab my neck, lightly squeezing it. He didn't apply so pressure at all, just to keep my mind altered. His other hand squeezed my hip, with such force, to keep my body glued to his, his chest pressed against mine. He was forcing me to take every inch of him.
–What is it that you want, cariño, mh? I thought you were finally shutting up.
–I need to c-cum, please Jake, I can't..!–
–Now, you should take a look at yourself, you're so beautiful like this, preciosa– I could see him smirking, making it me difficult to keep my composure even if I was being fucked so good at that moment. He moved a piece of hair from my face and stopped. My chest panted, trying to make my lungs gain air. I thought he was done until he slapped me lightly on my tight.
–Turn around, I want to fuck you in front of the mirror–
He gave no time to me to change position, manhandling me with little force. He let my back press against his chest now. He panted into my ear and positioned his tip on my lips again, sliding in one more time with no obstacles. This position allowed me to see Jake's movements better.
Slap, slap, slap.
Skin to skin. We were so sweaty, but that was so worthy of the moment. His well-brushed hair now sticking to his forehead, his well-toned chest glistening in sweat, his eyes filled with lust...that was driving me crazy.
–....so pretty, I can't control myself, mierda, que chiquita tan obediente, tan linda– It seemed Jake was more talking to himself in mutterings than to me I couldn't process entirely what he was saying, but he didn't stop. The more he fucked me with force, the more he rambled.
–I love you, so pretty, never letting you go, never, s-so fragile, my doll, my girl, my sweet girl...–
I never stopped to look into the mirror, Jake's eyes eating me as If I was the best dessert served. But, those phrases. Panic begin to settle into my mind: was that just nonsense? What If he loves me just for sex? Does he love me? Does he find me pretty and all of that stuff?
What if..
Does he..
He can't be serious.
He doesn't love me.
He doesn't.
I'm a mess. He can't love a mess like me.
A utter piece of shit.
I'm so useless.
Oxygen seemed to leave my body as soon as I was thinking all that stuff. I could sense the tension being to rise, and my mind started to be foggy. Dwelling on my fake thoughts.. even my head was spinning lightly.
–Jake, Jake...– I called him, but no response. He was losing himself in the sex. Then, again.
–Jake, please, s-stop..–
He kept fucking me. I couldn't do this. He was going to hate me if I had stopped the sex. Panicking more, I let the safe word slip out of my lips, in a whisper-shout, and Jake immediately pulled out, he hugging my body.
–Preciosa, que pasa? Que te pasa?–
Tears streamed out, and I knew it was impossible to stop tears, and Jake knew I was having a panic attack. I remember the moment I warned him about my anxiety disorder, which sometimes carried panic attacks and anxiety. He knew what he was dealing with, and told me that Steven was suffering from it, too, and that he would handle the situation the better he could. Jake gently took my body, now facing me and caressed my head.
–Princesa, calm down, breathe slowly, okay?–his hand cupped my cheek. My teary eyes looked into his. He seemed so calm... how could he do that? Was he pretending to be calm?
Worse, was he pretending to genuinely care about me?
–Bebè, i got you, okay? Breathe slowly. Follow me, take baby steps. One step at once–
He let my hand lightly touch his chest, allowing me to feel his heartbeat. Has he said slowly? I need to breathe slowly, or else...
My mind was still spinning and panicking, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was so scared that even what Jake asked for seemed like a complicated task. But I tried. I needed to try for him. So I breathed in, and out. In and out. In and...-
–ya pasò, tranquila
My eyes landed on his and I was met with warmth. He helped me sit on the edge of the bed, placing soft hands on my back, and rubbing it in gentle circles. He didn't back away, never. He was always there to help me, to listen to me. Sometimes I wondered how I'd managed to date a soul like him. It felt too much like a fever dream than reality. So Jake asked me what happened, if he triggered me with something, and I took deep breaths again, before actually explaining the episode.
–It was not you. Of course, Jake, it is never you, you make my heart flutter every time–I say in chuckles, -I hate to admit it, but it is strange to feel..good-
I felt Jake's eyes soften more at my words. He made a sign, as to say "keep going".
–Sometimes my mind thinks its not okay to deserve actual love from someone else. And destroys me with little thoights which grow more, and more in..something explosive– A sigh escapes my lips and I rub my eyes in exasperation. Jake's quick to grab my chin and make him look to me.
–Bebè, I know what you're saying. And I know what you are feeling.- He pauses, adjusting himself on the edge of the bed, sitting closer to me, now grabbing my hand and placing it on his tight-You don't have to say that, please. I don't know what you've been through, but I sure know a thing- His tone is sad, and worried, even though there's no lack of confidence in what he says.
–First, I love you. You're incredible in all ways. You're good-natured, kind, empathic, reliable..and I can go on!– A chuckle escapes his lips. He never fails to amaze me. -I must admit, when you first kissed me, I was the one to think that I didn't deserve your love. But you made me think that again-
I nod at his words, smiling. –Whoever put those shit of thoughts in your head– he gently placed a finger on my forehead –I'll remove them with my own hands!
–You know it can't be truly possible, right?– I ask, chuckling
–You want me to die! Like, disassembling my brain, like the doctor in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein–
–So? It's going to be fun!– His hands find my sides and Jake starts to tickle me in fast and hard, and I have no choice but to let out bursts of laughs.
–I surrend! I surrend! Let me go!- I loudly laugh, but the smirk on Jake's face says otherwise.
–Only if you promise to let me cook you my special dish and let me treat you like a queen deserves-
I frantically nod and his tickles chase down, letting me regain my breath and sit one more time on the bed. He chuckles at the sight, and his eyes seem to soften once more. The next thing he does is hug me, tight and close to him. I can hear his heartbeat. Fast. So fast.
–Promise me you'll talk to me whenever you're feeling down. Do you understand? You don't have to face it alone. I'll do everything to make you understand you deserve it–
A pause.
–You deserve the love–
And I promised him, I would reach out for his help. For me.
For us.
#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely x you#jake lockely x reader#jake lockley#moon knight#moon knight series#steven grant x y/n#jake lockely smut#moonknight#moonknight x reader#moonknight headcanons#moonknight imagine#marvel imagine#mcu imagine#mcu x y/n#mcu x reader#marvel x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#imagine oscar isaac#oscar issac x reader#oscar isaac#oneshot
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Question:
Is the Moon Knight fandom still alive? I've got a potential series sitting in my lap atm. I just wanna know if I'm gonna indulge in this alone? It is what it is.
Edit: here y’all go
#moon knight#moon knight system#jake lockley#marc spector#steven grant#moon knight series#jake lockely imagine#marc spector imagine#oscar issac characters#oscar issac imagine#oscar issac smut#mr knight#moonknight#oscar isaac x reader#moon knight x reader#moon knight x y/n#marc spector x you#marc spector x y/n#steven grant x reader
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Chase of Cat and Mouse [Jake Lockley x Cop!Reader]
Summary: Jake Lockley is a smug bastard who enjoys watching you struggle to find the murderer responsible for Arthur Harrow's death. But it becomes evident that his overconfident façade is not that strong when you manage to catch him after work.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: Enemies to lovers kinda, Suggestive, Swearing, no mentions of marc or steven (sorry guys), mentions of death (?)
A/N: this took wayy to long and my sincerest of apologies to all my lovelies. I’m unfortunately a huge procrastinator, but I’ll try working in more fics in the coming days :) ! Requests are open, so feel free to talk to me or suggest something for the next fic!!
You lean on your chair with a distrustful look, eyes twitching at the cocky grin that your suspect, Jake Lockley had on his face. If only you could just reach over the damn table and smack it right out of his face, but unfortunately with no permission from the higher-ups to hurt people under custody, you were pretty helpless to his conceited expressions.
It's just been an hour of going back and forth with the male; where you would propose something incriminating that could possibly involve him, before he would defend himself with a cheeky statement, which worked a bit too well in his favor.
For example, When you pointed out that the man who suspiciously led Arthur Harrow away from the hospital to be never seen again was wearing a cap similar to his, Jake responded with a chuckle;
"Is there no one else in London who wears a newsboy cap?"
And it didn't help that every once in a while, he would make a mockery out of you, arrogantly sneering as you struggled to find solid evidence for an arrest. You tried to pay no mind to it as you distracted yourself with the papers lay on the desk in front, trying not to be bothered by anything he says.
"Running out of hurtful accusations, amor?"
It was getting increasingly frustrating, the periodic visits of Jake Lockley to the questioning room almost once every week, where every time you insisted it was him. Your superior, an old bloke named Martin was understandably getting tired of it, ever so slightly wishing that he had just taken this rookie case to his hands instead of having his junior over-analyze it so much. London is a big city; the death of another old man was no exciting news, but it seemed to be of great importance to you.
A knock on the door snapped you out of your deprecating thoughts, breaking that eye contact that danced with a fiery spark of hatred between you and Jake while you jumped to your feet to answer the door. A familiar figure with a head full of grey hair with an equally grey mustache stood, with a fed-up expression on his face. Speak of the fucking devil.
"Cut short for the day, I need you in my office in 10." Martin commanded, a breath escaping your lips quietly as he said so.
"But—"
"No buts. My Office. In 10. Let 'em go."
You turn back to the male who was still sitting nonchalantly on the uncomfortable basin of the stool; but almost immediately as your gaze fell on him, he looked up with a tilt of his head, his lips curling at the end to form a smirk.
He managed to get out of your grasp again.
Stepping into Martin's Lair, which most acknowledge as his office, you felt yourself think of the many ways he could possibly question you— as well as all the ways you could retaliate and justify your fixation on this specific suspect. All of your defenses led to a dead end, but how exactly were you supposed to explain how Jake looks at you when he sees you falter? How his sharp, tinted brown eyes sparkle with a glimmer of amused smugness to it every time you found yourself searching for more clues in front of him?
You know he did it. You know that he knows very well you're aware of that. Yet, he seemed to be enjoying the effort put in to prove your conclusions.
Arms crossed, your supervisor eyed you as you walked in and did your regular routine of a salute to your higher up, before he motioned you over to sit. Martin never was a person who gave much trouble, and that was an understanding that ran between the both of you, but that didn't mean he didn't have moments where he would be highly critical of your actions and decisions.
"Where are the final reports, (L/N)?"
"I.." You pause, bracing yourself. "I don't have it. Yet."
The older male sighed in response to your answer, rubbing the base of his temple while you shifted uncomfortably on the cushion-y seat, preparing yourself to hear the lecture that was incoming.
"I assigned this file to you nearly 3 months ago, (Y/N), and you have nothing except a raging suspicion on this one guy who you can't even prove is the culprit we're looking for." He leaned onto the desk. "What happened? You were one of my best students. That's why I trusted you with this."
Oh, Jake Lockley is done for once you catch him again.
You part your lips to say something, but the guilt of letting down such a placid and reasonable figure that was your superior was really starting to settle down. Had it been anyone else, you would have stubbornly defended yourself about how you were absolutely sure of your intuitions. But it was a war that you would not come out victorious from anyways; possibly hurting the respect Martin gives you was just an added loss.
"Be more attentive, (Y/N). I know how hard these tend to get but I've been having people show up and make a fuss about finding the culprit—probably some distant family of the victim and—"
"I'll have the reports down to you by Sunday."
Martin spared a look of surprise, taken aback by the sudden tone of determination. It took you 3 months to make even the slightest of progress, yet you seemed positive that you'll manage to nail the report and hold the felon accountable within the matter of a day and a half. How were you supposed to do that?
You would've been a little more confident if you knew the answer to that question yourself.
Stripped out of the authoritarian uniform, You found yourself clutching onto your jacket as the cold autumn weather in the streets of London brushed against your skin. The night was young as always, and you wished there was time for you to go stargazing, laying under the bed of shining pricks in the dark blanket that was the night sky. Barely 8pm by then, you realized as you checked your watch, but the gloom of a midnight sky was already settling in.
It was an uncomfortable feeling since you've rarely never gotten out all that much, for a stroll nonetheless, ever since you started working on the case, with the exemption of the travel from and to home to the station or vice versa.
And that would have been the fate of today, if it weren't for the fact that you were hunting down Jake Lockley. This time not with the help of a colleague, but by yourself as you hurried through the busy streets of the city. You were given the location to an apartment towards the north of town, which was presumed to be his address and where you were hoping to run into him for a talk. Not another interrogation, at least in his point of view, but you were aware that this case was far from salvageable with just mildly threatening questioning.
You watch as the neon sign of a convenience store just below the building your heading for shine brightly; stopping momentarily to check your phone and prepare before taking a sharp breath to turn the corner— to almost immediately run into a figure in the dark and brooding alleyway.
Despite the crescent moon towering above his frame, Jake's face was lit solely by the cigarette hooked between his fingers, revealing a familiar facial structure that you loathed. But, despite having strong emotions which can only be described as hatred, you did find him to be conventionally attractive, but that's just stating the obvious.
Another thing that you took to notice was his dark, slicked-back curls that almost stuck to his neck, carefully combed as to not to seem disheveled and obviously missing his signature cap. It was.. certainly a look. Something out of the ordinary, which made you wonder if you even were looking at the same person.
At the echo of your footsteps, it was destined to catch the attention of the male, who squinted at the sight of you, before a relaxed expression took over his stiff posture. At his notice, you paused just a few steps away from him, pondering where you're gonna begin— only for him to beat you to it.
"'m afraid I can't make it to another questioning, officer." He sneered, but shrugging it off has almost been second nature to you at this point. "I have.. plans for later tonight, 'Can't spend that time rotting away at the station."
"You're not being taken to the station, I just want to talk." You say firmly, To which Jake reacts with a raise of his brow, prompting you to continue.
"Look." You shift your gaze away, sighing. "I might've been wrong about you, but I think you know something I don't. And if you know, anything, and I mean- anything on Arthur Harrow, I need you to tell me it. Now."
Jake looked at you with not much change in his expression, but his hand brought the cigarette back to his lips as he leaned by the hood of the car, facing you. If you were any hopeful about Jake abiding by your commands, you would have said he was considering it, but the silence was becoming overbearing and you still needed to pitch your case.
"His family's been very active in trying to find the culprit and.. It's—"
"Mentirosos.." ("liars..") He grumbled lowly, but thanks to a pretty good sense of hearing, you were able to catch it.
"Pardon?"
"Do you actually believe them?"
Jake's question did falter your figure for a moment, especially since his voice was a little bit more.. commanding. But it did send you back to really put your thought into it. Arthur's file and your personal research on his background did not list any names that may be dear to him, so who were those claiming to be his family? Maybe even friends?
"Whoever they are, They're concerned, and I don't have any answers but I know that you know something."
Jake chuckled. "So, You're desperate."
You glare at him, but at the same time, you can't exactly deny his accusation. The only other reaction was the sequence of words you managed to grumble out.
"Spill it, Lockley."
The manner in which you spoke was dominant, commanding as you were beginning to be reminded of all the trouble Jake has given you. The cigarette that brightly burned between his rough fingers was left neglected until now, when he opted to drop it on the floor before the heel on his shoe extinguished the leftover flame within it in order to make his way towards you. You stood firm in your stance as he took light strolls towards your frame, with a light tilt of his head. You stand firm in your stance as he lightly strolls towards you, with a slight tilt of his head.
"I know you're not just a pretty face, You'll figure it out eventually. Without my help."
You were almost face to face now, standing parallel against each other, the eye contact unwavering between the two of you. As always.
"I did figure it out. Either you did it, or you were involved; So if I'm asking you anything now, it's because you know what happened."
"Why didn't you just take me in again?"
"Because I wanted to talk to you. Not to the unbothered, innocent cab driver who I'm apparently tormenting."
The corner of his lips couldn't help but curl just a little bit, as he stared down at you for a moment. Jake was quite unsure if you had anything incriminating against him, or whether you were going off pure instinct, but for you to be so stubborn about being right, you got to have been confident about something.
Jake's intense gaze bore into yours, a silent challenge passing between you two. Despite how lightly he seemed to take everything, The air grew thick with tension, and you found yourself fighting the urge to step back. His proximity was disarming, but you refused to let him see any vulnerability in the stance you put out.
"And If I don't cooperate?"
"You're dancing on the edge, Lockley. One wrong move, and you'll find yourself in a place you won't enjoy."
You warned, your voice low and laced with a subtle threat in the off chance he did have any malicious thoughts. He was a unpredictable character, despite the many interactions you've had with him. Jake's laughter rumbled, low and deep, sending shivers down your spine.
"I've been on the edge my whole life, Cariño. It's where I operate best."
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, it seemed like the world around you faded away. The charged atmosphere crackled between you two, and neither was willing to back down.
The dimly lit alley provided a secret backdrop to your confrontation. The distant city sounds and the occasional flicker of a neon sign were the only witnesses to what was unfolding. Jake's hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"You're playing with fire being here, detective." he whispered, his lips dangerously close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine.
Your heart raced, and for a split second, you forgot the reason you sought him out in the first place. The lines between rivalry and attraction blurred. The charismatic aura surrounding him was magnetic, and undoubtedly, you were drawn in.
But perhaps, You could use this to your advantage.
"Maybe I prefer it that way with you."
You retorted, your voice betraying a hint of defiance. You could feel the weight of his gaze, assessing, challenging. With a blink of your eye, you notice how close he is to you, your face nearly touching as his gaze bore into yours. It was hypnotizing, even if you were planning to play him entirely, your knees couldn't help but feel a little weak.
In a charged moment, the air crackling with unspoken tension, Jake closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both unexpected and electric. Time seemed to stand still as the world around you melted away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours.
The rhythm between the two of you was picked up almost immediately; led mainly by him, as he quickly dashed at the opportunity to deepen what already existed. Being amused as well as surprised, you allowed your hands to trail up his back with a smile, grazing along the rough fabric of his trench coat. Your hands didn't stick around there for long though, eventually finding it's way up to entangle itself in his astonishingly soft curls, earning a light moan of satisfaction from him.
With just a light push of your body weight onto his, you maneuvered him over to one of the stone walls that sandwiched the two of you in the alley, barely leaving any space for your lips to be left untouched. Back touching the wall in a firm grip, Jake's hands fell from cupping your face to having a rough hold on your waist, pulling you closer to the warm of his body in a mesmeric embrace.
"I didn't know you wanted me this badly, (L/N). Is this why you had me come in so often?"
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
"With the way you're acting right now? Of course not."
You engulf him in another bombardment of kisses, which he accepts greedily, like a man who's waited years to do this. If anything, It's almost like he wanted to hold you in such a way the moment he set his eyes on you. On second thoughts, Maybe that's why he's been obediently showing up every time he was summoned back at the room.
Sly fuck.
You separate for the second time, panting as you gently lay your hand on his chest, soaking in all of his perfect features. Amidst all the chaos of the case, the face you've seen almost once every week had way more to offer than you remembered. Whether that was his hooded eyes that loomed over his chocolate colored eyes, or his lips that glistened perfectly as he licked up the rest of your taste from the corners.
Perhaps you were lost a little too much in awe of his features, still breathless but unsure if everything was from the sudden fire of desire in your heart, or the intense make-out you just had with your suspect.
"Harrow brought it upon himself." Jake murmured amidst his gasps to catch some air, giving into his temptation of giving you hints.
"What?"
"He's a cult leader."
Your nose crinkles at the information, brows knitting as you sunk in to the realization. Jake looked away for a moment, a clicking of his tongue could be heard as he cursed himself for just.. giving information to a police officer. Khonshu would probably eat his head for this later.
"So.. That means—"
"—The people bothering ya' at the station are his followers, and they're likely looking for me."
You were right, but you couldn't help but feel.. bad? Is that what that was? No, protectiveness, like you suddenly didn't want to give Jake's name away to the persistent visitors. But what if Jake is lying? He's still a conniving character. Maybe this is just justification for he has done.
"They're looking for you.. so.. I was right.."
"Felicidades, muñeca." ("Congrats, Doll.") Jake spoke with that same grin, but this time, with a clear admiration for your intelligence. It was hard holding back the same grin every time you accused him back at the interrogation room. "You got me."
To be elated or not, was the conflict that clouded your mind right then. This was it.
Jake took the opportunity of your realization to swiftly move from under your grasp, knowing that sticking around would only trouble him more. Once again, He needed to disperse into the shadows of the night like the many times he's been completely caught, to go and only return when the dust had settled.
Things were not as easy as that this time. Not when you were involved.
"Wait."
Before he could completely pull away, You held onto his arm, with a surprising amount of strength. With a slight struggle, Jake could've pushed you off and fled, but he didn't, pausing as he stared at you. You had a look that could only be identified as a mischievous plea, like you completely ignored everything he had just revealed.
"Stay. I don't want us to be cut short."
The male couldn't properly respond to that before you leaped at him once again, crashing your lips onto his with a more deeper passion. Your previous contacts were slow, yet this kiss bought in a new category of roughness that he could definitely get used to.
His hands once again latched onto your body, admiring your sides while the same position was restored for a second time. The kisses from Jake were way more messier, his hands and lips trying to cover all of what it can reach in a restricted amount of time. He was hungry, and that's exactly where you wanted him.
As he littered your jawline with sloppy pecks, you huffed in the stimulation as you felt his arms fall down and trace along your body. He was distracted in an effort to grasp at your rear, earning a soft grasp that escaped your lip at the sudden contact, which only bought a smirk of achievement in his features.
In honest truth, all of Jake's little mannerisms when in almost full control of your body had butterflies fluttering in the pits of your stomach; heart racing while he maintained his pace in just driving you crazy. Though you promised yourself just a moment ago that you wouldn't falter, that pledge was getting way harder to keep with every passing second of indulging in him.
On the other hand, Jake was enamored, savoring every sense of you he can get himself hooked on. Perhaps that was why he didn't notice how your hands brushed over his tight grip, pulling it away from the sides of your stomach or how there was mild jingle of something that echoed through the alley amidst their breathless pants of fervor.
Click.
Or maybe, He didn't notice how something restrained his hands together. No, that's a stretch. Pulling away from a kiss that he could have for an eternity more, his gaze fell the palm of his hands, sweeping down until it spotted the chained collars that strapped the two of his hands together. It didn't really take him long to recognize what it was.
"Jake Lockley, You are hereby arrested for the murder of Arthur Harrow."
Your cleverness of leaving him so vulnerable to you was undoubtedly smart, but that was an essence of your charm that Jake simply couldn't get enough of.
#jake lockely x reader#jake lockley x you#marc spector x reader#moon knight x you#steven grant x reader#moonknight x reader#steven grant x you#jake lockley x reader#marc spector x y/n#moon knight x y/n#fanfic#jake lockley#jake lockely x you#jake lockely imagine#moonknight#Moon knight
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⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆
𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟝~ 𝔻𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟
⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆
⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕝𝕖༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆
“God such a fucking pathetic slut, yeah?” Jake’s words are always harsh when he’s fucking you.
Being so brutal with your delicate body, you’re like a porcelain doll, you could break at any moment from the violent thrusts he’s giving to your tiny hole.
But why would Jake care? You’re only here for him to dump his cum in and leave, he makes sure you don’t forget.
“Perfect little cocksleeve, all for me yeah? That’s the only thing you’re good for. Being a dirty cum slut. no me jodas.” He’s practically abusing your body.
Bending you in anyway he pleases, just throwing you around like a ragdoll. But how could you complain when his degrading words are what get you off.
⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆
#jake lockley#jake lockely x reader#jake lockely smut#jake lockely x you#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely fluff#steven grant#steven grant smut#marc spector#moon knight
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my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night
jake lockley x female!reader
wc: 9.5k
warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me
an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers
summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?
Mouse was noisy.
You really wished he wouldn't be.
He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.
Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.
It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.
When he'd be left alone in the flat.
Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.
You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.
There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.
It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.
After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.
Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.
You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?
He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.
You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.
Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.
That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.
Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.
Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.
You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.
Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.
From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.
Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.
Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.
He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.
There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.
You met Marc eventually.
He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.
You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.
More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.
It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.
It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.
The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.
Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.
He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.
There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.
Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.
You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"
His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.
"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.
Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.
He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.
"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.
The man's brow tightened, "Sure."
There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.
"Uh ... I suppose so."
Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.
Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.
"It was nice meeting--"
It closed with a thump.
"... you."
Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.
Steven worried about him, about Jake.
Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.
"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"
Marc's eyes flickered up just once.
"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."
"You don't know?"
His eyes flickered.
"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.
His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.
"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"
And so it passed that way, for weeks.
Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.
It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.
The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.
Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.
You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.
The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.
"Jake?"
He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.
"Yeah?"
His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?
"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"
Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.
You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."
He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."
When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.
That was the first night.
The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.
It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.
Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.
"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.
In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.
Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.
"Jake?"
The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.
"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.
Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"
"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.
He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."
Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"
He nodded.
Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.
You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"
"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."
Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.
"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"
Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.
You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"
Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.
"You're a doc, aren't you?"
"For animals!"
He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."
Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.
The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.
You nodded eventually.
"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."
There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.
He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.
"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."
With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.
"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.
When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.
He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.
"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."
"He tenido peores."
I've had worse.
You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.
Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.
You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.
Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.
When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.
"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."
The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.
"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"
You huffed. "Jake, please."
It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.
You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.
He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.
When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.
"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.
He shrugged, "Are you?"
Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.
Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.
The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.
Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.
"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."
A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.
"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."
You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.
It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.
Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.
When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.
Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."
You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."
He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.
The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.
"Thank you."
You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."
But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.
His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.
"What is it?"
Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."
You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."
"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."
"Meaning?"
He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.
"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."
The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.
"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"
He shook his head in place of answering.
"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.
The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.
-
In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.
Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.
You didn't see Jake once in that time.
Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.
Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.
But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.
That was until he came again.
Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.
The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."
You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.
He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.
"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.
Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.
Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.
When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.
You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.
"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."
Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.
"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.
You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.
Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.
Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.
The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.
Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.
Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.
"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.
He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"
There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.
"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."
Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.
"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."
You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.
"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.
Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.
"Who took out the stitches?"
His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."
The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."
"Yeah."
"What did they say? About the scar?"
Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.
Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."
Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.
Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.
It was warm and sticky with sweat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"
His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.
You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.
"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."
You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.
-
Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.
It peaked suspicion in you.
"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"
Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."
Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."
"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.
Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.
It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.
Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.
He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."
"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"
"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."
You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."
That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.
It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.
You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.
He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.
The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.
It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.
He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.
His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.
A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.
He didn't.
The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.
Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.
It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.
The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.
Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.
Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.
Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.
Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.
"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"
I never stop.
"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"
He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.
You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.
Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.
And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.
You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.
"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"
Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.
Why're you doing it then?
Because Marc and Steven are in there.
They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.
"What's it to ya, Lockley?"
Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.
He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.
Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.
Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.
It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.
"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"
You hummed, not looking at him.
Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."
A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.
"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.
Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."
You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.
He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.
"And white roses?"
"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."
It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.
"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."
"Not to you, I didn't."
Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.
He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.
"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."
You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.
"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"
"You kissed him."
That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.
Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.
"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.
Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.
"Yeah. Tha's all."
He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.
The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.
"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"
As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."
"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."
"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"
You swallowed. "That you're okay."
His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?
"You have work in the morning."
A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."
He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.
"I'm not gonna go change."
"But you're wet."
"A little rain never killed anybody."
"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"
You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.
"Shut up." He mumbled.
You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.
"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.
He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.
The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.
"Where did you find this giant dog--?"
"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"
Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.
"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."
He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.
A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.
"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.
You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.
"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."
There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.
He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.
Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.
A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.
He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.
It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.
His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.
He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.
Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.
Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.
That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--
He blinked the thought away.
There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit.
Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.
But not him.
It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length.
Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights.
You twitched against him.
"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."
I promise.
-
Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.
You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.
It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.
Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.
Marc was around almost as much as Steven.
He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.
You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.
He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.
His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.
"Steven?" You whispered against him.
Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.
"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."
You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."
He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."
You kissed him.
Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.
You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.
But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.
He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.
Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.
"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."
It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.
"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.
He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."
That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.
"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.
Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."
You rolled your eyes.
"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."
"Jake, wait--"
His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"
He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."
You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."
It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.
Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.
"Why're you looking at me like that?"
He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.
You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"
"Like that."
"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.
"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.
Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.
"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.
His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"
He was gone again.
It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.
Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"
"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."
-
Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.
There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.
You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.
The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.
Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.
But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.
With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.
The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.
"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"
Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.
Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.
Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.
It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.
You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.
The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.
Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"
Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."
The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.
“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.
He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”
He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.
“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.
“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”
It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.
The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.
But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.
“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."
Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.
"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."
"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.
"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"
He betrayed you with his silence.
"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.
Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."
"Can't? Can't what?"
"I can't have what I want."
You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.
"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."
Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"
"It's not the same. thing"
"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"
Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.
"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"
You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.
"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.
He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.
His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.
"Don't come back, Jake."
Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.
"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."
Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?
"I want what they have."
He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"
His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."
You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."
It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.
"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"
You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.
"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."
Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"
His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.
"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."
Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.
There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.
When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.
"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."
He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.
"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"
He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."
You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.
"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.
You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"
"You're very annoying."
Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."
His face ran hot all over at the allegation.
"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."
Your face drew closer against his own.
"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."
His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"
"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."
It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.
His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.
"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"
Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."
Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.
You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."
Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.
"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"
A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."
"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."
Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.
-
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☾ 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 ☾
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟏: 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 18+ | 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭
𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Warnings: overstimulation, fingering, pet names, mean dom jake, teasing, dumbification, choking, manhandling
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭
Jake had you sprawled on his bed, legs wide open for him. Your pussy was in full view for him to see “What a welcome” he hummed as he threw your legs over his shoulders.
Today, Jake didn’t want to focus on himself, he wanted to focused on you. Today was your day and he’d make sure you knew it.
He’d been gone for a few weeks now, busy doing his job without complaint. Now he was between your thighs as his fingers played with your sticky folds.
“Have you been playing yourself while I was gone?” Jake questioned. You hid your face into the pillow in shame, you did even when he told you not to.
Jake sighed as you nodded your head “you never do listen huh?”
Jake wouldn’t say he was surprised, he knew a needy little thing like you couldn’t keep from fucking themselves while he was gone.
Two of his gloved fingers dipped into your wet folds, spreading and scissoring your messy cunt. Jake kept his gloves on knowing the cold leather made you squirm.
The rough material rubbed your swollen clit, your body tensed as he teasingly dipped one more finger inside you. You whined as he removed his fingers but before you could complain he was manhandling you onto his lap.
He let out a groan as he pushed you back onto his leg and pinned your arm down “you couldn’t wait a few weeks sweetheart? Pussy was so damn needy you couldn’t wait for me?” He hummed.
His gloved hand squeezed your jaw, trailing his fingers into your mouth and pushing them in softly. You gagged a bit as he watched you with a smile on his face, both of your eyes glued to each others as he noticed your eyes start to water.
Bite he mouthed as he aligned the tip of his gloves to your mouth, allowing you to bite down and let him slip his hand out of the black leather. “Good girl” he praised as his ungloved finger trailed down your thigh.
Your hips bucked at the feeling of his fingers messily rubbing your slick all over your pussy “what’s the use of me giving you rules if you won’t follow them huh?” He sighed.
You shyly hid your face into his arm, jake scoffed at your audacity. You broke his rules that you agreed to and you act like it’s not your fault. “Look at me” he hissed, a loud sack landing onto your inner thigh.
“Jake please” you whined, your eyes gazing up at him in need “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. I was thinking of you, the way you feel. I missed you” cried.
“I know you did honey but if I can do it, you can too.” He cooed. His fingers lazily played with your soaked cunt, his fingers barley pushing into you before he pulled them back out.
You were squirming in his lap as he had you pinned onto him, his eyes watched your every move as he dipped into your little tight cunt. You let out a breathy gasp as he pushed his fingers in.
He slowly pumped in and out of you with a sly smile on his face “this what you missed? Missed me playing with this sweet little pussy? I sure did” he hummed.
You let out a deprived moan as he knuckled your pussy. You could feel his thick calloused fingers rubbing and hitting the perfect spot with such little effort.
You could hear the lewd sound of your wetness. Jake let out an accomplished moan as you stared up at him dumbly with your mouth agar.
He watched as your eyes rolled back into your head as he slammed his fingers into your messy cunt. Your legs instinctively tried to shut as your body began to spasm, causing Jake to pin you down with his other hand.
“Don’t squirm, don’t fight it honey. After all, you wanted this didn’t you?”
“J- jake o- oh my-“ you cried out, pussy gushing all over his fingers as he worked your body like a toy. He knew every inch of you, he knew exactly what could make you scream and cry for him to stop.
Your orgasm hit you hard as he rubbed your clit with his thumb, still knuckles deep. You moaned into his chest, clawing at his bicep as he whispered filthily praises.
“I know baby I know, it gets so much for you when I don’t listen huh?” He mocks. He continued to fuck his thick fingers into you and he didn’t plan on stopping.
He watched you lose the power to protest from the overstimulation, your pussy continued to swallow his fingers greedily as he played with the sticky slick dripping out of you.
After all, he had to teach you a lesson to listen.
#smut#marvel smut#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely x you#jake lockely smut#jake lockely x reader#jake smut#jake x reader#jake lockley#moonknight x reader#moon knight smut#moon knight#oscar issac characters#oscar isaac characters#oscar issac imagine#kinktober#kink tober
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happy birthday! i hope you have an amazing day 🩵
can i request prompt 15 with Jake Lockley?
THE MAN AT THE BAR
15. Can I go where you go?
A/N: hey lovelies I’m finally back! I’m sorry I been really absent for a few months but this couples of months weren’t the best for me and I’m sorry I haven’t post anything, I know I’m really behind, any way, thank you lovely anon for this request I hope you like it and I promise I’m going to work on the few request I have, lots of love!!
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The first time you met Jake you had to admit that you were afraid of him, with those eyes, looking at you like if you were his prey, and you were an easy one, a small talk and a few drinks and something told you that he was something special.
-So tell me something about you, preciosa- he said as he took a zip of his drink, you thought for a second.
-Well I told you, I grew up…
-no, me refiero a eso- (that’s not what I meant) he said -I want to hear something that you won’t tell any other guy here- you chuckle.
-Why don’t you give me an example?- you asked, he looks at his drink before he looks at you.
-I’m a mess, and if you’re really smart you’ll walk away from me- something in his eyes makes you realized that he wasn’t lying.
-So you want me to go?- you asked.
-Ese es el problema (that’s the problem)- he said -I don’t think I want that- you nod slowly as you think about it.
-Then I think I’ll take that risk- he gave you a small smirk.
-I hope you won’t regret it.
And for a time everything was great, casual dinners, casual talks, you start to hang out a lot until the two of you decide to be official, you were happy, he likes to wait for you outside your work and have a little walk to your home. But almost a year later you start to notice some changes in him, the walks together start to become less and less common and the excuses became more frequents. That night asked you for stay in your place, you thought that it would be as the old day, you talk as you get something to eat, maybe you’ll have an intimate moment, but nothing of that happened, you could count all the words you said with your hand, and when you woke up in the middle of the night and his side of the bed was empty, you immediately knew where he was so you got up from the bed and made your way to his apartment. He was a little surprise when he saw you but you’re eyes were on the suitcase beside his door.
-You’re leaving?- he didn’t say anything -did you plan to tell me or at least send a text?- he just look at his feet- ok, I have something to say and if you still want to leave I won’t bother you again, we can forget this thing, ok?- you didn’t wait for his answer this time -I love you, Jake, and I’m whiling to try it, I even whiling to do whatever you want, if you want to keep the Christmas lights until February, I’ll keep them, damn I’ll keep them the whole year if you want to, just let me in…. I want to go where you go and be as close as we can…
-Créeme, you don’t want that- he finally said
-And how do you know? Why do you think that I don’t want to be with you?-you asked him.
-because I’m not alone- he said.
-What do you mean? You have someone else?- you asked, you were about to walk away when he took your arm.
-Not as you think- he said as he look in to your eyes- I’m not alone in here- he finally said as he put a finger in his head, he sighed as he throws his head back and thought for a moment -I share body with two people- you staid quiet for a moment -Have you ever heard of the dissociative identity disorder?
-Like…
-Please don’t say glass- he said a little annoy making you laugh.
-I was going to say billy Milligan or sibyl- he looked at you a little surprise -what I took a few course of psychology on college, I was curious about it- he gave you a soft smile -but now that you mention that movie I can’t stop thinking about James McAvoy- he rolled his eyes, the tow of you giggled, when you stopped, you brushed his cheek -I know this is difficult to talk about, and im not going to lie to you, I’m still processing all this but I’m really glad you told me.
-bueno preciosa… you’re not the only one that is in love- he said.
-Then, why you start to shout me out?- he sighed.
-Because I was afraid, afraid that you didn’t felt the same way, or you got afraid of us and leave, so my only option was to be distant.
-Well I’m kind of difficult to get rid off- he smiled as he got close to your face.
-I’m glad- he said before he finally kissed you.
-You know- you said a little shy -this could end a lot better if you just let me in- he moved so you can get inside the apartment.
-I’ll give you a quick tour.
#jake lockley x reader#jake lockely imagine#jake lockely x you#moon knight x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader
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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant x Reader [1]
description: Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted. [Last Night in Soho inspired]
word count: 11.1k
trigger warnings: gore, blood, swearing, reader has a dark past that will be explored more read at discretion, third person & no use of Y/N, death, reader will become an avatar eventually,
main masterlist | series masterlist
Authors note: I have been in love with this show since I watched it and have finally started the fic I’ve been wanting to since it came out! The chapters are going to be long and readers backstory is dark but this is a piece very personal to me and I hope you enjoy!!!
She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.
They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard.
She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her.
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the partition wall.
She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal.
There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was.
She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven?
“Stev-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin.
“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.
She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly.
The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches.
It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be.
How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t.
No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.
The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.
FOUR DAYS EARLIER
“Come the fuck on, Steven” Cursing under her breath, she cradled the two disposable cups of coffee tightly, her rosewood coloured lipstick surrounding only one of the lids. The London air whipped her coat around her shins, frigid and unwelcoming as it was even on a good day.
As per usual, Steven was late for work. The two of them had an agreement to meet each other outside the museum every Wednesday and Thursday, which meant his lateness slid in her own time. She could of course just meet the undoubtedly dishevelled man inside, but what kind of a friend would she be then? Leave him to face Donna’s wrath on his own? No, if he was in for a bollocking then so were she.
Friends didn’t exactly come easy to her nowadays, either. So if waiting in the bitterness for another five minutes meant she could keep this one, then so be it.
She had even taken the time on her commute to work to grab him a drink, the thin, black ink on the sticker reading: LATTE, + CARAMEL, -XTRA ESPRESSO SHOT, -XTRA HOT. she had banked on him being late despite the fact she had left him three messages this morning asking if he was awake (he wasn’t) and called him last night before bed to remind him not to sleep in.
A minute or so before she would have figured he was just calling in sick today, she caught sight of a slouched figure dashing off the bus, the grey knitted cardigan belonging to only one person his age in London. His thatch of messy black curls were a next dead give away, as well as the bags under his eyes that never seemed to budge even if he were to sleep two days in a row. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to apologise to a flock of pigeons he nearly trampled on in his haste up the many steps leading to their workplace.
“Donna’s going to serve our heads on sticks to scare away rude customers, you know that right?” She said, handing him his drink, now lukewarm, as he nearly crashed into her own body.
“Thanks, Dove,” He said absently as the two of them headed quickly to the entrance, “Yep, I’m aware I’ve buggered us. Bloody weird dreams again,” Steven shook his head as if to rid himself of the odd thoughts. “Sorry though, love. You must be freezing,”
She was freezing, but the way he was quick to worry over her warmed her insides more than she’d care to admit. The nickname crafted just for her, the bird symbolising ‘Quiet innocence’ in Ancient Egypt, as Steven had once told her. Sure enough, the endearing term had stuck quickly, and it warmed her to know she had a special enough place in his life to have a pet name.
It was plain to see just by looking at the twenty-five year old she was smitten with her co-worker. No sane person stands outside in Brittain’s April winds for just a friend. But Steven was different, which she knew was what every naive young girl said about their work crush, but he truly was. Steven had a kindness she had never known someone to offer without wanting anything in return, which he didn’t. He was so sweet to her she understood why he loved the sugary caramel syrup in his coffee so much, she thought often it glazed his every word with a honeyed tone. His face was a blend of a greek god and a lost puppy, a combination she never would have banked on being so damn attractive until she met him.
Even his smell alone of a quiet library, a rain soaked meadow and freshly brewed coffee had her inebriated.
“It’s fine,” The woman reassured as she cut through the main lobby where it was already lively with school kids. A few queued up at the gift shop to pay for their treasures; she smiled when she saw a girl with an Anubis plushie tucked under her arm. “I’m sure she would have found a reason to snap today anyway,”
She adored her job, she really did. Graduating university with a degree in Ancient Languages, working in London’s heart of archeological texts had been a linguist’s version of Broadway. Sure, her talents were beyond soured working in the gift shop, but anything was better than the life she’d fled to get here.
No amount of sneers and dry remarks from Donna could ever drag her kicking and screaming back to that time before she left for Soho.
“What did you dream about this time?” She asked, her black, kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished marble floor.
A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the way his brows lifted, giving away his amusement at his own head. “It was the weirdest thing. I felt like I was flying over London, but not, like, in an aeroplane or anything, like I was flying. Like, me. No wings or anything. Like I’m bloody superman or something.” Steven shook his head again and she gave a small laugh.
“Certainly beats getting the underground. You know, I saw a rat the size of a dachshund this morning, swear on my life. I thought it was about to ask me for spare change,” Steven smiled at his colleague as they entered the Ancient Egypt area. She took a sip of her own hot latte, sweet cinnamon with whipped cream that had long since melted, the liquid already half devoured when she was waiting for him to show up.
“Don’t you ever have dreams like that, then? That feel so ridiculous. It's like, how can my head even come up with it?” Steven asked, and her smile wobbled a little as she saw her manager set her predatory gaze on the two of them. The people pleaser in her wanted to cower at Donna’s furious expression.
In all honesty, she wished for dreams as ludicrous as flying over Piccadilly like a Mary Poppins wannabe. She wished she had Steven’s innocent look on life, that the world around her didn’t terrify her, that it could be as gentle with her as he was.
But that was not real life.
Her dreams were not filled with silly fantasies of flying like heroes. They were filled with dark monsters that looked too much like men to be supernatural, that managed to catch her no matter how many times she ran, begged, screamed. They always caught up to her. Always. Leaving her clawing at the duvet, drenched in sweat and a pulse that could challenge a hummingbird’s.
“Brace yourself,” She ignored his question, muttering the words to him as the blonde came strutting over to them with a daggers look. Ah, Donna. The woman that made her job so joyful, so easy, a delight to be around.
Donna hated her almost as much as she made it clear Steven was on a metaphorical hit list the moment he stepped foot into the museum.
“You pair better have a good explanation,” Donna snapped, dumping a tower of boxes in Steven’s arms.
“Bus times-” Steven said at the same time she came out with:
“Road works-”
They both stopped, hesitating a glance to one another. The blonde looked between them, shaking her head with a furrowed brow and a scornful sigh.
“It’s like tweedledum and tweedledee having you two together,” She muttered, nudging the younger girl towards the stands in the middle of the gift shop, “Dum, you’re stock shelves today, love,” The term didn’t sound nearly as friendly coming from her mouth, nor did it make her chest flutter like it did when Steven said it. It was condescending, rude. Made to make her feel inferior, which it did. She pointed at the man then, shoving a basket of insect themed sweets to him behind the till, “Dee, you’re selling these.”
Donna looked between the two of them one last time, her steely blue glare never wavering, as if checking they could be left alone together without wasting company time, before going to set her unforgiving jaws on some other poor creature.
The girl set her bag behind the counter and got to work organising the merchandise, twisting the ceramic scarabs to all be facing the front.
It was a menial job at best, being stuck stacking shelves as mothers and fathers reached over to inspect the new stock, most of the time messing up the meticulous order she’d put them out in. Kids got their grubby mits all over the glass pyramid paperweights, making her eye twitch since she knew she’d need to polish them up again, only to flash them a smile and ask them kindly if they had the pocket money to pay for it.
They didn’t, kids just liked to fiddle with priceless things and their parents were too busy on their phones to notice.
She was half way through showing two young girls to the sarcophagus themed pencil cases when she caught sight of Dylan at the front counter, leaning in to talk to Steven.
Dylan was a nice woman to work with. She was one of the only people who’d tried to coax conversation out of the greenie the first week she started there, which had been painful for both of them since she had never been known to be sociable. Companionship did not come easy to her and it was only by sheer luck that Steven seemed so similarly awkward in a charming way that she was able to feel comfortable around him.
It was childish really, a silly work crush that she had no intention of ever letting slip. He was too good for her anyway. He was sweet and kind, gentle, innocent. Everything she was not.
Steven Grant deserved someone who could give him the world. Which is why it shouldn’t have come to too much of a stab to the chest when she heard what the two of them were talking about.
“We still on for seven tomorrow?” Dylan asked, her hair falling in those beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder. Dylan was the type who showed up to work every day looking effortlessly gorgeous which clawed at the younger girl more than she cared to acknowledge. She liked Dylan, she really did. She was friendly in a way that was genuine, didn’t have her second guessing whether she meant the compliments she gave to anyone.
Some days she wondered if Dylan pitied her. A plain Jane girl with no family to lean on, trying to make ends meet in a city as extortionate as London and chin deep in university loans. It was enough for any attractive, confident adult woman to kiss their teeth and “Awww”.
The girl watched the two of them, waiting for the teenagers to decide which stationary sets they wanted. They were looking for ‘different but matching’ they had said, not that she was paying much attention to them. Steven’s face was the picture of lost as he stared at the grown woman, seemingly entranced with her face. And she couldn’t blame him. Dylan flashed him a teasing smile, brilliant white teeth poking out from behind her luscious dark lips.
“Seven tomorrow?” He asked, despite nodding happily as if he understood what she was talking about. But his friend didn’t miss the confusion blaring on his face, his eyes as brown as the coffee she’d bought him scrunched up slightly in bewilderment.
“Best steak in town?” Dylan prompted, her smile not faltering though she seemed to also be slightly thrown off that had forgotten.
Their unknowing audience kept her head down, not wanting to watch for a second more of their conversation. She didn’t need a degree to see the way Dylan had leaned in, her body language turned completely towards him as if to tease him with what could come if their date were to go well, her own almond eyes trailing over him with the air of confidence her younger counterpart lacked.
“Oh right, yeah. Yeah,” Steven replied. She could tell he still had no clue what Dylan was talking about.
“Yeah? Okay,” Dylan replied, oblivious to his dilemma, and stepped away from the desk to go tour the new group of school kids waiting in the hallway.
Steven followed her trail hotly before she could leave, “Sorry but,” He stepped towards her to talk a little quieter, almost embarrassed about how forward he was being, “Are you asking me out?”
Dylan stopped, reeling slightly in shock before she wagged a finger to him and chuckled. “You’re funny. I’ll see you then.” She seemed unbothered by his ‘joke’ though she could hear in his own voice he was muddled. The woman walked away with a sultry looking smile, her eyes flicking to her where her other coworker silently arranged the pencil sarcophaguses. “Morning, babe,” She gave the girl a friendly squeeze on the upper arm as she passed. It only made it more difficult to writhe in jealousy knowing the woman he was seeing was downright lovely.
“Morning, Dylan,” She returned the smile, though the bitterness festered inside her. She had no claim over him, and she really couldn’t blame the two of them for gravitating towards one another. Not only was she merely twenty-five, a decade under Steven and Dylan’s thirty-five years, but Dylan was sexy, confident, flirty. Knew what she wanted. She was incredibly smart too, not an airhead like some other people trying to live the big dream in London. Dylan was a tour guide at the British Museum, and what was she? A graduate with a dead degree, pun intended, and a job that could be done by any wannabe walking in here.
Taking a moment to rearrange her feelings, shoving down the way her heart wriggled in her chest as the little green monster worked its way through her veins, pumping disappointment around her body like a drug.
The two young girls seemed to only then decide which pencil boxes they wanted, unbeknownst to her inner turmoil, and she remained silent as she led them over to the till to talk to Steven, more for her own benefit than theirs.
“I didn’t know you’d asked her out,” She said finally, though it came out as a croak, which she cleared from her throat quickly. Steven scanned their items as the girls both fiddled with ten pound notes, the great Queen Elizabeth staring at the woman from their hands as if she even knew how childish she sounded.
“Neither did I,” Steven replied honestly, printing off the receipts for them, “And you would think for a woman like her there’d be no chance I’d forget a date, you know what I mean?”
Ouch. She smiled tightly, waving the younger girls off as they caught up with Dylan’s tour group. The woman of the hour. Of course he’d be elated at the sound of that, what man with eyes wouldn’t? Anyone would count their stars lucky to be given a chance by a temptress like her.
“Must have needed that coffee today after all,” She joked, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile properly, instead finding a middle ground between a grimace and a simper.
Steven chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Must have. What would I ever do without you?” She grinned painfully at him, looking away to try and hide the way her face grew hot at his thoughtless words. “Am I still walking you home tonight?”
Another of their routines. She lived closer to Islington than the lovely apartment Steven had in Whitechapel. Despite paying a lot per month to live so close to the city centre, some areas of London like the borough she lived in was still ridden with some of the highest crime rate in the county. Steven was more thoughtful than anyone she had ever met, a rarity in this place, and on the days they were at work together he would ride the underground home with her before detouring around to his own apartment even further away.
“Uh, no,” She replied, busying herself with unloading one of the boxes Donna had dumped in Steven’s hands earlier. She loved spending time with Steven, loved it so much that she felt guilty of lusting over him without his knowledge, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more about this date that he would no doubt want to pick her brain apart over. He’d want to ask what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should buy her chocolates and flowers even though she already knew he would. And the whole time she’d be hoarse in the throat from holding back the urge to say Date me instead, I’m begging you. “No, I have a date of my own tonight,”
Liar. Liar. Liar.
It was like their monarch Elizabeth was still glaring at her, judging her through her inky lashes and driving the dagger in further at the fact that this kind of behaviour was exactly what made her too immature to be considered for a real date with Steven.
He raised his brows, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have an occasional fling with a guy every now and then. But none of them really progressed to a date, just a single night of passion to groan over in embarrassment when Steven asked how her weekend went.
“Oh, who’s the lucky guy?” Steven asked, nudging her shoulder in a tone that was nothing but teasing.
“No one, just someone I met on tinder,” She brushed off, the lack of excitement making the man stop trying to pry a smile out of her.
“What’s the matter?” She shrugged at him, not coming up with a response in time. What he took as nerves was in fact guilt and disgust feasting on her insides at the fact she was lying to him. Lying. There was no mystery man, no one coming to save her from this awkward display of what pure jealousy can do to a reasonable person. “You can always cancel if you don’t want to go.”
“I just…” she trailed off, stuck for what to say. He was looking at her with those puppy eyes no grown man should be able to perfect. And yet he was patiently waiting for her to stumble on the right set of words, his entire focus on whatever it was troubling her. That was another thing, for as chatty as a person as Steven was, he was just as good a listener, and she could tell he gave her everything every single time they would talk. “I just don’t know what to wear, is all,”
He seemed content with her answer as his eyes trailed down her body. She squirmed under his gaze but hid it well (not at all) by pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands and balling her fists to fidget with, “Wear what you’re wearing now,” He said simply, as if it were obvious.
She looked down. A large top and casual jeans did not exactly say date worthy, though she wasn’t sure if there were actual rules to hypothetical dating, seeing as her man was fucking imaginary.
She giggled at him nonetheless, shaking her head, “These are my work clothes, Steven. I can’t go like this.”
“Why not? I think you look lovely,” Steven’s comment was passing, tiny in the scale of things. Yet it sent her heart scrambling for a grip on reality. He was just her friend, complimenting her on her perfectly ordinary clothes. Nothing more.
It wasn’t until she found herself smiling at a set of metal Pharaohs that she realised she needed to get a date for this evening fast. If Dylan and Steven could find someone in this wide city, surely it couldn’t be too hard for her to.
Sound was the first thing that came back to her. The crappy animated kids show she had been watching out of pure boredom last night was still playing after being left on all night. No doubt running up her already high electric bills. The exaggerated, slapstick bangs blared through the speaker. That caught her attention, drawing her into the awake like a fog horn from shore. The midday sun slipped through the open curtains, flicking over her lids and coaxing her to open them. She did so gently, lashes batting over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of where she was.
Her sofa.
The two empty mugs glared back at her from the coffee table, making her eyes wince in confusion. Why was she making tea so late last night?
Then the stench hit her. The smokey yet overwhelmingly powerful smell of a gentleman caller named Jack Daniels wafted up her nose and brought back a panorama of memories flicking through her head; The date. A real date that had been scheduled since Thursday. A completely ordinary blonde named James. The restaurant. Him being almost too charming. Fake laughing at his jokes she had already seen on Twitter weeks ago. Him touching her thigh every chance he could get. Suggesting they go to a club. Dancing. Shots. More dancing. Sharing a beer she pretended not to think was the most horrendous thing she’d ever tasted. More shots. More dancing. Him grabbing her hips. Her waist. Him kissing her neck, cheek, lips. Him grabbing her more, something she would find sleazy if she wasn’t desperate to force Steven out of her intoxicated brain.
Which led to her apartment. The sofa, as classy as it sounded, was seemingly a better option than her bed. She had been quick to shut him down when he suggested moving it to her room; that was too intimate. That was her space, which would only be tainted by this stranger wanting to bend her over. So the sofa it was.
Whiskey served in old mugs she got from the gift shop being chugged for Dutch courage. The same mugs she had bought with Steven as part of a set. They had taken two each, promising that they would be used whenever the other visited.
She had given him Steven’s mug out of spite, even in her vodka riddled brain she was burying her feelings six feet under.
Her hand shot out when she heard her phone buzzing, not wanting it to wake up her actual gentleman caller.
The phone was clumsily brought to her ear, not even bothering to check who was calling before she swiped the green icon.
“Hullo?” It came out a horrible croaky mess and had her coughing the second she’d asked.
“Hi, Dove! Just called to see how your date went.” Steven’s voice blared through the speaker, which only served to have her pulling it away and groaning. “And also to tell you about my dream, I think it was the weirdest one to date!”
“Woah, slow down, Steve-” She tried to say, but the man had clearly a mouthful to tell her and continued on regardless.
“I was in the alps, but it was all so real. There was this group of people taking it in turn to hold hands with this weird American guy, and then I got into a high speed cupcake-van chase with the lot of them because they started saying I’d stolen this little scarab thing from them, I don’t know where I get this stuff from-” Her eyes scrunched together in pain, though she lay in the quiet and tried to gather her bearings. She sat up from the sofa, shivering when she saw it was around midday outside and she had forgotten to close the window.
“Sounds intense,” She mused to keep him talking, pulling a blanket over her still nude body as she stood to close it and preserve the heating. Her head spun as she stood, a rush of bile rising to her throat dangerously, which she choked back down and looked around the room. Quickly realising she was alone in her flat, she shuffled over to the kitchen in her blanket cocoon to find her purse to see how bad the damage her little excursion had done to her limited stash as any responsible youth did after a night out in London.
“It was! I swear it was like I could feel the cars smashing into me- Oh right! How was your date?”
She blanched, head still pounding, “Uh. Yeah it was great.” It was average at best. “He was super funny,” For a Twitter fraud. “So romantic,” If romantic was the new word for ten minutes of missionary and not even making her cum. “He took me wine tasting,” She was sure she’d be tasting the wine she’d bought at the club any second now judging by the way her head spun, “Yeah, he was great,” He wasn’t you, Steven.
“I’m so pleased for you, love!” Her best friend cheered, a part of her writhing in repulsion that she had lied to him again. Though maybe that was the wine begging to make an appearance. She stuck the lever down on the kettle to get the water boiling, sure that a fresh cup of strong tea would be the only thing to pull her through this hangover.
Part of her, the dark, twisted part, wanted him to be jealous. Wanted to make him as frustrated and envious as he had unknowingly made her. But he would never, could never. Steven was tender and good. He was too sweet to ever think a single bitter thought towards her, towards Donna even. Which only served to make her feel even more rotten inside.
“How was your date with Dylan?” She forced herself to ask. It was selfish for her to think, but she wished more than anything for him to tell her that it went horribly. She hated the part of her inside that sang with glee at the idea of him hating his date. She truly was wicked inside, and the idea only reminded her more of why she would never be asked on a date by him. Maybe he could see it too, how sick she was for wanting the world to suffer if she couldn’t have the one man she’d ever truly wanted.
“That’s not until tonight, love, remember?” He said casually, as she fumbled around her kitchen for her handbag. She locked eyes on the little black clutch sitting on top of the counter. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she could have sworn Dylan said they were meeting Friday, two full nights ago. Her heart plummeted, maybe it was a second date.
Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse they hit it off, who wouldn’t. He was as smitten as anything and Dylan wasn’t that kind of woman that was too afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted. If she wanted to see him again, then Steven would give her exactly what she asked for.
“Tonight?” She asked, squeezing the phone between her shoulder and her head as she popped open the clasps to her bag.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget a woman like her twice in a row,” Steven joked. But what should have made her gut curdle in pain only fell on deaf ears.
Her purse was gone. Her purse that never left her damn bag, that she had stuffed her rent money in as soon as she’d gotten it was missing.
“I-I’m gonna have to call you back, Steven,” She uttered through the heart sized lump in her throat. Her palms were already clammy with sweat, both from the drink and from her sheer panic, “Good luck on your date,”
“Alright, gators!”
She barely got a chance to murmur their goodbye back before she had thrown her phone down on the plain, white counter and dumped out the contents of her bag.
Hair ties, the odd two pence, a pen she stole from the bank. But no purse.
She turned her coat pockets inside out, the blanket falling down her waist and exposing her round breasts to the cold air. But she couldn’t care less. The goosebumps slithering up her arms did nothing to fight the hot panic as the sofa cushions were thrown off their frame, the young girl still turning up empty handed.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.
This could not be happening. She hadn’t opened her bag all night, even when she got out of the taxi she had her phone readily in her hand and the bag tightly closed. Someone could have taken it in the club, sure, but that made no sense seeing as her bag was definitely still heavy with the wallet when she had gotten home, not near empty like it was now.
Which only meant…
Her date had fucking stolen from her.
“FUCK!” She yelled, throwing her vacant bag across the room with tears brimming her eyes.
It seemed life had been digging a trench underneath Rock Bottom reserved for her at a time like this. And she was left clutching at the muddy walls, trying to drag herself to safety and anywhere that wasn’t her shitty situation where she pined over a man she could never have, where she was still walking the line between sane and whatever else was brewing inside her, fighting against tendrils of hatred and chaos, malignance, that wrapped around her organs and reminded her where she came from, what she was. A life where she got mugged by the men she fucked at her expensive pity parties.
She just hoped Donna wasn’t too hard on her tomorrow after this shit show of a weekend.
“Late, again,” Came the chiding voice the moment she stepped in the building.
Sweat dripped down her back from her long trek through London to get to work. 48 minutes of power walking is what she had been reduced to, unable to get the bus or underground for lack of money.
And she was still late. She was expecting a nice, fat kick to the teeth any time now.
“It’s five minutes, Donna,” You pleaded, yanking an earphone out. Music was the only thing that could block out the thrum of anger and agony she was in from the weekends chaotics.
“Even Stevie-”
“Steven,”
“-Was on time today and he’s the worst for it,” Donna snapped, and the young girl could do nothing but slump in defeat.
“I’m sorry, Donna. It won’t happen again.” She promised. She wasn’t sure if she meant it yet with her lack of transport, but she couldn’t lose this job. She didn’t even know how she was going to pay for this month’s rent let alone catch the bus, breakfast itself had been skipped in an attempt to conserve food. Her stomach ached from the exercise, crying out for anything to fill its distressed cavern. “I got robbed yesterday so I walked,” She murmured, avoiding the blue eyes that had narrowed in on her. She hated feeling pitied, feeling as though people were sorry for her. But it was the truth, and the truth sucked sometimes.
She wasn’t sure what beam of light had shone out of Donna’s ass this morning, or whether she really did look just that pathetic, but the blonde woman just sighed and nudged her towards the gift shop.
In perhaps the nicest tone she’d ever spoken to her, Donna quietly said “Last warning, girl, alright?” The younger woman thanked her quickly, her small voice sheepish. Her boss looked down at her in discontent, “Alright, get going. And you’re on inventory with Steven tonight so best behaviour, I mean it,”
She nodded, turning on her heel to speed towards the gift shop.
Turning from the main lobby to enter the Ancient Egypt exhibits, she’d not gotten halfway there when she’d caught up to Steven seemingly helping a customer. Odd considering the fact he wasn’t even in the shop yet, but knowing Steven he’d probably stopped to chat the guy’s ear off about something he knew too much about to be just a giftshoppist.
She went to wave when he looked up and met her gaze, but the forlorn, scared expression she found there had her already negligent smile drop completely. Steven seemed relieved to see her, too nervous to say anything to the man himself as he stood too close for his comfort.
Her eyes fell to where the stranger held Steven’s hands tightly, murmuring something to him that seemed to have her friend freaked out. The whole sight threw her for a loop, and she called his name on instinct, the new man’s head shooting up to stare at her blankly.
Speeding up her pace, she met the two as Steven pulled away from the stranger’s strong grasp. “Steven, are you okay?” She asked gently, looking from her friend to the lithe figure of the man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but his presence, the way he dressed and held an intricately woven cane seemed meant to make himself superior. His hair was long and greying, still young enough to be attractive but probably a bit older than Steven. A neat sort of scruff sat on his chin, and old blue orbs took her in head to toe where she stood. Not out of lust, but out of intrigue.
“We were just talking, weren’t we, Steven?” The man said calmly, seemingly sizing her up himself. She looked over her shaken friend quickly, the alarm written over his face that had near brought him to tears telling her all she needed to know.
This man was no friend.
“Sorry, I don’t remember asking you,” She snipped in the cold politeness English people all knew how to enact, bringing her friend’s hand into her soft one for reassurance. Steven had never seen her so infuriated. And perhaps it was the weekend she’d had or the way the man so gentle he refused to kill insects seemed to be trembling beneath her hand, she wasn’t sure, but a fierce frown was deep set into her face that dropped into concern the moment she looked back to him, “Are you alright?”
“Can we go, please?” His round, nut brown eyes were soft and welled up as he quietly spoke, as if asking for her permission to be away from here despite being the older of the two. Her heart dropped at his sad expression, and she felt him squeeze her hand as if needing to reassure himself someone was there to save him.
She had no time to note the way the butterflies swelled in her stomach as he did so, focused on getting him away from the strange man.
“Ofcourse,” She said softly, turning to direct him to their little corner of the museum, hoping that the stranger would get the hint and just leave them be.
That seemed short lived when a cold hand wrapped itself around her lower arm, a gasp drawing its way from her lungs. She could feel the panic of being grabbed by the unfamiliar man crawling up her spine, her limbs going numb, her hearing dipping in and out of static at the adrenaline flushing through her system.
She heard Steven say her name as her head snapped to where the man’s strong grip tightened around her wrist. He seemed to stare at her with something calculating, and she wished she hadn’t run her mouth despite the fact she did so to protect the same person who was now behind her, a deeper sense of panic blaring in his eye than before.
“Let go-” Taking a deep breath to overcome the bubbling fear rising in her chest, her only words were cut off by a much clearer voice.
“There is a darkness in you,” The stranger said, as if he knew it for a fact.
Her heart plummeted.
Was it so obvious? No one had ever been able to see it, she buried it so deep in the hopes no one would ever get a glimpse beneath her kind shell. But it was a facade, and even he knew it. The shock must have read clear on her face as he pushed on, as if to reopen scar tissue with his bare hands.
“And chaos, oh there is chaos.” Her lips quirked between her teeth as she tried to stop them from trembling, “A shadow looms over you, little dove.” She felt Steven pull her closer to him, but this man had her every morsel of attention. How did he know, if he knew then surely Steven knew too. Knew she was born so dead she felt she was living a lie by being here. The man laughed to himself, just a small breath but it was enough to break her spirit, “What is it those witches say about Macbeth? Something wicked this way comes.” He asked though he already knew the answer, as if to entrance her with his own spell, “And I see you are truly something wicked.”
Her breath left her chest. The voice escaped her throat. Every intention of protecting Steven had practically evaporated out of her body as her co worker tugged her arm hard enough that the stranger let go of her.
“Leave us alone or I’ll call the police, alright?” Steven murmured with a new sense of courage, “I don’t care if you’re friends with the security here, you leave us alone,”
But the man’s eyes hadn’t left her, as if he knew just how deep his words had struck with her. He wormed his way into her brain even as Steven led her away with a kind hand on her back, his own words of reassurance coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were being dragged under a current.
“He has no clue what he’s talking about, love. He was trying to get into my head too,” Steven said, but he could tell by the lost look in her eyes it was barely being registered.
“Who the hell was that?” She asked after a moment, the feeling in her fingertips just about awakening once they were far enough away to be considered safe.
“You won’t believe me if I told you-”
“Steven, please,” She begged, looking up at him with a desperation he had never known from her. That man, Harrow, one of the women in the alps had called him, had truly shaken her up with the near omen he had given her.
Steven couldn’t understand why, she was possibly the loveliest girl he had ever met. There was no one who so much as held a torch to her light in Steven’s eyes. She was kind. Gentle. Good. This Harrow had no idea what he was talking about saying she was wicked. She was anything but.
Steven sighed, looking at her gravely. “Remember yesterday when I said I had that dream the other night. When I was in the alps, and those men were chasing me for some scarab I’d stolen,”
She blinked at him emptily. In her defence, her brain had still been riddled with alcohol when he’d been rambling, and she had gotten caught up in her own personal issues since then to take much notice. But the scenario sounded familiar as she wracked her brain for the information, some light sparking in her eyes when it clicked to their phone conversation the day before.
She stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing, “You said that was a dream, Steven. That man is very much real,”
“I know, I thought it was a dream,” Steven explained, “But now they’re here, and they keep saying I’ve got this scarab and what not. I don’t understand any of this, love. I’m sorry. I just know he’s dangerous and we need to stay far away from him,”
The younger woman looked at him sadly. He was clearly in distress himself, and she felt a flash of sympathy run through her at his lost expression, yet his eyes were full of concern for her well being.
She knew what it was like to struggle to know what was real and what was not. What it was like to feel as though you're barely keeping your head above the waters of reality. Yet she trusted Steven would tell her if he knew what was happening.
She knew he was more honest than anyone she’d ever known, so she didn’t push.
“Alright,” She said with a heavy sigh, rubbing her eyes to relieve the pressure building in her frontal lobes, “Alright, let’s just steer clear of him, okay? And if he comes back, we go to the police together.”
Steven seemed relieved, which wasn’t a surprise since he knew it was a big ask to have someone trust such a ludicrous story. Yet he didn’t know why he doubted her. She was loyal and would never dream of ridiculing him like other people might. She just took his word as gospel.
She was too good to him.
“Okay, yeah. Good plan,” He said, nodding and checking behind him to see if the guy was still after them when a smaller body pressed its way into his chest.
She didn’t know why she did it, whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she hugged him. Tightly too, as if she had been holding back for a while (she had). They hugged all the time, when saying goodbye at her train stop, when they saw each other on a morning given they weren’t running late. But it never felt like this, so intimate. So much like she needed him so desperately.
Perhaps it was childish, but the way he drew her closer, resting a head on top of hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did made her heart flutter even with the strange circumstances. For a moment, they both felt safe, like Harrow couldn’t get in their heads entirely because they had each other to ground them, reassure the other that they were not alone in the web his ominous words had spun them into, and that was enough for now.
Yet the two of them barely spoke all day.
Whether it was they were too busy with their actual work, or they were both in their heads thinking just what Harrow had meant by his prophesying.
It wasn’t until inventory was nearly done that she spoke first.
“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” She asked, his head cutting to hers from where he was scanning some Beefeater Rubber ducks. He seemed to notice the slight glint of fear in her tone, “As in, they don’t know where you live do they? Or me?”
“No love, of course not,” At least he hoped they didn’t. Steven realistically couldn’t promise anything, he had no idea how far this Harrow’s network of followers ran. But he knew for certain he couldn’t stand to see her so scared. It ran a streak of anger in him that was unusual. Steven never found himself particularly angry, but it had run red hot when he saw the way Harrow had grabbed her and knocked the soul out of her with his words alone. “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you can take my bed,” After he’d swept away the giant ring of sand of course.
She smiled at him finally, maybe the first proper one she’d shown him all day. And he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter that he had done that. Gods be good, she was pretty when she smiled, he thought.
“Thanks, Steven,” She said quietly. He was confident the two of them could figure this out together, and if he was sure of her, then how wicked could she truly be?
She knew it was a cop out, that she hid so much from him that he didn’t know the real her; that if he did he would turn tail and run as far as he could from the monster in front of him. That he would curse himself once he realised Harrow was right; she was polluted down to her marrow.
“I’ve only got this box left to do, love, then we can get out of here,” Steven promised, his eyes flicking over where she collected two half full crates of merchandise and headed out of the gift shop to the stockroom.
“I’ll take these out and meet you in the lobby?” She called over her shoulder, hearing him agree as she walked away to the area meant for employees only.
Sighing deeply, she put the crates down gently, sliding them into a bottom shelf out the way of clumsy feet (most likely her own). A thought jumped in her tired brain, and she was quick to turn out her pockets for any spare change she could use for the train fare back to Steven’s apartment.
Just as she suspected: empty. Because why would she be so lucky as to have anything good happen to her. She could always try and persuade Steven to walk home and save the embarrassment of revealing what actually happened to her Saturday night, but she knew the pitiful look he would give her if she told him the truth of her date. The sad eyes that would flash that neither of them needed after a morning of such anguish.
They didn’t need another of her pity parties today, and she grimaced at the thought of how horrendously the last one ended. Though she knew Steven was different, that he would never do anything so cruel to a stranger let alone herself.
It only made her heart yearn for him more.
Sighing, she thought on her feet as to what to tell him as she left the stockroom, locking the door behind her with the key Donna gave them all a copy of. Her heels rhythmically clicked on the freshly polished floor that reflected her frowning face back at her as if to remind her to stop looking so tormented.
She saw the light of the main exhibit at the end of the darkened hallway, heading towards it at no rush since she figured Steven would likely just about be done himself. Lost in her own head as to what excuse to give the man she called her only friend, she almost missed the deep sound snarling in the shadows behind her.
Whipping her head around with a wide eyed expression, her eyes flicked around the hallway for any glimpse of what made that sound.
But she saw nothing. Not in the way shadows were nothing, dark patches of nothing, as in she saw nothing there. Had anything been lingering behind her, she would have at least caught or heard any movement.
She paused for a second to take another look, only to still come up empty. Her foot warily continued its original path, figuring the sound must have been the cleaners dragging something against the floor.
“Hey, Steven,” She called upon approaching the lobby where he’d be waiting, “Do you reckon I could owe you a coffee for my train fare? It’s just-”
Her voice cut out when she heard the low growl again, much louder this time. Loud enough to have her wince and stop in her tracks in the centre of the room.
She caught sight of the navy blue jacket she knew too well walking backwards slowly, his eyes trained on something in the adjacent corridor.
“Steven-” She whisper yelled, his panicked eyes snapping to hers, “What the hell is that-”
His arm raised out to point at the shadow illuminating the wall. Her gaze fixed on the shadow of a wild dog of sorts, its snout long and open in a fierce grin. She could practically see the outline of the drool dripping from its sharp teeth, at least she hoped it was saliva she thought gravely.
Her breath left her instantly. What the fuck was that? Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her, calves going numb as the adrenaline flushed over her body in tidal waves. She was always a dog lover, she’d had two as a kid, but something told her whatever kind of beast this was, it was not nearly as friendly as a tamed canine would be.
And it seemed Steven realised it too as he was quick to cower behind a display of an ancient relic clutching his bag to his chest tightly.
His frantic eyes pleaded for her to move, but she seemed frozen to the spot.
The overhead tannoy rang melodically, as if God was preparing to make the announcement that they were truly fucked, something she didn’t need a bulletin to know.
“Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The sound of that familiar voice had her heart plummeting into her gut that twisted painfully. Did this guy have attack dogs or something? How had he gotten them past security? They looked huge. “Give me the scarab and the two of you won’t be torn apart,”
The scarab? Everything Steven had said about his dream was true. And if that was true then that meant this guy was a nut job capable of having his entire team hunt her down for so much as associating with poor Steven who looked as lost as she felt.
The shadow moved, shifting around the corner of the hall to enter the open lobby. A scratch-like sound found her ears, as if someone were running knives over a cold slab, and she realised with a shiver this thing must have claws.
And they were approaching.
An open mouthed growl echoed through the room, which only served to confuse her even more. From the volume alone she knew the thing was big, and in the very same room as her. Which meant she surely should be able to see it as she could see the entire length of the room it had to be walking down.
But that was the thing. There was nothing there.
“Steven,” She whimpered quietly. It was stupid, making that noise and attracting attention to herself. But she was scared. She wanted to know what to do. Wanted comfort that she wasn't going insane, that maybe this was all a practical joke and there really was nothing there.
A second set of razor sharp nails entered the room from the same direction, yet again she could only decipher that on sound alone. The chorus of snarls that only got closer did nothing but have her step back on instinct.
“Steven-” She said again, only to see him standing in a rush.
“RUN!” He yelled, taking off towards the exit.
She didn’t need to see the dogs to know they were in the way of her and the same route Steven had taken, so she settled for scrambling back the way she came. The black heels she wore for work to seem professional only proved to be useless when running from wild animals, it seemed. Who’d have thought it?
Her feet pounded down the maze of exhibits, trying to make it to the exit where Steven had headed towards. But for every one step she took, two paws advanced on her like an apex predator heading for its kill.
Which she no doubt would be.
Turning past the Anubis exhibit her stomach dropped when she heard a strong body colliding with the same wall she had practically skidded past. Her lungs burnt with effort, her breaths coming out in wheezes. She had one last turn and before she would be seconds away from the fire exit that she could barricade from the outside.
The feeling of the dog’s hot breath on the back of her ankles had her pushing herself harder, too scared to look over her shoulder. She was coming up to where the hallway split into two and she headed for the right where she was sure the back exit was. She couldn’t help but wish Steven was able to outrun the mutt on his own heels, having not heard from him since she had taken off in separate directions.
Taking the turning past a remaining chunk of what was once a Cleopatra statue, her eyes adjusted to the dark corridor. Where were the slab paintings of the sphinx? Where were the memorials to King Tut? They should be here, they’re always next to this exit-
Her chest constricted when she realised her mistake. Her grave mistake.
In the panic of escaping the creature, she had taken the wrong turning. She should have gone left.
Yet judging by the way the animal grunted with the effort of the chase, she had no option but forward.
Forward to a dead end. To the Setekh exhibit room.
The walls were alive with paintings recovered from ancient tombs. The god of Storms, among other things, was feared through all of Egypt in the later dynasty. He was associated with all things evil, mysterious and disordered. The huge altar that held the statue of Set, his long face foreboding and as cold as the stone it was preserved in, looked down at her in almost malice as her feet took her into the one place she had left to go.
It wasn’t until she felt the walls surrounding her, the penny dropped how fucked she was. There was no way out, no cutting back the way she came as the creature ran into the vast room with her. Dodging one of the plinths containing statues of the demon god, she had barely a second where her pace slowed down as she considered how she was going to turn back before she felt it.
A force stronger than a freight train hit her from behind. She heard every molecule of air get pushed from her lungs at the sheer weight of it, her throat audibly yelping. Its body collided with hers with a weight that she was sure must be pure muscle, and she was thrown to the hard floor with less effort than a child tossing a ragdoll.
The impact had her ribs rattling in her chest, brain bouncing against her now bleeding forehead. The cold floor was harsh against her raw skin. Her nose made a loud pop as it smashed against the marble, a hot sting erupting over her entire face.
But the worst was yet to come.
There was a moment when she was collecting her thoughts, head spinning from the collision. She was sure she’d damaged something in her skull as it pounded, harder than it ever had with any hangover.
She’d give anything to be back on her sofa feeling sorry for herself.
She hadn’t the time to pick herself back up when she felt something large do it for her. It must have been eight feet tall with how big its behemoth paws were as the one grabbed her leg and dragged her on her stomach towards itself. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Not ready to devour, not yet. Just playing. Torturing. Tormenting.
Then came the claws. Her eyes looked down at her ribs, the thin air surrounding them making her cry out in horror - there still wasn’t a fucking soul in sight. No dog, or animal. Or human even. Nothing. Yet her shirt ripped almost too easily as it let out a deep hiss of what she would call a near laugh and sunk its talons into her side.
That was when she started screaming.
Her throat hurt from the volume alone, a banshee shriek akin to a horror movie. It reverberated through the museum halls, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
Vision started slipping then. Whether it was panic or her mind protecting her from what was coming next she didn’t know, but all she knew was everything felt weightless for a moment.
She thought maybe she was dying and ascending at that moment there and then. But she wasn't so lucky. She was still being made this creature's bitch as the God of chaos watched. What beautifully horrible irony.
It was then that it clicked in her stress-addled brain that she was not in fact weightless. That the reason she felt so was because she was now being suspended midair by the thing that had her in its vicious grasp.
It took shockingly little effort for the creature to throw her through the wall-sized fortified glass surrounding the monolith and for her whole body to crumple to the floor.
Steven slammed the bathroom door shut with a panting “Oh God”, his coffee brown eyes never leaving the thick metal that shook with the weight of the monster throwing itself at it violently.
What the fuck was his next move? What even was that thing? He retreated further into the bathroom with a lost expression, clutching his arms for a semblance of comfort.
“Steven,” The man in the mirror spoke in the same American accent he’d been hearing in his own home.
Looking at his reflection, he was agog to find the man identical to him moving on his own, as if independent from Steven himself. That was not his reflection, he knew that much, no matter how much it looked like it. “Steven, I can save us,” He said darkly, his eyes and frown much meaner than any expression Steven would ever wear.
The way he stood was entirely different too, as if he were bigger in stature despite being encased in the exact same body as Steven was.
“W-What?” Steven whispered, backing away from the door that weakened by the second.
He thought of Dove. Had she been able to get away, run out the front door and get help from anyone who would believe her? He hated the thought of those adorable little heels she wore clattering against the floor, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slowed her down. He always heard women complaining about walking in heels let alone running from fucking monsters in them.
Where was she?
“But I can’t have you fightin’ me this time,” He had felt like he’d been playing tug-of-war with his body for some time. But against what, he hadn’t known. His own reflection? This man staring back at him in the mirror with a scowl he knew wasn’t plastered on his own expression? “You need to give me control. You understand?”
He swivelled on his heel to see the man in the full length looking glass behind him, who seemed to tower over him in frame.
“No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?” Steven bumbled, his eyes looking over the stranger’s shoulder to see the door shaking on its hinges now. Dents were appearing now where the monster was caving its way into the bathroom, and one look at the length of its claws told Steven all he needed to know. He stood no chance against this thing alone.
“That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time.” The man said, realising their predicament as much as he did. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, the lot of it. The entire day. From that Harrow guy to the idea that he could possibly lose her to some ancient wild dog.
“No! No!” Steven cried, flinching as the door clattered one more time, the frame whining with the effort at which it held the assailant at bay.
“All right, hey. Listen to me,” The mirror man tried to reason, but Steven was panicking too much to hear him.
“Dammit, no! Stop it!” Steven slapped himself around the face a few times, begging with anything listening to wake him up from the worst nightmare he’d had yet. The image of her being chased by that thing wouldn’t leave his welled up eyes. He wanted to run to her, god knows he would have if that thing hadn’t been stood in between the two of them, blocking his way to her. “This is not real! You’re not real!”
“This is real. I’m real.” The man spoke calmly, as if a diametrical opposite to his own mood. He seemed to know more about what was happening, what that thing was, what it could do. Perhaps that was why Harrow had been chasing him in the first place.
Either way, Steven didn’t care. Not now at least. When the only person outside of his parents that he had ever held affection for was in danger. Imminent danger.
“No! You’re not,” Steven yelled back at his reflection through tears.
It was then he heard the screaming. A howl of visceral pain enough to rattle his bones at the familiar feminine tone to the voice.
It was her.
It was like nothing he’d ever heard, like an animal in a slaughterhouse. He trembled in his place at the thought. She was in danger. Oh god it had her.
“I’m gonna die- She’s gonna die-” Steven whimpered, the tears rolling down his olive cheeks at the thought. He really was useless.
“Steven, look at me.” He finally listened to his reflection with a pitied sniff, “You’re not gonna die, I can save us. But she is if you don’t give me control right now. Let me save her, okay?”
That was the straw that broke Steven’s resolve, the idea of her dying. He had never found it so easy to concede.
He just hoped the man using his body got to her in time.
She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.
They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard.
She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her.
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the glass wall.
She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal.
There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was.
She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven?
“Steve-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin.
“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.
She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly.
The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches.
It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be.
How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t.
No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.
The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.
#Steven grant x reader#Steven grant fanfiction#Steven grant imagine#marc Spector x reader#marc Spector imagine#marc spector fanfiction#Jake lockely x reader#Jake lockely imagine#Jackie lockely fanfiction#moonknight x reader#moon knight x reader#moonknight imagine#moon knight imagine#moonknight fanficiton#konshu x reader#konshu imagine#layla el faouly#Oscar Isaac x reader#Oscar Isaac imagine#Oscar Isaac fanfiction
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…imagine the Moonknight system with a goth partner. Im talking full on trad goth with the hair, the makeup everything and also someone who is just so fucking creepy.
Like imagine this type of goth:
With this Man/Men:
Jake would probably love all the creepy shit they own, Steven would be infatuated with the outfits and how they do their makeup and I feel like Marc would be a mix of both
>:)
#moonknight x reader#moon knight#jake lockely imagine#marc spector imagine#steven grant imagine#goth oc#goth reader#Moonknight x oc
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