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#khonshu fic
thepaperpanda · 2 years
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The Loyal Priestess || Khonshu x fem!reader
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Summary: as a newly appointed priestess in Khonshu's temple, you hold a great deal of responsibility. On one night, the God of the Moon decides to visit his followers in response to their profound prayers 
Warnings: smut (deflowering)🔞 & the body of Marc is being taken over and fronted by Khonshu 
Word count: 3575
Author: Cass & Rouge
A/N: the green sentences refer to Khonshu's speaking
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It's an ancient ritual performed mostly by high priestesses because it was a skill that took a lot of practice, but you knew exactly what to do and weren't afraid of doing something wrong. Being a newly marked priestess in Khonshu's temple demanded a great deal of self-assurance, skill, and interior renunciation.
You had the honor of leading the opening prayer to the god himself that evening. "Our Lord, hear us out," you began, head bowed and hands pressed together in front of a massive stone figure depicting Khonshu standing proudly with his staff in his left hand. "We have gathered here to seek your protection, our Lord, and your enlightenment."
Marc could feel cold, unpleasant creeps running down his spine, causing him to shake and hiss visibly. "What the hell was that?" He exclaimed, perplexed as never before.
Of course, Khonshu was there with him, unconcerned by Marc's remark. "My followers are praying to me."
"Followers? Praying? To you? Do you still have them?" Marc inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course I do, worm! Who do you think I am?" snarled Khonshu.
"Excellent. I was simply inquiring. There's no need to be so aggressive," Marc sighed and rolled his eyes. "I just hope they're over soon. I don't like the way it feels," the man muttered, uncomfortably rolling his shoulders.
"They will as soon as I acknowledge their presence."
Marc didn't have time to react before the robes encircled him and he swooped up into the night sky, going to the source of chanting. He didn't like what he saw when he landed. This was the temple. The one where he lost his normal life and self.
Candles and incense filled the room with a soft glow and the scent of olive and lilac. Few wicked baskets filled with things like fruits, dates and furs were placed on the stone altar.
Khonshu's followers in the chamber were humming an old melody that matched the words of your fervent prayer. "Our Lord, Master of the Night Sky, please listen to us. Send us your light and wisdom, keep us safe from evildoers. We're offering our modest sacrifices for you, our Lord."
"Modest sacrifices? That sounds intriguing, I'm curious what those are," a loud voice could be heard echoing off the walls. Khonshu entered the chamber in Marc's body, overtaken by the god; Marc's eyes glistened with white light.
All of the followers knelt and bowed their heads to the person who entered the chamber.
You were the only one who raised your head slightly to look the creature in the eyes; eyes gleaming with light that highlighted the god's nature. In the process, you bowed your head and knelt on the sand as well. "My Lord, we are honored that you have chosen to illuminate us with your presence tonight. Long live, Khonshu!"
The greeting was loudly chanted by the rest of the followers.
"Finally, someone who understands how to respect me," Khonshu hummed proudly, smiling at everyone. "However, I think I should punish you all."
Chanting ended as soon as it started; the silence filled the chamber.
You dared to raise your head up, looking at the man with glistening eyes. "Did we do anything wrong, my Lord? If yes, please, say a word and we'll do our best to fix the error."
Khonshu chuckled deeply as he approached you. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. "You want to know what your blunder is? Where have you been all these centuries? I can hear every prayer, and it has been quiet for many years."
A cold shiver jolted your body to its core, and you began to wonder if calling Khonsh was a good idea. "My Lord," you said as you looked into his glistening eyes, "We'd been praying to you all the time, on a regular basis. We'd never forgotten you or your deeds, my Lord, and we'd always admired your wisdom."
He squeezed your chin between his fingers. "Human, don't lie to me!" He yelled. "I couldn't hear any of you praying for years! You've dared to arrive at my temple and now you're selling me a lie!"
"My Lord," you said quietly, trying not to aggravate the deity, "How could I lie to you in your temple? I would never do so. Some of your older priestesses have passed away, they were old and died of old age or were killed in the civil war going on," you elaborated. "My Lord, I and those gathered here tonight are from a new generation. Perhaps our prayers were not loud enough for you to hear."
"Maybe they weren't. You will all try to do better from now on," Khonshu demanded. "What about the offerings? I'm interested in what mortals like you brought me."
You waited for him to let go of your chin, and when he did, you went to the altar and pointed to the wicked baskets. "We don't have much to offer you, my Lord, but we'd like to give you our best. Our crops provide the fruits and dates, and our animals provide the furs. We also have the best wine in Egypt, fresh olives, and gold, all for you, our Lord Khonshu."
"That's all?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Some poor fruits and old wine?”
You bowed your head and knelt again. "This is all we have, my Lord. As I said, we can't offer you much more than our faith in you."
"And what do you think I'm going to do with it?" Khonshu inquired, looking at you. "I am the god! Not some pitiful, mortal being like you all or that meat puppet I had to use to see you. I'm not interested in wine or food."
You bowed your head even more, being afraid to look at the god. "Forgive us, my Lord. Please, have mercy!"
"You dare to refer to yourself as my follower? My old priestess, they were the ones who always knew what to offer!" Khonshu yelled angrily, his voice echoing off the walls.
A single tear rolled down your cheek; you were truly terrified with the god being angry with you. "Forgive me, my Lord. What can I do to fix this?"
He gave you a low chuckle as he looked at you. You were a lovely, little thing as for a priestess. He could make good use of his ability to gain complete control over Marc. "I'll tell you what I want as a gift, and you'll grant it to me."
"Of course, my Lord, I'm here to fulfill all of your wishes."
"Clean the altar," Khonshu ordered, waving his hand.
As he wished, you took all the baskets off the altar.
Khonshu turned to face the others. "Tonight, you all let me down. I have nothing else to say to you, worms, no blessings or encouraging words. Leave. Everyone except you," his gaze fixed on you again.
His strong voice echoing off the stone walls made you shiver once more as you watched your fellow citizens get up and leave with bowed heads.
You dared to look at God after everyone else had left the chamber except you. "Your wish, my Lord, is my command."
Khonshu was overjoyed. Finally, someone was listening to him and acting in accordance with his wishes. "I want you as an offering."
You tilted your head and blinked few times. "Excuse me, my Lord? You want me? In what meaning?"
"You good know. You seem like a smart girl."
Your brow furrowed. "Oh, Lord... I think I know what you're thinking about, but I can't give you what you want because I've never done those things before, and I don't want to disappoint you. We have a lot of lovely ladies, just say the word and I'll bring one over."
"I want no one else but you," Khonshu said, gently taking a lock of your hair between his fingers. "You are young and attractive."
"My Lord," you whispered and closed your eyes at the touch of his warm, calloused hand. "I see. Your wish is my command, but I'm scared of letting you down."
"You'll do fantastic, I'm confident you will, little priestess," Khonshu gave you his assurance. "Now. Remove those robes."
You nodded and began taking off your clothes. You began by slipping the sleeves of your long, beige gown, revealing your bare chest and round breasts. Second, you pushed the silky material of the dress down your body, allowing it to fall to your ankles. You stood fully naked in front of the god in human form with hesitation.
One of his hands boldly cupped your breast. "So soft and pleasant," he claimed as his thumb rubbed your nipple, which hardened within the seconds. "My precious, little priestess. Little, innocent thing, you belong to me."
You gasped quietly when his calloused palm cupped your breast, squeezing it. You looked up at the man with your eyes wide open, sighing. "Whatever you order, my Lord. I'm yours."
Khonshu nodded before grabbing one of the furs brought as an offering and tossing it over the stone altar. "Lay down."
You climbed the altar and did as he asked - you laid on your back, rubbing your thighs together, attempting to cover your breasts with your arms crossed lightly across your chest. As you looked up at him with sparkles in your eyes, your Y/H/C hair spilled over the fur.
Khonshu smiled and gently kissed your lips before moving the kisses to your neck and then collarbone.
"My Lord," you whispered lightly, your head rolled back a little, providing him with better access. "Can I touch you?"
"You can," he whispered into your ear.
You gasped quietly and put your hands to his arms, your heart beated faster when you sensed his tensed muscles under the shirt he was wearing. Soon, you moved one of your arms around his neck and begged him for another kiss.
"Little priestess, you're so needy. Your desires will be granted tonight," Khonshu hummed and gladly pressed his lips against your cheek, cupping one of your cheeks.
You shifted in his arms, giving the kiss back, letting your tongue slip past his lips, tasting him and imagining all of the things he was about to do to you.
Soon after, he drew back and began undressing himself before joining you on the altar.
You watched his perfectly shaped body, wondering if the man he picked for his avatar was someone random. If yes, Khonshu had a very good taste.
"Do you like what you're seeing, little one? I wouldn't choose a random mortal as my avatar," Khonshu reassured you, just as he would be able to hear your thoughts, and kissed your neck again, this time moving down to your chest and wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples.
You grabbed by the edge of the altar and arched your back a little, moaning at the feeling. With a little, hesitant smile, you nodded your head. "Yes, my Master, I like everything I see," your tone was nothing more than a whisper. "My Lord Khonshu, please."
"Please what? Use your words."
"I want you to..." Your voice cracked as you blushed hardly; realization hit your mind clouded already with overwhelming pleasure. "I want you."
"So now you want me? I was sure you're terrified of this. You're not anymore?" He hummed as he moved his hand down your body.
"I've never been so scared in my life, my Lord, but I trust in you, I trust in everything you do," you assured Khonshu, your cheeks flushed.
Khonshu moved between your legs with a low laugh. He picked your legs up and set them on his shoulders, then began to place kisses and bites on the inside of your thighs.
You moaned quietly, arching your back slightly and sucking your lower lip in. You initially felt compelled to run your hands through his hair, but quickly dismissed the thought as too daring. His lips on your thighs felt like a blazing fire, and you couldn't stop being vocal about how good he made you feel. "Please, My Lord, I need to feel you," you pleaded quietly.
He decided to grant your wish and gently sucked his lips around your clit, observing your reaction carefully.
Your back arched even more as a loud moan escaped your lips. Your hands slid down instinctively to meet his palms on your hips; you placed your hands on top of his rough ones. "I've never felt anything like it..."
His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing your hand. Khonshu didn't respond to your words, but he continued to eat you like a starving man.
Your moans became louder; you barely could bear the tight knot forming in your abdomen. "Khonshu, my Lord, please, I want more!" You begged, holding stronger onto his palms.
"Is that so, my little priestess? And what do you want?"
You bit your lip. "I want to do this, but I've never... You'll have to guide me, my Lord."
"Do what? Use your words or I won't please you," Khonshu continued the teasing.
You propped yourself on elbows and looked at him; he looked perfectly sweet with his head between your thighs. "I want you to take me, my Lord."
He got off the altar and began to completely undress himself, tossing the pants and Marc's boxers to the side. Then he returned to you and wrapped your legs around his waist tightly.
Of course, you watched him with your heart beating fast and strong within your chest, like a tiny animal trapped in a cage trying to escape danger. When he removed his boxer shorts, his already rock-hard cock sprung free and stood proudly against his abdomen, making you blush and gasp. You did just what he expected you to do. With a moan, you pulled him into a kiss. "My Lord..." You whispered. "I'm all yours."
"Of course you are. You're my sweet, little priestess," Khonshu agreed, gently pushing inside of you so as not to injure you too much with his force.
You rolled your eyes back and let out a quiet scream mixed with a moan, your eyes close shut and you hissed at the sudden feeling of being stretched out painfully. "Ah!"
Khonshu smiled wryly as he observed your body's reaction to him. Your little whimpers and arched back were adorable. He'll definitely miss it once Marc is back in charge.
You wrapped your palm around one of his hands placed by either of your sides, then looked up at him, right into his eyes. "It.... hurts and stings..."
His palm moved over your belly and lover. "Hush. Just breathe, relax."
You followed God's instructions and went a little quiet. It didn't last long though - the pleasure and knot developing in your abdomen were impossible to ignore, igniting the lust in your soul. Your palm squeezed his hand, and other one wrapped around his neck as he kept on thrusting into you. Soon, you were moaning for him like all those whores you've heard about from your friends visiting public houses.
"You're a good girl. My dear priestess. You will be the only person to ever experience this," Khonshu murmured as he began to move his hips carefully while still stroking your belly with his calloused palm.
You looked at his face; the man whose body the god was using was dangerously handsome, with dark, brown eyes and fluffy, dark hair. "Kiss me," you whispered.
He couldn't say no to you, so he pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans as he quickened his pace.
With a loud moan and overwhelming dizziness, you rolled head back when the kiss broke and let him fuck you the way he wanted. You wrapped your legs around his waist to guide him deeper into your dripping cunt.
He continued to fuck you hard and deep, kissing you on the neck. "My tiny priestess. You're taking good care of your god."
Holding tightly onto his neck, you moaned loudly. "Can we, ah! Try some else? I want to be on top."
Khonshu chuckled proudly before flipping you both over so you were on top of him. His hands were pressed against your hips, squeezing the tender flesh.
You began rolling your hips, smacking them back and forth, resting both hands against his broad chest, quietly moaning whenever his cock hit the right spot within you. "It feels divine, so good."
"Good. Excellent work. Please me, little priestess," Khonshu praised you, moving his body slightly to match your movements.
You increased your movements, moaning louder and louder. After leaning forward, you placed your palm to one of his cheeks and kissed him deeply, your tongues dancing together in a slow, passionate dance. "I feel so full, it's unbelievable."
"This is insignificant. I will continue to fill you up, little human. You'll be so full of me that you'll never forget how it feels," Khonshu assuredly moved his hand to your clitoral region. He began to play with your bundle of nerves, watching your reaction.
Your curses filled the chamber; your head rolled back and your pace quickened. His clit teasing didn't help at all, it only heightened the sensation. With a loud scream, the knot in your abdomen ruptured, and incredible wetness floated down, coating his member still buried within your tight cunt. "Oh, fuck!"
Khonshu continued to praise you while thrusting into you in order to quickly fill your nice, tight cunt with his hot load. He used all of his strength to flip the two of you again, to pick up the pace even more, chasing his own release; he hadn't felt so needy and desperate in centuries. When your pussy was still clenching around his shaft rhythmically, his cock throbbed painfully, triggering his orgasm, and he spilled all of his warm seed deep into you with nothing but a curse rolling off his parted lips. ”Fuck. Fantastic. My precious, little priestess. You made your god happy."
You tried to raise your body to kiss him once again. The wetness in you was unbearable and you didn't really want to move to not get rid of the pleasant feeling of warmth and thickness.
While returning the kiss, he almost purred into it. His arm wrapped around your waist with a soft hum, his hand gently tucking some of your hair behind your ear, and he grabbed your chin to take one more good look at you. "You're a lovely, little thing. Even though it was your first time, you did not let me down."
"Did I do well, my Lord?" You asked in a soft tone, putting your head to his chest; his cock still buried in you. "You've made me the happiest person alive, my Lord. I'm grateful and I will never forget it. Can I just have one question?"
"What is it, my beautiful?”
"Can you take me with you? I will give my life to serve you in the afterlife."
"This isn't going to happen," he said simply, playing with your hair. "There are some things I need to take care of myself. Besides, I require the presence of my priestess here."
"My Lord, will I ever see you again then? Or was I daydreaming?"
"If you serve me well, priestess, I will visit you again, and you weren't daydreaming, I assure," Khonshu said as he kissed your cheek. "You are mine now."
"I've been yours since the day I was born, my Lord," you shivered, grumping quietly at the emptiness as he pulled his dick out. As quickly as possible, you put your robes on, gaze lowered to not bother Khonshu.
Khonshu slowly sat up and began gathering his belongings in preparation for dressing up. "Are there any more requests, little one?"
"How could I request anything from you, my Lord? Your wisdom and presence is the best thing that happened to me, my Lord Khonshu. I, your faithful priestess, will preach your word even harder."
"And this shall grant you my visit again," Khonshu's laughter spilled all over the chamber.
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Marc awoke in his bed, perplexed as he had never been before. He was uneasy and felt bad in general.
He remembered going to see Khonshu's followers, but there was a gap in his memory. "Khonshu! What the fuck?! How come I can't remember anything!"
The god appeared, sitting on the bed, holding the staff. "We came across my followers, led by a dedicated, young priestess. What did you expect?"
"That I will remember a fucking thing!" Marc growled loudly.
"We took part in a little ritual. Don't bother yourself with that. Did you rest?"
"I guess," Spector muttered, rubbing his forehead. ”Shall I be worried?"
"Why?"
"I have no recollection of anything. Who knows what you did while in control of my body."
"Who do you take me for, Marc? Have you forgotten? Your body is mine, you agreed to that on your own."
"Still, you took control of my body and played with it like a puppet," Marc shrugged and flopped back onto the bed, slipping hands under his head.
"As I said, your body belongs to me. And if you only saw her," Khonshu said quietly to himself. "We'll get back there eventually. To keep my followers focused, I must remind them from time to time who they worship."
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bobafetts-princess · 1 year
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Kinktober Day 1- Dirty Talk
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Pairings: Khonshu x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Dirty Talk obvi, Khonshu’s kind of a jerk, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, use of a vibrator/dildo
Word Count: 2300
Summary: The one where Khonshu never stops talking, even when he’s watching you get yourself off.
This is for my girl @ashotofspotchka because she listens to my rambles about literally everyone and everything but Khonshu’s been on our brains for months ❤️
Masterlist
“What’s this, little bug?” Khonshu drawls, standing over your bed and the uhh….toy…you’d left there before bolting off to meet Marc for lunch. He was still Khonshu’s avatar, which partially explained the presence the Egyptian god held in your life, but not his current position in your room. You were friends with Marc and Layla, but until the giant bird man started following you back to your apartment regularly, you hadn’t realized you were friends with him too.
“None of your business,” you snap, tossing a blanket over the offending object. It was a little purple rabbit vibrator and you’d been trying to get off before your lunch with Marc and Bird-face. But you ran over on time, struggling to find the right angle and the right fantasy to bring you to completion. You hadn’t realized that Khonshu would follow you back to your apartment and see it.
“I’d be willing to bet you look like a goddess when you come,” Khonshu muses and you freeze. Coming from the average man, it’s just sweet nothings that he doesn’t mean. Coming from Khonshu, the Egyptian god of vengeance, he genuinely means it. There’s a sincerity to his words, he doesn’t mince them and he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. Unless he’s lying, but that’s another problem for another time. You’d found yourself attracted to the Bird-man the first time you saw him, feelings you couldn’t explain bubbling up in your chest. Marc like to tease you about your attraction to a primordial being, but only when he was sure Khonshu wasn’t around.
“Doesn’t matter, cause I can’t lately,” you mumble under your breath, low enough that the average person wouldn’t hear but Khonshu wasn’t the average person.
“Would you like some help?” He asks, his beak swinging in your direction.
“Can you…??” You ask, voice under as you glance down at where his crotch would be under his robes and not seeing a bulge there. His black eyes bore into you and you realize you just questioned whether or not he had a dick out loud.
“Can I…..what, little bug?” He asks, his tone sharp at the accusation.
“Do you….?” You trail off, hoping he’ll get the meaning of what you’re trying to ask.
“Do I……what?” He snaps, advancing on you a few steps. You should’ve known he wouldn’t make this easy on you. You challenged him and you were going to pay for it. You closed your eyes and just went for it, cause what other option did you have?
“Doyouhaveapenis,” you said so fast that it all became one word. Khonshu’s loud bark of laughter surprised you enough that you opened your eyes to look at him. He had one hand across his chest and his body was bent backwards just slightly as he boomed out another large laugh.
“My little worm, I am a primordial being, a god from the heavens. I can have a penis, as you so delicately put it, if I choose so,” he laughs again, almost putting you at ease. “But,” he starts and you feel your shoulders drop. “I think for your ignorance I won’t allow you to experience that tonight. Now, come show me how this little contraption works. I want to watch as you make yourself come,” he finishes, pulling the blanket off the rabbit and picking it up. He brings it to a nostril the size of your head and smells, inhaling your scent.
“You smell….like a goddess,” he drawls, tossing the object to you. “Now, let me see how you use it,” he demands and you find yourself staring at him incredulously.
“You…what?” You ask, dumbfounded and holding a vibrator. You’d always fantasized about having some sort of sexual relationship with the pigeon, but you never imagined he felt the same way.
“Would you like my assistance removing your clothes? I assure you I’d take great pleasure in it,” he asks, taking a few more steps in your direction. You scramble away, pressing yourself against the bookshelf in your bedroom.
“N-no. No. I-uhh. This isn’t a good idea?” You frame it like a question but you’re not really sure what you’re questioning, other than the idea of masturbating in front of a 3000+ year old god.
“You know I can smell your desire for me when I am around you, don’t you? Oh little worm, do you think I would have shown myself to you if I did not share similar feelings?” He asks, in a way that makes you feel silly for not realizing it. Layla said it took Khonshu nearly a year to appear to her, but only took you a few weeks to see him. You and Marc worked together and you knew about his ‘alter egos’. Namely, Moon Knight and Steven.
“An-and you want to watch me get myself off?” You ask, incredulous.
“I want to tell you how to get off,” he shrugs, like it’s the most natural topic of conversation. “Now, would you like some help removing your clothing?” He asks again, taking a few steps in your direction but you hold a hand up to stop him.
“I’m not sure,” you hedge, honestly. This sounds terrifying, as hot and satisfying as it might potentially be.
“What’s there not to be sure about? I find you attractive, you feel the same about me. I assure you that you’ll leave all of our copulations satisfied. There’s nothing to be unsure about,” he tells you and he’s so matter-of-fact about it that you can’t see any faults.
“So. You want me to just take off my clothes and masturbate for you?”
“If you hadn’t been so incredulous about my appendages, I’d fuck you, but since you were, yes. I’d like to see what makes you come,” he takes a spot in a nearby chair, gesturing towards the bed. You make your way over, still clutching the rabbit to your chest. Khonshu has an arm slung over the back of the chair as he motions for you to get undressed. “Come, little worm, show me the beauty under those rags,” he purrs and you can’t help but take offense to his words.
“These aren’t rags, pigeon-brain, they’re just jeans and a long-sleeve,” you snap, pulling the shirt off. The anger is just a defensive mechanism, you know that, but you can’t help but be annoyed at how rude he is sometimes.
“Anything that’s not the finest Egyptian linens is rags,” he tells you, tone matter-of-fact as you shuck your jeans. Khonshu leans forwards slightly, the pits he calls eyes drinking in your form. You think.
“You know, you’re more attractive when you’re not insulting me,” you snap at him, unhooking your bra and throwing it at his feet. His hands reach out like he wants to touch you, take the weight of a breast into his hand, but he stops himself before he makes contact.
“If you were my avatar, I’d dress you in only the finest clothing and jewelry,”
“But I’m not,” you say, dragging your thong down your legs. “So stop insulting my clothing.”
“I’ll take those,” Khonshu says, holding his hand out for the scrap of fabric. You sneer at him, yanking the fabric back to your chest.
“They’re not ‘fine Egyptian linen’, why would you want them?”
“I’ll bet they smell as delicious as your pussy,” he muses, not an ounce of annoyance in his tone. Much unlike your own. You weren’t sure what exactly about the god got under your skin, whether it was his arrogance or his attitude, but there was something about him. And as you were realizing, there was something about him that made you get naked for him. You’d undressed so angrily you hadn’t even registered it, but now that you were fully naked in front of a fucking god, you were shy.
“Don’t cover yourself like that,” Khonshu demanded as your hands came up from your sides. “I was right. You do look like a goddess. Now please, show me what you look like when you come,” he asked, polite for the first time that evening, hand still held out for your underwear. You toss them in his direction and he tucks them in the pocket of his pants, nodding his approval.
“You realize this is weird right?” You asked him, settling on the bed and grabbing the rabbit. “Like. This is super fucking weird. I don’t think we’re supposed to have this kind of relationship,” you babbled, doing your best to cover yourself without covering yourself.
“Do I need to gag you, little worm?” He snaps, finally fed up as he sits forward, his frame imposing. You heated at the idea of Khonshu gagging you with one of the strips from his bindings as you shook your head. You pick up the rabbit, rolling over to the bedside table to grab the bottle of lube you kept in there and drizzled it all over the dildo portion of the vibrator.
“I’ll bet your pussy looks good swallowing that,” Khonshu says and it shocks you. It shouldn’t, he’s a talker in every other aspect of your relationship, you should have predicted he would be in the bedroom too. “Come now, let me see what it looks like.”
You start to tease yourself, the head of the dildo swiping through your folds. The lube has made the motion smoother as you press it slightly into yourself before pulling back out. This was how you liked to get yourself off, working yourself up slowly, and then making yourself come relentlessly. You pressed the head a little deeper before pulling back out and Khonshu comments on it, of course.
“So you like to tease your pretty pussy? Hmm, I’ll remember that.” You ignore him again, pressing the dildo even further inside yourself, almost all the way in before pulling back out again. You pull the wetness from your pussy up to your clit, rubbing your clit with the head. You gasp at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed that pressure until now.
“Those are the sounds I like to hear, little worm. One day you’ll be making them while I fill you with my cock,” Khonshu promises, encouraging you to continue. Your fingers search for the button that turns the ‘ears’ of the rabbit on and you press it deep inside yourself. The vibrating ears hit your clit and you cry out, arching as the pleasure courses through you. Khonshu mumbles his enjoyment but you don’t hear him as you start moving the shaft in and out of your pussy, the wet sounds echoing through the room.
“You look like the goddess I knew you would,” he says, leaning forwards in the chair and snapping his fingers to make another lightbulb flip on in the room. “I want to see you clearer,” he tells you when you open an eye to shoot him a look. Your pace quickens under the scrutiny of the god and the ears are hitting your clit every other second. You feel the orgasm start to build in your belly, intensified by your audience, and you press in harder and faster. One of your own hands comes up to cup your breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple while you gasp. “Such pretty noises. I wonder if they’ll sound different when I take you,” and your pussy clamps down hard on the dildo at the idea. This is gonna be a ringer of an orgasm when it hits and you’re not sure you’ll be able to give yourself more than one without a small break in the middle. You kick the vibrations up a notch on the rabbit, and change the angle so it knocks up against the sweet spot in your core. Khonshu is encouraging you the whole time, telling you how pretty you look. “You’ll look even prettier taking my cock,” he promises.
Your orgasm hits with such force that your eyes slam shut and your hand loses its grip on the rabbit, but it stays in place, another hand holding it there. Khonshu’s on the bed, leaning over you, one hand holding himself up and the other pressing the rabbit deep inside you. The first one has barely ended before the second one begins and Khonshu is talking you through it.
“That’s it, my little goddess, you look so pretty when you come for me,”
“I cannot wait to feel what your pussy feels like coming on my cock,”
“You make the prettiest noises. Come on, come for me again,” and so you do. The orgasms roll one into another until you’re begging for him to stop, give you a moment to recover, and he relents. His beak nuzzles slightly at your hip, just enough for you to sense the pressure but not enough to be considered intentional. Your chest is heaving, pussy twitching with the rabbit still inside you, just turned off.
“Feel better, little worm?” He asks and you barely have the energy to roll your eyes at him. “Hmm, as much as I love when you fight me, I think I love it just as much when you’re pliant,” he muses, a finger running across your breast. You jerk, nipples sensitive from the overload of orgasms. Khonshu pulls the dildo from you and you hiss at the empty feeling. He cleans it with a snap of his fingers before he places it back in your bedside table along with the lube you used. He grabs a thick blanket from the end of your bed, covering you with it as he promises to be back.
“I’ll leave you to get some sleep, but I’ll be back for my own taste of you. Good night, my little goddess,” he says, nuzzling his beak against your cheek. This one feels intentional and disconcertingly domestic as he tucks you in and turns on the white noise machine. You’re asleep before he disappears from the room.
Tags: @firstofficerwiggles @grinningnexu @too-manyfandomstocount @lacroixq-blog
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moongumi · 2 years
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under our moonlight⁴
pairing: khonshu x reader
⟶ cw. age-gap (lol), uni!au, avatar!reader, angst, trauma soft khonshu, smut (MINORS DNI) pwp, oral (m), choking, deep throating, sub-elements, sweet talking, deity x mortal romance, monster!fucking (i guess?), size kink + more
sypnosis: khonshu and you are in too deep
⟶ wc. 2.4k
part 3 // part 4 // part 5
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It is rather cruel. He knew of the clauses, the rules. They would never forgive him. There are rules that bind a deity and their avatar, one if broken would leave the God imprisoned in stone. 
He knew, of course he knew–the thoughts pricked at the back of his mind every moment his mind begins to waver around the thoughts of you. He never imagined it would go this far, he thought he could resist such human desires but he was terribly wrong. He can’t help it, gods, his heart swells at the thought of you, it was worth the punishment.
He knew of your human desires, normal and common. Khonshu never truly prodded or pried at those moments, your intimate moments with other people, your partners. He only ever hears the noises, those pretty sounds you make with them–it angers him, jealousy brewed long in him but he couldn’t speak of it he had no right to do such a thing.
“Nothing in our deal suggests you controlling my sex life, Khonshu.” Your voice was angry at him that day. Often mentioned, your desires intrude on your vow to protect the travellers of the night sky–in most instances, he’d interrupt your moments and ruin your possible relationships. It breaks his heart sometimes, seeing your disappointment, your pent up feelings that had no exit. All because of him. He never wanted to control this part of your life, you were just a desired person–beautiful and intelligent, always catching the eyes of many but accidentally he managed to do it–control your sex life. He wished he could control his feelings too, the jealousy that spoils him.
He melts when your soft lashes batted, eyes gazing up at him with a lustful glaze over them. Your small frame, he looms over your height like a moon curtaining the sun during an eclipse. Your eyes are brightened, highlighted by his love–the moonlight until he covers it, with his warm body. “I have work tomorrow Khonshu, we've got to make it quick.”
It feels painful, the gaze you returned to one another–desire that cannot be resolved. You think about it, how would he–if he could do such things with you. He seemed capable, well capable of those feelings, the same sort of feelings you felt but you truly didn’t know what he could offer physically.
Between the warmth of his large hands, his massive thighs you start to feel feverish, the warmth grows between your legs and in the dark pits of your guts. His hands tighten, under those bandages of his–keeping away his ancient skin.
“Quick?” He quips, voice dark and lingering. “What must I make quick, little bird?”
Your breath hitched, feeling the way his hand begins to trail down the back of your spine. “You know what, Khonshu. You know what I think, you know what I want–must I spell it out for you?”
His head cocks, if he had a face you’d imagine he had a cocky expression like it. He breathes a chuckle, “I want to hear it, as you say–spell it out for me.”
Those words, his sweet words, make it harder to stay focused. He makes it hard to function, and in this moment your skin feels on fire. You didn’t want to let him tease you so, play with you so easily, control the situation as he pleases. You chose to be bold, you knew what you desired and imagined he did too but maybe he didn’t expect you to do it–right away.
You drop to your knees, small hands flatten your palms against the inner part of his thighs–it’s hot, you could feel pulsing underneath the tattered cloths. Squeeze and press, you part them giving yourself the room you need. 
“I’m sure you’ve got some magic trick you’d like to use to get rid of–as you’d say in your time, Khonshu–your loincloth.” The ends of your fingers tickle at the cloth, feeling the fibres of them. You had to swallow the pitiful lump in your throat, god, you’ve never felt so shy under the eyes of someone else–definitely not a partner that you wanted to engage in intimacy with, it seemed a lot more simple with the others. He makes you feel so different.
His boney break rises and falls, his breath grows heavy, “It is a mere loincloth, my dove, I’m sure you can get around it yourself.” God, the cheek on him.
Oh.
You bite the corner of your lip, and nod. The flames grew in your hands, they fueled you towards his most private parts. His body is completely covered in those flowing ancient bandages, you didn’t know your way around it well but it should be simple–just the cloth on where his–cock would be, right? 
Your fingers open it up, Khonshu lets out a raspy tone, “Allow me.” With a swoosh of his hands, he removes the rest of those bandages, the vital ones leaving you faced with a rather stiffened appendage he’d been hiding the entire time.
Lips parted and mouth agape, you gawk at it. Hands slowly reaching, taking it gently in your hands, your hands seemed tiny clutching onto such a large thing. Its weight is hefty. Hot and beading with arousal leaking slowly from it. “I honestly didn’t expect you to have one of these.”
“I can manifest many things.” He hints, making sure to seat himself comfortably.
Your brain stutters causing you to jumble your words before you could iterate it properly. “Oh, so cou-could you manifest something like–a-uhm-physical f-form? Not that I dislike this one, I just wonder–”
“My dear, only in Luxor within the confinements of the Temple of Karnak–where my tomb rests can I be what I once was, a human-formed deity as you may desire.” His voice litters with filthy grovels, pained from the feeling of you so close to him.
“You must take me, sometime.”
You push him back into the deep set windowsill that he rested on most nights, making him even more comfortable and shifting your body and weight into the ground–your knees are bent and body raising over his thighs. 
“Of course, anything for you.”
Lips part, opening up. “Do you know what I’m about to do?” You spoke. Rubbing your thumb across the thick beads that dripped more and more down from the slit of the bulbous head, so sensitive that he twitches at the slightest touch of you on him. You pondered on the thought of him, had he experienced such things in these times–must’ve been a long time for him, if he reacts in such a way.
Khonshu lets out an aspirated groan, “I can assume, I’ve seen you offer such to your partners.”
Those partners that you can’t recall. Only he rests peacefully in your mind. You realise that he watched you, it has always felt like maybe he’s caught you in the act before, you imagined he only listened to that but hell, he could read your mind basically. 
His hands felt soft against your skin, reaching for your chin and lifting it towards him. Your lips are glossed, wet for him, ready to take him. “Let me feel what you give to those lesser men, my beautiful dove.”
You gasp, his dirty talk felt so foreign yet so comforting. Never in your life did you imagine a god asking you to do such a thing, blow him–make him feel good. His cock is hardened, skin soft alike any other man’s. The size is apparent, different–big, maybe too big. Your fists barely closed around them, the skin so pale and stark against your own skin. His size suits him, his body–how large is it compared to your own. You close your lips, turning your head at an angle to brush your delicate lips against the shaft of him. It’s coated with his dripples, velvet skin plumped–throbbing for you. He chokes, finally feeling your pretty lips against his cock, desire completely encompasses him.
Your wet tongue finally makes use of itself, licking at the bulb of his tip when you reach it–gathering up the wetness, the beads, tasting them. “I like the way you taste, Khonshu.”
His fingers thread into your hair, firstly gentle until he grips the base near your scalp–pulls. He makes you gasp a heavy breath, you moan at the sensation. “And I take pleasure in the way you feel.” His words are creamy, like thick hot chocolate from an expensive restaurant that you could barely afford, warming the pits of your gut and sending shivers all over your body at the tiniest taste. Between your legs, it fucking burns, it aches–itches for desire, to be fulfilled.
Your tongue flattens against his shaft, its width dragging up and down his length. It leaks, and leaks more, never ending pleasure makes his voice groan. You pause for a moment, catching your breath before attempting to take him inside.
His hand stops you, and you meet his gaze. You watch him trace his fingers down past your ear, cheek and stop at your reddened lips. He parts them, his digits push in–feeling at the ridges of your tongue easing it out. His fingers are large, even larger than some dicks you’ve taken in your mouth before. His gaze doesn’t leave your opening, focused like he was addicted to it. “Wider, my little dove, or else you cannot take me.”
You follow with obedience, needing him. You widen up, he sees the way your throat opens up for him and gods, it makes his cock twitch. His fingers enter rather roughly, as if he’d been starving for it. The length of them touches the back of your throat, deep, where even the largest of cocks you’ve taken never reached. You choke, letting out small whimpers whilst your hand makes work pulling and pumping at his cock.
His thigh twitch, he spreads his legs for you–wanting more. His fingers explore all the crevices of your mouth, you dribble and drool all over yourself. Lips are painfully bruised and used. He pulls them out, spit stringing between his fingers. “If only I could taste you.”
You feel lightheaded, as if drunk–drunk on him. “I could only dream of that. Khonshu, I want to feel you–all of you, my god, I would let you destroy me.”
“You speak so crudely for such a chaste exterior.” His fingers tease your swollen lips, feeling its softness. He brushes your hair out of your face, feeling satisfied with himself, “Take me, all of me, my love.”
He did not need to ask again.
Tongue flat underneath the weight of his shaft, the head makes it’s way into the warm and tight entrance of your mouth. You suck in your cheeks, knowing it would blow his mind. Your throat already aches at this point for anything for him, anything.
His cock thick and long, both such lewd assets he could have. You had it in your grasp, between your lips. His cock girth stretches your lips, cockhead finally bucking at the back of your throat–deep and choking you so blissfully. Saliva dripples down, you weren’t capable of stopping it because in the end not even all of him fits inside.
He holds onto your jaw, locking it in place. You give him all you can, as best you could. Dragging back and forth along his length, covered in the mixture of his cum and your spit–milky texture visible for you both. 
“By the Gods.” A guttural moan echoes through him.
His voice, the noises–wet and loud, all those whines and moans from the both of you–most important from a deity that exists beyond anyone's imagination felt like the most erotic porn you could acquire and it was right here, at the mercy of your tight lips. It doesn’t take him long to reach his limit, his peak–you can tell, he’s so rough, brutal, and relentless in his thrusts and grip.
Your empty hand slips between your legs, feeling up at your overly soaked underwear, dripping in your own desire–so sensitive that you jump from your own touch.
His cum, is so much. It overloads within the confines of your throat, practically exploding. His last few pounds into your savaged throat can confirm that it will burn when you wake up. His breathing shallows, with lingering groans–dark and deep. It slows down, as if he needed to gather his own bearings. He pulls out of your devoured lips, you could only swallow the last bits that lingered as the rest, pretty much shot straight down into your throat. A few dribbles left at the corner of your lips, were noticeably creamed.
Khonshu, even within this state, uses his thumb to wipe it off, slipping it back onto your tongue. “Taste all of me.”
There wasn’t a bone in your body that would have resisted it. He takes notice of your missing hand, playing with yourself. He enjoys the way you listen, doesn't argue or snap back at him. So obedient and just for him. Your eyes begged him, more, more they said. The core of your desire rests where your hungry hand teased, fondling at your own bundle of nerves. Small whines slip out, making his heart swell.
“Come to me.” He offers his hand, pulling you onto his thigh. He returns his loincloth over his much softer cock. Your wet, swollen cunt presses over his hot thighs–trembling. His hand grips your hips and rolls you against him. The thin fabric of your panties did nothing to hide the sensation, the grinding that rolls your clit effortlessly against his rough bandages. It burns so well.
“Khonshu–more, please.”
“My dear,” He whispers, his voice dripping with lewd intoxication, his beak rests heavily on your shoulder. “I will give you everything.”
A loud knock on the door seemed to have ruined that. His head turns to it. You groan loudly, grinding against his thigh angrily–his thigh felt so good.
“Who the fuck is that?” You got off him, full of frustration in your small form.
Khonshu brushes your hair gently, “It’s fine, my love. We have all the time in the world.” 
They did not. Time seemed to have taken a standstill. Khonshu’s heart drops to his guts. How would they know now? They already found out, must they have nothing to do but pry into his life.
Your body stops as time does. A bright light and the murmur of voices enter the room, a gateway opens. 
“Khonshu.”
The voice he dreads the most ruins all, it ruins everything. “You knew what would happen, you knew. We warned you, now you must pay for it.”
His voice, pained, filled with regret. “I’m sorry, my little bird.” His hands ever so gently brushes you. He must face the consequences but if only those consequences did not end in such matter, in a matter he would've never imagined.
☆.・゜゜・*. * ·✧*. * ·★.・゜゜・✰
end note // hi. i just wanted to start adding these <3 so i hope everyone's enjoying the story, i reread my other parts and gosh so many mistakes but it's just how it is but i hope there isn't much in this part but i will defo look through it soon. i just wanted to put it out finally i've been holding onto it since it's literally all SMUT and im scared hahaha. next part will be a timejump 0.0 the plot thickens and i hope i will be able to portray angst well enough since it's not my strongpoint but i would love to do it for this fic ! ! ty all for the love, please send asks if you liked i would appreciate some feedback and lovely comments ! !
© moongumi 2022. all rights reserved, do not copy and publish my writing anywhere else.
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yautja-lover · 2 years
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G४d W🌘rship in Suits Smutty 💀 One Shot
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Loki! x Khonshu! x Hades! x Witch!Reader
Summary:A young witch,who is trying to learn a new spell but accidentally summons not one..but three ancient deities. Loki,the Norse God of Tricks and Lies... Khonshu,the Egyptian God of the Moon and the Night Sky...Hades,the Greek God of the Dead and Lord of the Underworld.
Sexual Content:Cock-sucking,hand job,blow job,fingering,face-fucking, several sex positions,multiple orgasms, double penetration,hair-pulling, suit kink,praise kink and size kink.
Tagged List:@lemonboy011 @jedinerd27 @maryysheree @groovinomicon @randomfangirl7 @theamericanjewitch @bluefeatheredvelociraptor @katelynwithpaint @night-walker-crescent
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You were trying out a new spell..chanting out the words from your spellbook, as a gust of wind enters the room and the moonlight shines through window ceil of your ceiling. Once you've finished chanting the spell and waited for a moment, expecting something to happen.. but nothing "..weird. Maybe I did it wrong.."said to yourself with furrowed brows, shrugging your shoulders before checking the spellbook again to see what you did wrong.
Not at all aware of the presence in the room watching you intensely, as you make an tempt to get the spell right this time. As your chanting the words a green glow covered one of your hands and get interuppted by multiple hissing sounds, looking down to find three snakes in your hand causing you to shriek out in surprise dropping the serpents on the floor. "What the hell?!.. that's not suppose to happen.." whispering in disbelief before looking at the spellbook again a second time, as the three snakes slithered away into a corner of the room to merge together into a larger one.
"What the hell, am I doing wrong here?!" shouting out in frustration while gripping the spellbook tightly causing the knuckles on your hand to turn white, still unaware of the intense and curious set of eyes watching you from the two ancient deities that you've summoned. You figured to try it again and hopefully get the spell right this time, thinking to yourself 'the third times the charm' as they say. Picturing the image of what you want most in your head, as you start chanting the words while the temperature in the room begins to drop and start hear a crackling sound. Then a set of flames appears from the floor in the room and the crackling sounds transfer into rumblings, as the room shook and a large figure wearing a dark blue suit with blue flames for hair rise from the flames "Ooo Oh-ho... YES! I am FINALLY free, baby!" an unfamiliar voice shouted out, causing you to start panicking "shit, shit, shit.. fucking shit." you whispered, thinking that you unleashed some sort of demon from hell "I'm fucked."
"HA!.. take that, Zeusy! I'm finally free, ya hussy.. "the flaming head figure exclaims while your brain tries to process what's happening "..oh, Mr. High and Mighty!" The large snake that's been hiding in the corner of the room, shape-shifts into human form with raven-hair and emerald green eyes wearing a black gucci suit starts to speak "Alright, drop the theatrics already.. and they call me the dramatic one." they said with an eye roll.
By now the flames are gone and the shaking has finally come to a stop "What a surprise, it's the trickster himself. Hey, bud how's it been?" , "Oh, you know the usual. How's life in the Underworld?" , "Well, they're just fine. You know, a little dark, a little gloomy. And, as always.. hey, full of dead people. What are you gonna do?" while the two carry on with their conversation you continue to stare and gawk at the them with your jaw open.
You must've dozed off for a moment cause now there were three of them having a conversation.. well, at least some type of squabble "Oh look it's the pigeon boy." , "Pigeon boy?.." a large mummified man in a white dapper suit with a large bird skull floating above where his neck should be said then, added with a roar "I am not a pigeon! I am a God of Vengeance!"
"I know. I just like to ruffle-up your feathers." the raven-haired teased with a grin causing the large man-bird to caw out, angrily "I don't have any feathers!" that was when you finally spoke up "Bird." you said stating the obvious while pointing at the large bird man.. causing the three to turn their attention towards you "There's a large bird.. uh, man-bird in my house."
The blue fire-haired guy was the first one to introduce himself "Hi. Names Hades, Lord of the Dead. How ya, doin'?" he said while shaking your hand sending a heat of pleasure up your arm.
The raven-haired guy was the sencond "I am Loki of Asgard and might I add that you are the most extravagant creature I have ever seen in all the nine relams."he said while taking your hand and pressed it to his lips causing you to blush.
As for the large man-bird, who continue to peer down at you with those hollow eyes before he spoke last "Khonshu" just the voice alone made your knees feel like jelly.
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"Go on, little one.." Khonshu said gesturing you to undo his slacks and take out his cock, as you eagerly do so ".. that's it. There's a good little bug." he added while threading his fingers through your hair as you start sucking on the Moon God's cock.
"Don't forget about us, pet."  Loki spoke up while him and Hades move in closer, you happily began pumping their cocks "Oh yes!" Hades drawed out with a moan.
You kept alternating between the three, worshipping their cocks with your mouth and hands.. causing the ancient gods to moan while bucking their hips, wildly to fuck your mouth and hands as they take turns on fingering your pussy in return.
As things get more heated, Khonshu used his powers to lift you up in the air to put you in the position that he wants to take you in.. Loki uses his magic to chain your limbs while your naked form is bent on all fours in a spread eagle position. "Is this okay, little one?" Khonshu asked laying underneath you while Loki stands behind you and Hades stands in front of you whimpered out a "please" but that wasn't enough "Please what, sugar?" Hades questioned and you could only whine in reponse "Use your words, darling." Loki command while they tease your holes with their cocks.
"Please, fuck me" as soon as those words leave your lips, the gods thrusted their hard lengths foward.. the trickster impaling your ass, the Moon God drilling your pussy while the Lord of the Dead fucks your throat. "Such a good little pet." Loki purred, as he shower your back with kisses and leaving love bites "Your taking our cocks so well, little bug." Khonshu crooned while massaging your breasts and lightly pecks them with the tip of his beak "Are you gonna cum for yours gods, sweetheart?" Hades cooed grabbing you by the hair to remove your mouth from his shaft and kisses feverishly, moaning in his mouth as you come.
The second time around, they took you pressed up against the wall.. taking turns pounding you from behind multiple times with their hand wrapped around your throat, whispering filthy words in your ear.
After round three, you lost count how many times you came.. by the time the night was over and the sun begin to rise, they had you tucked into bed and promise to return very soon.
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heartthrobin · 9 months
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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.”
-
taglist:
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i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))
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cheapbourbon · 6 months
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“Is consort the same in all languages?”
I believe so Khonshu says.
I finally got around to doing some Fanart of my all time favorite Moon Knight fic series- We don't need to say it to each other by: deadonarrival on Ao3.
I don’t know if the author is here on tumblr or not. D=
Those fics= fucking perfection. Do mind the tags tho if you go looking, here there be monster(fucking).
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luc-k-y · 1 year
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stop looking at me like that ~ Marc Spector x Reader
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Hey! I haven't written in about 10 years and Moonknight has officially brought me back from the grave lol, I seen a poem (that did not have any source to credit :( ) and all I could see was Marc so here is some lovely angsty Marc!
Masterlist! (There’s a part 2 and 3 to this fic🫡)
Pairings: Marc x Reader, mentions of Steven and Jake, but this is before Jake is known to them!
Prompt:
Stop looking at me like that, 
With pity in your glassy eyes. 
All I am to you is a tragedy, right? 
Stop it. 
Stop fucking looking at me like that. 
Do you hear me? 
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The cold icy air took the breath from your lungs this time of year, and snow had begun to fall on the gritted streets, melding into brown sludge. Marc had been gone for just over a week now, the calendar reminded you with no remorse. It wasn’t unlike Marc to disappear for a few days before texting you. Usually, Steven would remind him if he had a moment to front or speak in the back of his mind, but over a week with no contact was a new record in the two years you had known him. 
‘hey are you safe?’ 
The letters stared back up at you, the phone screen illuminating the cold and very obviously empty flat you both shared. The string of texts piled up over the days, varying degrees of concern, anger, and disappointment. It was an unspoken rule between you both that when they were off doing Khonshu’s bidding, they would check in. Even if it was only a one-word reply, knowing they were still alive was enough comfort to allow you to get on with the rest of your day. Your days tended to look the same now; you would wake up before the sun to an empty bed, check your phone, check the date, send a text. Work was difficult, to be honest, everything is difficult when you aren’t sure if your boyfriend is dead in a ditch somewhere. Regardless, you heaved yourself out of the warm duvet and began your morning. Scarf, keys, coffee, and you were out the door. The night hadn’t quite left the skies of London and the air was as cold as ever, you took a second to look at the Christmas lights that hung throughout the street, sighing. Steven had told you that he was excited to see the lights when the snow would eventually fall, telling you they would ‘look almost as pretty as you, love’. There was a pit in your stomach that failed to ease up for the rest of the day. 
You kicked your feet against the doormat a few times before unlocking the door to the flat. Work had passed in a blur, as well as the commute home, and now here you were, slightly soggy with a heavy heart, ready to cry in the shower. You scoffed at yourself, ‘’don’t be so pathetic, Y/L/N,’’ the truth is, you gave yourself no sympathy when it came to your situation. You put yourself in it voluntarily. Marc had warned you what being in a relationship with him would entail, and you knew the price that came with loving him. A clatter in the kitchen brought you quickly out of your thoughts, head whipping to the direction of the noise to see the instantly recognisable frame of Marc, hunched over the counter, a half-smashed cup digging into his palm.  
‘’Marc?’’ 
‘’Fuck…’’ he grimaced, holding his now bleeding hand. ‘’I’m sorry, Y/N, I know you liked that mug.’’ Your face twisted into a frown as you stepped closer to him, noticing that his hand was not the only body part brandishing a cut or bruise. ‘’Marc… what happened? Where have you been?’’ your hand went to pull the broken pieces of glass from his grip. You looked up at him, his usual towering body felt smaller at this moment, he felt smaller. 
‘’I’ll get you a new cup…’’ he trailed off, ignoring both your questions and your gaze. He knew how long it had been. He knew he failed to contact you, and judging by your face, he knew he’d fucked up. The truth is, he’d blacked out; he lost time just like how Steven had when Marc used to front. He remembered leaving, saying goodbye and the first day of the mission, but after that, time became fuzzy, and memories struggled to reach the surface, no matter how hard he tried to force them forward. The prospect of a new alter taking control of Marc made him shudder. It was one thing having Steven around, who was there to help Marc live somewhat normally, someone who cohabited his head consensually, and it was another thing entirely to have someone steal his time and consciousness unwillingly. 
You stared at his face, his dark eyes and matching circles underneath them told you more than his voice did. He looked unravelled, his hair was untidy and his clothes messy. ‘’Where’s your phone?’’ you asked. 
‘’My phone…?’’ he replied quietly. 
‘’I texted you. I texted you every day for the last 8 days. Where’s your phone?’’ Marc stayed silent, his face expressionless. 
‘’I thought you were dead, Marc. I spent the last few days wondering how the hell I would ever find out if you were dead, wondering if anyone would ever show up at the door and tell me they found your body, or if I was just supposed to get on with it and deal with the fact I would never get to know…’’ your eyes widened, glistening with tears and your voice was shaky. Your volume increased as your heart beat faster. It was never your intention to beat Marc while he was obviously down, but you couldn’t help yourself. The words poured out of you like molten lava, scorching your throat and everything in its wake. ‘’I gave up calling you after the 5thday, figured you didn’t have the time, or you were in too much danger to pick up. Where were you, Marc? Hell, even Steven, at this point, you in there too?’’ your hands expressed alongside your words, all while Marc stood there, still. 
‘’I- I lost time…’’ Marc’s voice trailed off, he cleared his throat, ‘’I blacked out. I think there’s another alter.’’ His voice was stern now. 
Your expression changed, softening at the sound of his words, concern winding its way through your brow. 
‘’Stop looking at me like that, with pity in your glassy eyes.’’  Marc stared down at you now, the words dripping from his mouth. 
‘’Marc…’’ you went to reach for his face, it scrunched at the attempted touch, and he took a step back, ‘’All I am to you is a tragedy, right?’’ you could tell he was spiralling, his fear wrapped its arms around his body tightly and his breathing became erratic. ‘’ Stop it.’’ His hands were running through his curls, gripping feverishly onto anything to ground himself. 
‘’Honey…’’ you took a half step forward in an attempt to soothe him, your voice soft and eyes wide. 
‘’Stop fucking looking at me like that.’’ His eyes were red, and a few tears dragged across his hollow cheeks. His words were laced with anger and despair; he began to sink slowly to the wooden floor. ‘’ Do you hear me? ‘’ he flinched as you knelt down next to him, clutching his body in yours. 
‘’I’m here. You’re okay.’’ You whispered in his ear as he rocked on the floor. His sobs shook his body. ‘’I’m here.’’ 
‘’I don’t know how to deal with another alter, we don’t know how to deal with another alter. I fucked up, Y/N, whoever this new person is, fucked up. I never wanted to do this to you, I’m sorry, we had a deal… I was supposed to text, we always text…’’ Marc murmured through his sobs. His body curled into yours, both of your bodies rested against the cold cabinets. ‘’It’s okay honey, we can figure this out together, okay?’’ you reassured him as your hand brushed through his hair. His eyes fluttered open and shut as he fought sleep, ‘’I’m sorry…’’ he whispered again. You brought his face up to yours, ‘’Hey, it’s me and you, we can figure this out, you don’t need to be sorry. If anything, I should be sorry. I was just worried, and I missed you,’’ your soft hands swiped away a few tears, ‘’the flat is always so cold and empty without you guys.’’ 
Marc’s brown eyes gazed at you, he looked so young and so old all at once. He looked tired. 
‘’Let’s go to bed.’’ 
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melodygatesauthor · 6 months
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The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 1: Intoxicating
Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader
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Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3
Chapter Summary
Marc sees you for the first time and can't understand why you smell the way you do. The aroma is intoxicating, and he's determined to get closer to you, despite Khonshu's rules.
Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)
Major Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/Warnings NSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!
Word Count: 3.2k
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When Marc first saw you, he was overwhelmed by your scent.
The blood coursing through your veins held an aroma so sickly sweet that he found himself dizzy from the smell. He stepped into the lofty, spacious room where an oversized, and over-embellished, chair sat at the back. The enormous windows behind the chair faced out to the ocean, stretching on for what felt like forever. Khonshu liked to call this his ‘throne room’; a pretentious name fit only for someone who thought all too highly of himself.
“Marc, isn’t she wonderfully fragrant?” Khonshu asked from where he sat in his chair, touching the small of your back. His deep voice broke Marc from his thoughts.
Marc cleared his throat, scowling at the display in front of him. You were there, standing timidly with your wrists and ankles bound by enchanted gold chains, and Khonshu was next to you, seated like a king, legs spread wide as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You were dressed like the other cattle: ivory-white, flowing dress covering your body, though leaving your neck well exposed in case Khonshu felt hungry on a whim.
“Yes sir,” Marc agreed, body stiffening as he tried to fight his primal urges against your intoxicating smell.
“Found this pretty thing walking home from some dead end job, sobbing, living a meaningless life, isn’t that right little dove?” He started rubbing your back, and Marc saw your body tense in response. He hated when Khonshu got new servants. He hated to see how nervous they all were in the beginning.
“Y-yes,” you said, voice sounding small compared to the bass of Khonshu’s tone.
“Not so meaningless now. You have such an important job here.” He looked up at you with such adoration it made Marc’s stomach turn. “Harrow,” he said loudly, looking at the man on Marc’s left. “I need a report, did you succeed in delivering my justice tonight?”
Arthur Harrow looked over at Marc, long face twisted into an expression of disdain that he reserved only for the right hand of Khonshu. When Harrow looked back at their master’s face, his expression changed to one of admiration, but Marc knew the man’s hatred for him still festered just under the surface.
Marc listened to Harrow’s recollection of the evening’s events. It was a brief retelling of their struggles and successes, structured in a way to make Arthur sound like the heroic protagonist of the story, leaving Marc to look like his inept sidekick. Marc chuckled under his breath when Harrow mentioned rescuing a woman from a mugger. What he failed to add, was that the man doing the mugging was in his late sixties, frail, and nearly starving to death in an alleyway, just trying to get enough money to eat for the night. In other words, Marc wouldn’t have needed a suit or vampiric abilities to deal with him.
“Is something funny, Marc Spector?” Arthur asked, turning to look at his counterpart.
Marc shook his head, “not at all, continue with your very accurate and completely true story.”
Marc looked at you, heartbeat racing at the sight of your pretty face. A smirk threatened the corner of your mouth, you must’ve noticed him, but you kept your eyes on the ground. Marc’s lips turned up for only a split second knowing he’d entertained you. He hated Khonshu for always making the servants of the house avert their gaze, as though the undead were a superior race to the living. He hated Khonshu for many other things as well, but not being able to see the sparkle of amusement in your eyes at that moment was one of them.
Marc shared his own account of the uneventful evening. They’d saved some other ‘travelers of the night’, as Khonshu called them, and made sure to deliver justice to those who hurt them. He didn’t always see eye to eye with Harrow, but both he and Marc served one man, bound to him forever in an unfortunate blood pact, and for that they were very alike. He wondered sometimes if Arthur hated their master as much as he did, but Marc didn’t dare ask such a question out loud.
Khonshu looked up at you, smiling contentedly as he did before letting out a sigh, broad shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Very good,” he said, finally addressing both Marc and Arthur. “I’m hungry, so I’ll be taking my leave.” He looked over at Marc as he stood, running a hand through his thick black hair. “Marc, please attend to any queries as I would.”
Marc nodded, watching Khonshu rise, putting his hand on your upper back as he led you out of the room. Your scent left with you, not fully, but enough to allow the fog that weighed heavy in Marc’s mind dissipate. He was certain that if you smelled that good, you must taste equally as delicious…right?
~~~~
Why the fuck did you smell like that? Marc wondered moments later, sitting in Khonshu’s lavish chair in his absence. There was no reason for you to smell like that. So sweet, so delicious. Marc found himself salivating, quickly wiping his lips. It was embarrassing, the way you had made such a mess out of him after only moments of him being in your presence.
“Are you hungry sir? I can get your cattle for you,” one of the servants nearby asked, noticing that he’d wiped his mouth.
“No, no I’m…” he wasn’t fine, “I’m fine.”
He’d lived a hundred twenty-six years, and not once had he come across a scent like that. It didn’t make sense, and yet, it was permeating the air around him, making him feel mildly intoxicated once again. Harrow chuckled on Marc’s left, taking the man out of his daze. He scowled and looked over at him.
“What?” Marc questioned, tone laced in frustration.
Arthur shrugged, “hm? Oh, nothing. It’s just interesting to me, how much your age shows when you're faced with something unique, like the new cattle girl.”
“She just has a strong smell, it’s nothing,” Marc said firmly, bouncing his leg as he became more anxious.
“Right, of course,” Arthur’s expression was smug, condescending toward Marc in an attempt to rattle him.
“Why don’t you go find something to keep yourself busy, Harrow. I’m sure Khonshu wouldn’t want to think you were bothering me while I conduct his business.”
That struck a nerve, and Marc knew it would. Harrow had served Khonshu for many, many, years longer than Marc had. Hundreds longer to be more precise. Arthur was an arguably better servant as well. He would kill without question, spending no time on nuance and weighing the gray area brought on by guilt. Harrow would kill if he simply felt that someone was deserving. Marc didn’t like to fight that way, it felt wrong, and morally corrupt at its core. Marc would only kill if he thought it was a just punishment.
Despite Harrow being Khonshu’s loyal and unquestioning knight, always doing their master’s bidding without question, Marc was the one Khonshu favored most. Neither of them understood it, and both of them wished it were Harrow in that position rather than Marc. He never wanted to be Khonshu’s right hand, and when he was turned he didn’t know that’s what he was signing up for. Khonshu was good at keeping information from his servants. In fact, that’s how he managed to recruit so many. If he’d been upfront with them all, no one would have joined him.
“Khonshu is preoccupied at the moment, I’m sure–”
“Ooh,” Marc taunted, “then it would be really awkward if I had to go knocking on his door to tell him that you were being a pain in my ass, wouldn’t it?” Marc looked at Harrow, both eyebrows raised in anticipation for the rebuttal that never came.
Once Harrow left, frustrated and grumbling to himself, Marc tried to find other ways to occupy his mind, and to get his thoughts off of you. He spoke with the servants, making small talk about the weather, as though he gave a shit about whether it was raining or the skies were painted in blue. He just needed to take his mind off of you, because the more he thought about you, the more he felt his body aching with hunger.
There were so few rules that Marc needed to abide by that he’d be labeled a moron if he couldn’t manage to follow them. He could come and go as he pleased, so long as he did the work Khonshu required of him. Marc wasn’t allowed to turn someone, unless of course his master bid him to do so. And there was one rule, a big one that was upheld above all else…
Touching Khonshu’s cattle was absolutely forbidden.
That was how Marc got there, replacing the last Moon Knight that was dumb enough to try and pull one over on Khonshu. When his master claimed someone, by auction, coercion or otherwise, they were his. Marc had heard that Khonshu was kind to his servants, only taking what he needed, never drinking more than his fill. If one of his designated meals were tired or still recovering from a feeding, he would allow them time to rest before he used them again.
Marc also knew that they ate well. He saw the meals sometimes in passing being brought by the cooks to the rooms of the cattle. That’s how Marc learned that you liked strawberries, especially the large ripe ones. He would see the way the cooks made a point to pick through the smaller sour ones and toss them aside before bringing them to your door.
Were you spoiled, or did you figure that if you were going to be stuck there for the rest of your life, that you might as well enjoy yourself? Either way, a week after your arrival, Marc still wasn’t used to your scent, and it called to him both day and night. It was faint, unless he was in the same room as you, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to figure out why you smelled like that, even if it killed him.
Marc didn’t need the enchanted armor Khonshu had blessed him with to climb the wall outside to your bedroom, his jeans and dark t-shirt would do just fine. The armor only afforded him protection at will, and the crescent darts he used to deliver Khonshu’s justice. As a vampire, there was no mountain too high for Marc to climb, and no distance too far for him to run. His strength couldn’t be surpassed by even ten men, but everything came with a price.
He needed blood to live.
Without that iron flavored liquid, Marc would die. Not much could kill him, but the thirst for blood certainly would if he didn’t satisfy it. And the smell of yours was making him fucking feral.
Marc didn’t know what he was thinking, standing there in your room, watching you while you slept soundly. He had all he could to stop himself from draining your body of every drop of your blood in front of Khonshu, so what was stopping him now? Your master wasn’t around to save you, but Marc knew he could never forgive himself if he hurt you.
He knelt down by your bedside, touching your warm cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. Your breathtaking eyes fluttered open, meeting his in a gaze with a look that was as frightened as it was confused. He put a finger to his lips, shushing you, hoping like hell that you wouldn’t alert the household to his presence in your quarters; something that would surely land him in the thirst room for a minimum of half a century.
You nodded as you slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes and pulling away from Marc. It was a smart decision, he had no noble reason for being there. He just wanted to smell you. He wanted to feel you. You were doing well in your attempt to hide your fear, though he could tell you were petrified. Your breathing was ragged, and your pupils blown wide.
“Why do you smell like that?” He said in a low growl, leaning forward on your bed, nuzzling your neck and inhaling deeply, “so fuckin’ sweet I…fuck.”
“W-what are you do–”
“Shh, I’m not going to hurt you, I just…” he inhaled again, breath ragged and harsh in your ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated, not sure who he was trying to convince more, you…or himself.
“O-okay,” you said in the softest, and shakiest, voice he’d ever heard.
Marc really wasn’t going to harm you, though it took every ounce of his strength not to. He wanted to devour you, drink you dry, absorb your warmth into every cell of his cold body. He leaned in more, pushing you back against the mattress, feeling every neuron in his brain firing with desire. He felt your hands, pushing gently against his chest in protest, but you clearly weren’t brave enough to try and fight back.
Marc felt his cock aching as it sprung to life against his jeans. Your legs were around him, though he could feel your knees digging into his waist in an attempt to close them. The heat from your cunt was maddening, radiating off of you through his clothing and making his dick leak profusely.
“Why the fuck do you smell like that?” He asked again, throat vibrating with a primal rumble. He breathed in your fragrant aroma some more, feeling his fangs extending in preparation to bite. “Never smelled someone so…hmmmm.”
“L-like…like w-what?”
That’s when he realized just how much you were shaking. As if he were awoken from a trance, Marc shook the delirium from his mind and slid off of you quickly, backing up to the wall, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He gulped, looking you up and down. You looked terrified, eyes wide with fear. Your bottom lip was trembling while you sat up and stared widely at him, like prey coming face to face with a predator. 
“I’m sorry,” Marc said, still panting heavily. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so breathless.
“You’re M-Marc, right?” You asked, looking him up and down, “I’m…” your name rolled off your tongue beautifully.
Cattle didn’t have names. Once someone was branded as livestock, a human whose job was to provide blood to their master, they were stripped of their previous life, including their name. Marc had been to other households. Some masters replaced their servant’s old names with new ones. Others had a numeric system, the numbers getting higher and higher the longer a vampire had been alive and using servants.
Khonshu preferred to keep his nameless. It made it less personal when it was time to dispose of old or sickly livestock, or when he got too carried away while feeding, leading to the unfortunate demise of a perfectly good food source. Marc knew you were privy to the rules. You knew damn well that you weren’t supposed to ever utter your birth name, and yet you were speaking it freely to him.
You trusted him.
“Look…I was never here, alright?” Marc swallowed hard, looking out at the moonlit sky. “I…I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”
Without another word, and without looking at you again, Marc climbed through the window and dropped back to the ground, moving quickly around the side of the manor and back to where his quarters were. The pain of his cock pressing against his zipper ached like never before. He could still fucking smell you, and now your scent was on his damn clothes. It was a mistake going there, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad he did.
~~~~
He got into bed that night, stripped down fully, planting his feet firmly against his mattress, cock in hand and jerking himself off to the thoughts running through his mind. He balled up his shirt, holding it against his face and smelling your aroma still saturated in every fiber. His grip was firm around his girth, gliding over his length at a slow pace, imagining what it would be like to feel you on top of him.
Marc ran his thumb over the precum leaking out of the slit on his fat tip, using that to keep his palm slick while he worked. A pathetic whine left his lips, throat closing as he gripped the sheets and arched his back upward. You’d take him so well, he could tell just by the way you looked underneath him earlier. You’d cry and whimper but you’d love every second, begging him to fuck you until you couldn’t walk right.
He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his cock between his abdomen and the mattress, grabbing the sides of the bed and rutting his hips forward. The grind along the smooth sheets was enough to electrify his entire body. Marc choked on the groan that threatened to leave his lips. He put the shirt on his pillow, burying his face in it, fucking the bed faster. If you had been under him, he would’ve broken you in half…or shredded you to pieces.
He bit into the shirt, growling lowly and continuing to roll his erection over the soft mattress  in an attempt to curb the growing need to have you. Your voice was so small, so sweet, so pretty. Fuck, fuck… The way you looked at him, afraid, timid, like he was going to hurt you. He wished he could say with confidence that he would never hurt you, like he had promised you earlier in your room, but he knew that was a white lie. He would always try never to hurt you.
He shuddered on his next snap forward, the friction becoming more slick as his leaking head left a mess in its wake. His grip on the sides of the mattress was tight enough to make his knuckles ache, aiding in his speed. He didn’t even care that the bed scraped against the floor with a loud shriek on every pass. He kept his nose deep in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply, intoxicated with your smell combined with his. It smelled right, like your fragrances belonged together.
You belonged with him.
“Why does she…why does she smell so…so-fucking-good-ohgodohgodohgod…!”
Marc’s hips finally came to a stammering halt, warm sticky ropes of cum shooting out from his throbbing cock, making a mess of his bedding that he knew the servants would mumble about amongst each other when they thought he wasn’t listening. He huffed through his nose, hips still sliding his dick over the glob of slippery white that he created while thinking of you. 
He wasn’t a fool, but Marc hoped desperately that masturbating his nights away would be enough to satisfy his needs. Deep down though, he knew that was bullshit, and he knew that as long as you were around, his life was at risk.
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Moon Knight Masterlist
Main Masterlist
352 notes · View notes
nerdieforpedro · 1 month
Text
The Man Next Door
Jake Lockley x plus size black female reader
This blog is 18+ MDNI
Word Count: approx. 4.1k
Summary: You've been eyeing your neighbor Jake for the last few months. A major even and discovery puts things into perspective. You make your move after the dots are filled in.
Warnings: Mentions of blood (various amounts), violence, one minor character death, sprinkles of Spanish, first aid, unprotected P in V (wrap it IRL), aftercare
Notes: My first Moon Knight fic! 🥰 It's been in the works for a bit. It's a half of a request for @megamindsecretlair I asked her what she wanted in it and she told me. We'll see if I delivered on that or not. 😄Dividers are designed by the wonderful @saradika-graphics ❤️
Main Masterlist / Moon Knight Masterlist/ Oscar Isaac characters
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Sometimes he has blood on his hands, attempting to wipe it off with a rag, other times there are small drops of splatter on his chin and cheek as he gives you a morning nod before you head off to work.
He’s never without a drop of crimson on him, no matter what time of day you happen to spot him. It makes you keep your distance from him, not indulge in idle chatter like your other neighbors in your apartment building, ask to borrow items or even keep a package or two for you.
You’re curious about him, about Jake Lockley.
He’s been your next door neighbor for six months. You haven’t heard anyone in his apartment or seen anyone visit. It was odd, that you’re sure of. He only gets a few pieces of mail and seldom any packages. Never rude and never too friendly either. A fair distance away from any who may try to get to know him.
You wonder if you should have ever spoken to him now. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him and had your morning farewell nod. You walk from the bus stop to work each day, it’s less than ten minutes and you count it as your exercise. This is the night you see him again, your neighbor. Walking home like every other night, you happen to hear a thud and look in its direction. Sure you left work an hour late due to your boss being a dick and wanting you to finish putting together the reports for tomorrow, but at least you got overtime out of it so you hadn’t minded too much. Maybe you should have.
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You can’t say it’s completely unexpected, there’s only so many reasons Jake would have blood on him but it’s still shocking. It’s not everyday you see your neighbor standing in a pool of someone’s blood. Honestly you can’t tell the gender or the person or ethnicity from the distance and from the amount of blood.
There’s just so much. Dripping from his hands, splashes on his face and clothes.
No wait…the clothes are odd. They went from some off gray looking robes to his normal jeans, and jacket. Maybe you’re hallucinating. It’s then that you feel a hand on your arm.
“You know him, don't you woman? What do you know about him? Tell us!” When you turn to see who the hand belongs to, you’re met with a knife that grazes your cheek. There are four men in addition to the one holding you for a total of five. You’re shaking your head, it’s not a lie, you don’t know anything about the man other than his name and that he lives next to you. His grip strengthens on your arm as you try to pull away from him and the other men watch amused at your attempt to try and escape. Their laughs are replaced by curses as you stomp on your assailant’s foot and drop your bag to punch him in the face. He’s stunned so his grip loosened finally to give you a chance to go for the knife and you do.
There’s blood on you now. Not on your hand you punched the man with, but on the knife and your white button down from where you went for your assistant’s neck. He’s holding the side of it, trying to apply pressure but he’s shaky on his feet. One of his friends, you assume, grabs him to help him but he slumps in his arms, the man’s hand falling slowly from his neck.
Did you just kill someone? What the hell is happening?
(Khonshu): Is that the woman you glance at and who occupies your idle thoughts Jake? I thought she was one of the many worms. It appears she is not. You may want to don the suit again. She has spirit, but not skill nor strength. She’ll not last long.
(Jake): I hear you loud and clear, you old bird. What is she doing here anyway? She’s normally off work and at home by now. I know her routine and she doesn't change it by much. I knew she had a little fire in her, she went right for the neck, most would have gone for an arm or torso.
The three other men are circling you, screaming at you about their fallen friend and how they’re going to take their time in torturing you no matter if you actually know anything about Jake or not. You lunge at the man closest to you, going for his neck as well since that did the other man in, but he caught both your arms and chuckled.
“Luck like that only strikes once bitch!” He presses his fingertips into your wrists, but you keep hold of the knife, it’s the only weapon you have. But you start to smell more metal - iron, no there’s more blood. It’s not on you, or it wasn’t until the goon holding you falls forward and to step back to avoid his body hitting yours, wrists free, but you’re falling. It seems among all that scuffle, you’d been near a curb and you’d stepped off awkwardly.
You don’t hit the ground though, instead you’re in strong arms. The same gray you’d seen earlier except now there’s a mask, cape and a moon in the middle of his chest? He supports you as you stand up. You’re still holding onto your knife though, adrenaline running through your veins as you hold it close to your chest. He holds your shoulders and gives them a soft squeeze to help you pay attention.
“Mira! Hola! (Look! Hello!) Tch…” Jake’s trying to get your attention but it’s not working. This whole gentle thing isn’t his norm and he can see that your eyes aren’t registering him or his words at all. Not even him squeezing your shoulders, he’s worried that squeezing them harder will result in an injury and the suit only heals him, not you. The blood dripping from your cheek angers him and the men are only knocked out now. He needs to get you out of here so he can come back and find out information from them - slowly and painfully. He releases you and picks up your bag, then tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t have time to console you, not that he would be any good at it. He hears you squeal then yelling and shifts your back to the same arm he’s holding you with, then pinches your hip.
“Silencio! (Quiet!)” Your body tenses in his arms as he makes his way to the apartment building. He jumps to the fire escape outside of his window as he usually keeps it open for when he doesn’t feel like using the door. He removed that suit before heading in, donning his street clothes and carrying you inside, setting you down on his couch. You’re sniffling, but not crying loudly or yelling anymore which Jake is thankful for. He goes to get a small first aid kit. It was included with some beer he bought when he last shopped for anything really and hasn’t been opened. Kneeling in front of you, he sighs as you’re still looking forward, he’s wondering if he’ll still get soft nods and hellos after this. You might even see if you can move from the building. He wets some gauze with some saline and dabs your cheek, finally you respond by hissing from the sting.
“Oh, now you’re paying attention princesa (princess)? You’re in my place by the way. Stay still.” Jake gives you a brief smile before dabbing your cheek a few more times and applying some antibiotic ointment. It’s not nearly deep enough for stitches or even the little strips they have in here, but he still hates that you were there at all, let alone that you’re not only injured but you also had to kill to survive.
“I..so that was all real, not a nightmare? Oh…so I killed…” You finally drop the knife and in klangs on the floor, your hands take hold of your knees, covered halfway by your pencil skirt. Your realization sinks in that no, it was not some crazed fearful dream from watching way too much FBI in one night. No, there had been a fight, there had been blood and you had indeed killed someone.
“It was self-defense hermosa (gorgeous). That’s all it was. You wouldn’t have had to if I wasn’t slow in getting to you.” Jake takes your hands in his. You finally look at him. He looks like every other day, black leather jacket, dark gray t-shirt, dark wash jeans, a wry smile on his face and it’s surrounded by his dark shadowy stubble. When did he change clothes? His eyes are unexpectedly warm in their chocolate pools. You hadn’t really looked at them before, always in passing. You nod and close your eyes. He’s telling you what you want to hear, but you know what you did with that knife. “Come on, let’s get you next door. You should wash up and change clothes. Don’t touch your face though.” He instructs and you follow him to your feet as he stands and walks to his door. His apartment has the same brick walls, though his are more sparse with decorations though you see many books. You didn’t expect any and you’re not sure why.
You aren’t able to find your keys, your hands are shaking so badly and you’re crying again, silently since he told you to be quiet. He regrets that a bit. You’re not accustomed to death and violence as he is, of course it's shocking, most would find it so. “May I princesa?” Jake holds out a hand, he’s not going to force it, it’s not the time. You hand him your back and he searches for half a minute. The bag is large and looks like you keep a lot of ‘just in case’ stuff in it. He finds your keys and unlocks your door, but doesn’t enter with you.
“You’re not coming in? I…” Your voice fades out. You want to ask him to stay, you don’t want to be alone, but would he even want to? He likely thinks you’re a wimp for crying, why would he even want to stay? “N-Never mind Jake see-”
“I’ll be back. I need to tie up loose ends princesa. Just take a nice slow shower, if you get your face wet, clean and apply some more ointment and eat something. You did well, you survived. Don’t feel bad about it at all.” He’s spoken more to you now than he ever has. On one hand, this eleates Jake as he was never really sure how to start a conversation with you, but under these circumstances, it’s far from ideal. His arms wrap around you, bringing your head to his chest. He still smells a little metallic like blood but now like the books in his apartment and cigarettes? You’d never seen him smoke, curious, but not your focus. His heartbeat is steady and one hand touches the back of your neck, his fingers run up into the small hairs you have at the back edge of your hairs, those little ones that no amount of hair grease or edge cream will tame. He’s playing with them though before he lets you go abruptly. “Hasta leugo princesa (See you later princess).” And he’s back to his apartment. Gone that fast. His warmth lingers on your neck and the front of your body and it’s what you ponder while you’re in the shower.
Peeling off your clothes and showering was the easy part. The clothes went in their own small trash bag and would go out with tomorrow’s garbage. It was trying to eat, you made a sandwich and only ate half of it, then there was soup, which normally you love, but the smell made your stomach curl. Eventually, all of the sandwiches went down with some water and on the couch you sat. Alone with your thoughts. You don’t feel any different, but you know what you did with that knife. The blood, the men’s threats, the fear you felt, Jake being covered in blood. What was he going to do when he came back? Where should you even start with your questions? It had been a few hours by this point and you’re staring at the wall when there’s a knock at your door. Standing and hurrying to the door, a familiar voice uttered one word.
“Princesa.” It was the fastest you’d open the door for anyone.
Jake sits down from you on your couch and explains to you who he is, who he serves and why he usually has blood on him. It’s fantastical and had it been any other day, you’d told him to get out and avoided him like he was insane. But the events of the night had told you to believe him and it was honestly better to think he was punishing those causing harm to others than being a serial killer or something else. You do notice something though, Jake appears to be nervous, which is weird, his eyes are darting around and he keeps clearing his throat and moving on the couch, like he can’t get comfortable.
“Did you want to sit in the armchair? You might find it more comfortable.” Your offer makes him stop moving and sigh. Jake’s a little worked up since he’d been doing a lot more of Khonshu work, normally he’d drink to ease himself into some sleep. He should leave. Now. You’re freshly showered, took down a man despite being scared out of your mind, and he held you too long earlier, much too long. He meant to calm you with that hug but it instead had him in his thoughts again.
He shouldn’t have watched you stand either, your wide hips make Jake want to do more than pat them as do the soft caramel of your legs that he sees as you glide over to your fridge to offer him water. He stands as you bring him the water and he gulps it down, thanking you as he starts toward the door.
“W-Wait, you’re leaving already Jake?!” He needs you not to call for him like that. You sound like you need him and…that’s not something he can handle right now.
“You’re okay now. I shouldn’t stay any longer princesa.” He doesn’t turn to face you. If he sees your eyes he’s not going to leave. He knows what he’s feeling is partly from all the fighting but not entirely and that’s the part his mind has latched onto and won’t let go of.
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“Could I at least have another hug before you go Jake?” You’ve said his name softly, almost with care. How can he say no now? He did give you a hug earlier. He turns to see that you’ve dropped your robe and you are wearing a red silk nightgown that just barely covers your bottom. Your eyes aren’t telling him you want a hug, at least, not just a hug.
“Hermosa, I don’t think that’s all you want from me. Let’s both be honest here. Has this been part of why you watch me as much as I watch you?” His steps are slow, he’s giving you an out. You can say no and give a flimsy excuse like your robe slipped or something. You don’t. You put your hands on his chest and run them up as he did to you, your hands grabbing his curls, their silken texture makes you smile.
“You’d be correct Jake. This dance has gone on long enough. You’re finally in my apartment and I almost died tonight. I also had a long shower as you suggested.” Your plush lips look so inviting and he can’t resist. The kiss is sloppy and his hands are roaming your body, he’d like to rip the gown off of you, but he’s sure you put it on to be admired so he will for a little bit. Jake is much more interested in what’s under it. He bends temporarily and hooks his hands under your knees to lift you up carrying you to your bedroom.
After setting you on the bed gently, Jake slips off his clothes, making a pile on the floor in front of your bed. He’s not one to be embarrassed and is well aware of what he’s working with. His swollen length bobs while he licks his lips. His eyes roam your body as he climbs on the bed, calloused hands start at your ankles and slide up your thick legs. Once he reaches your hips, his hands stay under your nightgown as he pulls it up and over your head. The low groan makes his Adam's apple bob when he sees you weren’t wearing any underwear as you open your legs for him to expose your wetness. You gasp at the cool air and it allows him to capture your lips again, your arms and legs wrapping around him.
He grins into the kiss, lurching his hips forward to have the head of his cock glide across your wet slit. Your hips react and jut forward having the tip enter you, Jake grins on your lips and pulls back but leaves the tip in. “Rather eager aren’t you cariño (sweetheart)?” He takes hold of his length, removing his tip fully and rolls the wrist of his free hand for you to roll over. “I’ll have you from the back first. I want to see that large ass of your bounce.” You roll on your stomach and spread your knees, feeling him lean over and run his hands along your body as he notches at your entrance. His bulbous head is just past your entrance. “Move that ass and push back on my cock. Show me what you can do hermosa.” He leans to kiss along your spine as you use your legs to move your hips back, having your forearms flat on the bed with your elbows as an anchor.
You’re able to get him deeper and feel him stretching you, almost too much, his hips don’t feel flush with yours yet, there must be more. “Jake you’re so thick…. Please move with me.” You coo, looking back at him, your hips moving slowly, your walls are pulling on his shaft, learning his shape. Jake’s hands are roaming your back as praises for working hard for him. He’s aware of his girth and wants to push forward but not yet.
He leans over your back again, making his chest flush with it. His lips are next to your ear, “Muy bien (very good) mi (my) princesa. I’m going to reward you by moving. Be as loud as you want.” A kiss is placed on your shoulder, a last bit of tenderness he shows you before straightening himself up and taking hold of your hips. He draws back, nearly pulling all the way out of you but he thrusts forward, his hips finally flush with yours and the walls of your core expanded to accommodate him as his thrusts increased as did your cries of Jake’s name. You felt yourself pressing into the mattress, at one point face down. Jake was not having it. He wanted you vocal unless your voice had truly given out, which he was sure it hadn’t. His hips came to a full stop and you gasped. “No, no princesa. You won’t go quiet on me yet. Roll.” He gave a light slap to your ass for encouragement for you to move.
You had just sat yourself up back on your elbows and lifted your head when Jake decided that you were moving too slow for him and pulled out of you, the loss had you groan before you yelped with your leg up in the air where it had not been for a long time. He crossed your leg over and succeeded in flipping you over so you were now on your back. Jake’s relentless, his hands are roaming your thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, “Jake....Jake..Fuck…” You keep chanting as he grins before capturing your lips again with his. He has yet to enter you once more and his precum is dripping onto your slit as it rubs your viscous liquids together.
Once he pulls back, he takes in your swollen lips, the heaving of your chest, every curve that he’s tried to feel with his fingers and he knows he hasn’t. This time when he slips back within you, it’s slower and he keeps eye contact with you, one hand on the back of your knee pushing your leg forward to allow him deeper and the other on the back of your neck to pull your face closer to his as he presses his chest against yours. “So much better than I imagined princesa. You’re not getting away from me you know.” He nibbles on your bottom lip as your core tightens around him again, “Good girl, milk me and accept what I’m going to give you.” Your hands grab his shoulders and dig into his skin, scratching him, your hips keep crashing into his as he speeds up a bit, nearly at his climax.
“Give me what you’ve got Jake. I’ll mark you…” Using your teeth, you graze the skin on his neck before biting down and hearing him hiss, giving you a few more strong pumps before spilling inside of you. The heat from his spend has the walls of your cunt close around his throbbing shaft as you scream in your own peak. Jake continues to slowly roll his hips until you both start to come down. Neither of you move, only the sounds of your breaths fill the room. Your body is completely limp and you stare up at Jake who gives you a small kiss to your lips before starting to move back, your arms weakly reach for him and he grins.
“You want more already? You’ll have to give me a few princesa.” Shaking your head, you stick your bottom lip out and give a small pout.
“Don’t leave yet. Stay.” Jake rubs circles on your belly and chuckles.
“You’re even more adorable than I thought. I need to know where your washcloths and towels are. We need to clean up. I’m not leaving.” You inform him that they’re in the small hall closet next to the bathroom to which he goes and gets two washcloths, warming them up along with towels. He wipes you down first and dries you, then takes care of himself before slipping the both of you under the sheets. His hand cups your cheek before running his fingers through your hair and then it dawns on him - you’re not wearing your bonnet. Jake asks where you keep them and you tell him the bottom drawer of your nightstand so he reaches to get one for you and you decide to pinch his rather round ass.
“I think we’re fond of each other’s asses Jake.” You laugh as he slips the red satin onto your head. “I’m surprised you knew that I wore one at night. You’re keeping that close of tabs on me?” An eyebrow raises and he puts his hands up.
“Come on, give me a little credit. I’m not going to say I know everything about caring for black hair properly, but I know bonnets, protective styles, but don’t ask me how to do any of them and oil.” He put up three fingers for the things he did know.
Now it’s your turn to grin. This sly man. “Pfft. You’re full of surprises Jake. We’ll sleep and then you’re helping me oil my hair in the morning before work.” You press his chest lightly and the scoot closer to him to cuddle. His arm wraps around your back, and those fingers of his run down your spine again.
“I’ll help you oil your hair tomorrow if it’s after breakfast and you take a day off of work.” Jake kisses your forehead and closes his eyes.
“Alright. You talked like you knew what to do. I won’t forgive you if you mess up my hair.”
“Hm. If it’s anything like what you did tonight, I get it. I’ll be extra careful princesa. Don’t worry.” You’d drifted off to sleep and Jake watched you before he dozed off as well, looking forward to having his hands on you again. In your hair or anywhere you’d let him.
Keeping an eye out from the apartment across the hall 👀: @soft-persephone @saturn-rings-writes @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @dameron-grant-spector @soft-girl-musings @agentjackdaniels
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thepaperpanda · 1 year
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𝓓𝓪𝔂 8 - A Concept Of Desire || Khonshu x fem!reader
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Summary: In the wake of centuries of longing, Khonshu realizes that the girl who works with his avatar, Jake Lockley, is responsible for rekindling his hidden desires.
Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v, hair pulling)
Word count: 1757
Author: Rouge
A/N: the prompt for today is: Hair Pulling orange italics - Jake speaking Spanish
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The concept of desire was defined as a psychological force that ultimately fabricates a need, a craving, or lust, most commonly and aptly associated with a sexual longing.
Khonshu's situation was no different. He could say with great certainty that nearly all males have experienced this torment. The unbridled desire for sexual pleasure ran through his veins. A burning sensation in Khonshu's stomach, a reminder of the hunger he could not satiate, the thirst he could not quench. Khosnhu sometimes felt woeful - he always thought he was above the basic human instincts, the primal needs that people eagerly sought. Yet there he was, engrossed in his own desires, centuries old longings still unfulfilled.
As you walked into the bar each week to meet Jake Lockley, 8 pm - his nostrils flared, his pulse soared - physiological reminders of Khonshu's desires and cacoethes.
This week was no different, Khonshu was at the bar, invisible to all but Jake. The week was like all others that came before, that evening was no different; but when you and Jake locked eyes like you did those many moons ago, the fire in Khonshu resurged - he was never to have you as you were just a mortal being, but he couldn't deny his inner desires, burning himself like a blazing fire, his imagination running wild as his glance moved along the curves of your figure.
You were a smaller woman, you were perhaps 160 centimeters tall, but the heels you wore were so deceptive - and Khonshu realized with astonishment that he was quite attracted to women of smaller stature.
The shoes paired perfectly with your seductive black, garter leg wraps. The tight leg straps highlighted your healthy skin, your perfectly toned legs flowed into a stunning red-velvet corset-dress that hugged your bust and curves perfectly. He looked up at your matte, red lips; your smoky eyeshadow highlighted your beautiful Y/E/C eyes, which transported him to a place of ecstasy, a realm of euphoria. In a way, it was as if you had fallen from heavens and reminded mere mortals what it would be like to be sculpted by the Gods. Beauty is, and forever will be in the eye of the beholder, Khonshu reminded himself.
Khonshu knew that lust could last for months, years, even centuries. In spite of this, his passion seemed to have been brewing for only a few weeks, five, maybe six - when his mind was torturing him, he lost track of time. Despite not brewing for that long, his concoction of lust was explosive and effervescent. 
Thoughts of the good, the bad, and the naughty whirred through Khonshu's mind as a sense of controlled panic overcame him as he finally locked onto a more clear-cut image in his own subconscious and plunged into his own imagination as he remained trancened by your hypnotic gaze.
If Khonshu were mortal, he would love nothing more than to sink his inquisitive fingers, adventurous tongue, and plump lips between your legs.
With his venous and vascular hands, Khonshu would stroke one of your breasts, kissing the trail from your navel to your abdomen. Besides twirling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he would wrap his lips around your other nipple, flick it, and swirl your areola clockwise with his tongue. After incorporating some teeth, Khonshu will continue ascending towards your neck. Your hair would be brushed aside in a loving and caring manner. Khonshu would nibble on your earlobes while moaning and whispering in your ear; sweet nothings and dirty talks echoing in your ear canal.
Taking another deep breath, Khonshu reabsorbed himself into his vivid imagination once more after a brief lapse in concentration as he listened to your conversation with Lockley about yet another target. The god was thinking about the morning after.
It would be heaven spooning you. His cock would be squeezed between your legs tightly due to its stiffness and fatness. 
You would send shivers down his spine as you scratched his abdomen with your velvet, red, and freshly manicured nails. During the time that his lips would feel comfortable on yours, the veiny ridges on his cock would stimulate your pussy, allowing your tight, little, sweet-nectar slit to do its job and coat his hardened shaft with your slick wetness. Khonshu would gently pull back your hair, a good clump in his tight fisted hands; he would tug at it harder and harder if you didn't protest. The stout lips of his mouth would trace the back and side of your neck as he kissed you, once again whispering sweet nothings and dirty teases - what he was going to do to you, how he was going to enjoy you and your gorgeous body.
Khonshu would detach his hips from you after a while to angle his body to tease the slit with his swollen cock, already glistening in his pre-cum. In slow motion, his digits would explore every curve around your waist, rubbing your clit occasionally as well. "Do you think you deserve this?" Khonshu would whisper softly into your ear. Determined to get as deep as possible, he would pick up your smaller frame and throw you passionately onto the bed again. While your legs rested over Khonshu's broad shoulders, he would kiss down the inside of your thighs. His one hand would be placed at the base of his shaft, angled downward to push his cock inside you slowly, while his other hand would be placed on your clit to rub it gently.
He would push deeply into your pussy, then trace his fingers up your neck, wrapping them around it possessively, before leaning forward to change the angle of penetration and pushing even harder. He would reach up and grab a handful of your hair. By wrapping it around his hand and holding your hips in the other, he would drive his dick into your waiting pussy. After pulling out his shaft, he would slap it on your pussy lips, which would elicit a grunt from your parted lips. A delicious, wet echo would emanate from Khonshu's hefty cock in harmony with your beautiful slit.
Khonshu would then turn you over and push you to your knees. Pushing your head into a pillow, you would try to muffle the whimper of pleasure as he again slipped his length into you. Khonshu would lean forward to yank his arm around your waist, to play with your nipples, as his torso rested on your arched back. In the process, he would grab your hair and pull it tightly into a ponytail, causing you to roll your eyes while a moan escaped your lips as he pounded into your pussy from behind. Khonshu would pull your hair harder the harder he thrust. You would try to escape the position for a pleasure so primal and intense would overwhelm your body, setting a knot in your abdomen that was so tight it was only a matter of time before it snapped. You would be drawn to Khonshu by his hand in your hair, hardly tugging. “And where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” He would groan angrily. “Better be a good girl and stick your ass more to me, otherwise I’ll have to rip your hair off.”
His lower torso would smash into your magnificent arse as he grasped your hip tightly with one hand. He would use his hands not only to compliment each thrust and pull you in deeper, but also to create red handprints on your ass. Khonshu would pull at your hair and spank your ass occasionally. Whenever you tried to lay your chest on the bed, he would tug on your ponytail, urging you back into a position that would allow him to penetrate deeper into your pussy. 
The urge to release his load would tighten his balls and make his cock twitch.
Your moans would become louder. "Harder! Fuck me harder!" You would plead.
Having no choice but to obey his desires, the dam would be broken and his cum would be released; his seed filling your pussy, dripping from your body when he pulled his cock out.
After the intercourse, Khonshu would cuddle your face against his chest.
Khonshu's reverie was interrupted by Jake's thick accent, "Khonshu? Are you even listening?"
The Egyptian God of the Moon tilted his skull head slightly, looking at Lockley. "Could you please rephrase that, Jake?"
As Jake frowned, he put his hand on his gear lever as the idiot driving in front abruptly braked. “Por Dios, ¿y ahora qué te pasa?”
Despite not even intending to reply to Jake, Khonshu asked simply, "What was your question again?"
After Jake parked the limo in front of his apartment, he turned off the engine and placed his arm around the headrest of Khonshu's seat. "I was wondering if it would be okay if Y/N stayed here for a day or two. Since we're working together on that guy, it would be easier, you know, ol' bird."
Khonshu poked Jake with his beak on the shoulder. “You can trust me when I say I have no objection to Y/N visiting us, my friend. She might stay as long as she needs to."
The frown on Jake's face deepened; he could not persuade Khonshu to let him bring a girl into the apartment for a date or just a friendly meeting. The situation is dangerous, more for her than for us, Khonshu would argue. Jake pulled the keys out of the ignition switch, asking, "Since when are you so willing to let extraños into nuestro apartamento?"
Khonshu shrugged his shoulders in response, exiting the car quickly. "If we want to deliver the vengeance soon, we've got a lot of planning to do."Jake watched the tall, lanky figure enter the apartment and disappear into the darkness. A smile spread across Lockley's face. In spite of being Khonshu's avatar and not much else, he knew things. It was little known to Khonshu that Jake was able to sense god's true, hidden feelings, especially those that were so intense. The smirk on Jake's lips did not fade as he stepped out of the limo to join Khonshu. In order to complete the job, Jake was willing to do whatever it took to lure you into his apartment. In addition to planning, this was also a way of releasing Jake’s own male greed. Perhaps Khonshu would also be able to make use of his hidden lust.
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book-place · 10 months
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Dress Shopping Expeditions
Warnings: none (I think), let me know if I missed any :)
Pairings: Marc Spector x daughter reader, Steven Grant x reader platonic, Khonshu x reader platonic
Request: Hello! Could you do a fic for the Mk boys? I request another Mk boys x daughter bc I am such a simp after bingeing all your Mk x daughter or teen fics. Okay, so I know formal isn't really common in the Uk but I know some people do Proms, so could you do a fic where the Mk boys takes her dress shopping? And Khonshu is just judging all the dresses. Thought It would be a cute and funny fic
Request by: @mochystark
*not my gif*
Summary: It’s time for prom, so naturally you have to go dress shopping. Your father is less than pleased
A/N: I haven’t really written in a while- so please excuse the shitty writing
Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work
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“Come on!” You cheered, literally dragging the man behind you by the arm into the closest shop.
Marc tried- and failed- to dig his heels into the ground. “But I don’t want to,” He whined childishly.
“Well that’s too bad,” You looked over your shoulder at him with a grin, “Because Steven volunteered you to do it.”
The man was in fact still being pulled along behind you, but this time he was muttering obscenities to his alter.
If there was one thing in this world your father hated, it was shopping. But dress shopping, oh that was worse. So much worse.
The store was filled to the brim with gowns of all shapes and sizes. Colors ranging from the brightest oranges, to the darkest greens. You were completely in awe at everything you saw, spinning in a circle as your eyes tried to drink it all in.
Marc came to a stop, crossing his arms as he looked around nervously, “I don’t like this.” He muttered.
“Aww,” You teased, “Does dress shopping make you uncomfortable, dad?”
He let out a huff of air and turned his head to face the other way so you wouldn’t see the way his cheeks tinged the pink of a nearby Barbie-like dress, “Shut up.”
You just laughed, skipping off in a different direction to look at some colorful material, leaving Marc to rock back and forth on his heels where you had left him.
“Marc,” Steven chastised in his ear, “I volunteered you for this so that you could spend some time with Y/n.”
Marc shifted on his feet again, “I don’t know anything about this stuff, Steven!” He complained, not caring about any of the surrounding people who threw weird looks his way for talking to seemingly himself.
“It’s her prom,” The british man’s voice softened, “And you’re her father. She deserves to have you here with her.”
Your father deflated a bit at that before he sighed, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”
After only a second's hesitation, he set off into your direction, you in turn looking up and grinning brightly when you saw him approach.
“Dad, good, do you mind holding this?” You barely waited for him to nod before shoving at least five dresses into his hold.
“Yep,” He grunted a bit, “I got it.”
He followed you around like a lost puppy for the next forty five minutes as you tossed into his arms the different dresses you wanted to try on, and he didn’t complain once. In fact, he even seemed to be slightly happy.
Eventually, you trailed into the dressing room and one by one tried on the dresses, him waiting outside and you walking out each time to ask for his opinion.
“No.” Khonshu said the second you opened the door and stepped from your dressing room for the twenty-seventh dress you were trying on.
The God evidently had nothing better to do and decided to drop by to help.
“No?” You quipped back, anger rising in your voice.
“I don’t like it.” He said simply.
“Oh? You don’t like it?” You seethed, eyes narrowing at his quick judgment of your dress.
“Now, now,” Steven said nervously, looking back and forth between you two, “Let’s not fight.”
“No, let’s.” Marc fronted with a grunt and muttered, “Maybe the store will kick us out then.”
“No, I don’t.” Khonshu continued as if the other two hadn’t even spoken.
Marc sighed at the look Steven was giving him in a nearby mirror- one that told him to intervene before things got messy- and he stepped in between both of you.
“Sweetie,” He spoke, gently laying his hands on your shoulders, “You look beautiful.” He gently placed a kiss on your forehead.
You smiled up at him before grinning at Khonshu, “See? I look beautiful in this dress.”
Your father nodded, “And if you want to get this dress- then we’ll get this one.”
You shook your head and turned back into your dressing room, “Nah, I don’t really like it that much anyway.”
Steven burst into a fit of giggles as Marc’s face dropped and even Khonshu let out a small snigger.
Despite that though, the three of them stayed, waiting until you found the perfect dress. Not once complaining, but a couple more small fights did break out between you and the God of the moon.
Like a Bee 🐝- @ip747 @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @jvdethirlwall @wolfmoonmusic
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pimosworld · 3 months
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The sun and the moon
🌙Pairing-Moon boys x f!reader x Khonshu x Hathor
🌒Chapter Summary- You and the boys celebrate your new job. Marc’s past trauma threatens to derail what the other so desperately want with you. Khonshu makes his presence known in only ways he knows how.
🌔CW-18+,MDNI,NDFW, friends to lovers, Angst,Fluff,Insecurities,flashback sequence, POV switch, inaccurate depiction of DID,kissing,lots of flirting.
🌑WK-4.2k
A/N-I hope you like our first installment. I don’t know why I love writing Marc so angsty but I promise he will come around. Steven takes the lead in this because I’m a sucker for him and Jake is his ever charming self.
Not beta read
[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]
Chapter 1
  ”I am the one who guides the great ones who are lost and exhausted on the roads of the reborn…
Who guides those who are lost in the underworld,
I am Hathor, Queen of the northern sky,
Who watches over the reborn,
I am a haven of tranquility for the just,
A ferry for the chosen.”
You never imagined you’d find yourself running through the halls of the British museum. You couldn’t contain your excitement of finally being told you got the job. You knew Steven would be leading a tour but he insisted you find him when you got the results. Good or bad. 
  The curator that was retiring was highly impressed with your knowledge. You thought the job offer would be to assist. You were ecstatic when she told you she wanted you to take over the catalogue of all the new exhibits in the museum. 
  It always came natural to you, the research and the fascination of every ancient civilization. Egypt in particular held your interest. There was a connection you couldn’t describe when you thought about it. Having met Steven and bonding over your shared obsession made you feel a little less awkward. 
  You always felt a little more like yourself around them. 
  Steven could invariably sense it before he even laid his eyes on you. It always started the same - a subtle yet undeniable sensation. A cascade of warmth starting from the top of his head emanating through his body. It was indescribable the reaction you elicited from each one of them, all varying in forms. 
  He’s meandering through the new Hatshepsut exhibit on a break in between tours when you find him. All bright and blazing smiles, hardly able to contain your excitement. He already knows what you’re going to tell him. You didn’t need his help but Jake would’ve called him all sorts of Spanish curses if he had turned down your request to help prepare for the interview at the museum all those weeks ago. 
  Some might call his love for ancient Egypt neurose but that’s what led you to him. It’s very likely you would be another stranger to him if his obsession hadn’t caused him to start his incessant babbling that fateful day in the coffee shop. 
  A beautiful creature like you, arguably the most beautiful he’s ever seen. Sitting in the shop he regularly frequented, seated in the corner to catch the only ray of light. Illuminating in your hands a special edition novel on some obscure topic. You quietly giggling to yourself as you read. 
  Jake stayed uncharacteristically quiet while Steven rambled to you about all the secret facts that were never printed. This was his forte and who was Jake to overtake this conversation that you seemed to enjoy. You took to him like you were long lost friends. 
  You took to all of them (well most of them) with such great ease…but one thing at a time. Let’s start with Steven. 
  Your sweet Steven, his posture slightly slouched. Hair a little disheveled and clothes not very firm fitting. But right now he’s standing tall, deft hands in his pockets and his hair with a bit of product. He always took care of his appearance as a tour guide. He stood a little straighter, spoke a little firmer…more assured. 
  He’s looking at you like that now as you approach him. A slight smirk on his face because he knows but he wouldn’t dare ruin your moment. 
  It’s hard to describe the feelings you have when you’re around them. It’s much easier to express how you feel when you’re not with them. Incomplete, fragmented,dimmed. 
  It’s like the opposite of a heartbreak when you see him. 
  “I have some great news.” You’re bouncing on your feet as you half whisper, trying not to draw attention from the other people in the exhibit. 
  She’s adorable 
  Jake is ever present when you are around and Marc as well but he mostly stays silent. 
  “I got the job.” You clap your hands over your mouth to suppress the squeal that you want to let out. 
  It feels wrong not to hug you at this moment. He’s not sure how you’d feel about it now that you’re coworkers but the way you step closer, he can’t resist as he pulls you into his arms. 
  You melt as he mumbles praises into your hair. He’s overwhelmed by the smell of citrus and vanilla as he realizes this is the closest your bodies have ever been. A different kind of warmth spreads over him now as he breaks away from you before ruining this moment with an awkward explanation about the male anatomy.
  “I’m so proud of you.” He says while he still holds your hands in his, a safe distance from you now. 
  “I couldn’t have done it without you Steven.” 
  He nervously adjusts the collar of his shirt as the redness creeps up his neck at the compliment. 
  “Nonsense love, you’re a natural.” 
  It was a regular term of endearment from him but it always made you all giddy inside. You never read too much into each of their special names for you. The countless times Jake called you hermosa or when Marc let the occasional sweetheart slip from his lips. 
  You nervously fidget with the hem of your blouse as the conversation lulls for a moment. “Well I should let you get back to work.” You reach up and give him a kiss on his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it as you hear a sharp intake of breath. 
  He watches you briefly as you walk away, he’s stuck in a trance trying to process what just happened. 
  “We should celebrate!” He didn’t really mean to shout it at you. The way all eyes turn to him including you has him wanting to crawl into the nearest sarcophagus. 
  You smile at him as you exit the exhibit and the light in the room dims a little as he patiently waits for the responses from his head mates about how bonkers he is. 
  His phone buzzes lightly in his pocket and his heart skips a beat when he sees your name appear on the screen. 
  You:My place or yours 
  Mine-S
  Steven can feel Jake and Marc at the forefront,along with a mixture of emotions.
  Worried,jealous,excited,anxious. They may be unique in their own way, but they share a brain and a body. Steven wasn’t usually the vanguard in these situations but something about you makes him feel confident. A way he’s never felt before, and he’s never been more sure than he’s been about you. 
  ****
  No one drinks your tea hermano.
  Steven huffs as he opens the door to the small coffee shop on the corner. “Whatever you say mate. I know I didn’t drink the last of it.” He doesn’t normally get this miffed but he’s been a lot more stressed at work lately with all the new responsibilities. 
  You wanted those responsibilities.
  Buzz off Jake.
  A poor old woman turns to him wide eyed. Steven quietly apologizes to her as he tucks his cold hands in his jumper. He just wanted to get some hot tea and be on about his day. Unsure of what he would even do…most likely research for the tours. It sure beats being yelled at by Donna who thinks she’s still Stevens boss. 
  The barista offers him a polite smile as he steps up to the counter. “I’d like the rooibos chai tea please.” He slides her some bills before she can tell him the total and quickly steps aside. 
  It’s warm and his hands are clammy. He rolls up the sleeves of his jumper as he idles by the window, somehow in everyone’s way and not in the way at all. He doesn’t remember it being a particularly sunny day when he left the flat but it seems the shop is ten shades brighter. 
  He glances around nervously as he hears some soft laughter just to his left. A book. A girl. In the corner. 
  Talking to strangers about Egypt at work was one thing. For starters he got paid to do it and he truly loved it. It’s an entirely different thing to do in public, some might say peculiar to strike up a conversation unprovoked. It’s no matter anyway as his feet carry him to your warm nook in the shop. 
  “That copy must have cost you a small fortune.” He says as he slides into the seat next to you. 
  You laugh as you dip your head. “Would you believe me if I told you I found it at a thrift store.” You turn it over in your hand as you brush your fingers down the spine. “Obviously I had to snatch it up before they realized what they had.” 
  He knows he’s the one who approached you but now he can’t actually believe you’re talking to him. Without even missing a beat. You haven’t returned your attention back to the book as you stare at him like you're studying his movements. Your eyes sparkle as you lift your coffee to your lips and blow before taking a sip. 
  “So what chapter had you particularly giggly over here.” He teases as you hold the book against your chest. 
  You lean in and he forces himself not to look at your slightly open blouse.“I’m afraid the god of Min is not one to be discussed out loud.” Your breath ghosts over him as you whisper in his ear. He can feel the heat flush over his body from your close proximity. 
  You slide the book towards him and tap your finger on the page. He tries to focus on reading it but he notices you haven’t pulled away. 
  Min was often depicted as a mummiform human man with an ithyphallic (uncovered erect) penis. Wearing a crown adorned with two feathers. In his left hand he holds his penis ( although this is usually only apparent in statues because of the perspective applied to two dimensional images in Egyptian art) in his right hand he holds a flail up above his shoulder representing power and fertility. 
  You lightly tap him on his shoulder and he looks up to see you gesturing to the young barista excitedly waving him over. She’s a bit squirrelly when he approaches to retrieve his coffee and he thinks perhaps she’s consuming too much of the shop's supply. 
  What are you doing hermano?
  I haven’t the slightest idea mate.
  Well keep it up, it seems to be working.
  He doesn’t want to intrude but he sees you smiling brightly at him as he returns to the table. You’re still on the same page not having resumed your reading. 
  Steven sits and sips his tea, he hums in approval and he’s grateful it sat briefly because at the moment he’s plenty warm. 
  “Is that the chai?” You ask inquisitively as you flip back a few pages with a puzzled look on your face. 
  “Yes, it’s one of my favorites. In fact I don’t make it at home. It’s just—.”
  “It never tastes the same.”  You steal the words right from his mouth as he glances down to your coffee in question. “Sometimes I enjoy the occasional cup of coffee. It reminds me of home” You say with a sheepish expression. 
  “Where’s home?” He clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” 
  “I don’t mind at all. Washington.” His eyes go wide and you smirk into your coffee. “I know I’m a long way from home.” You say it with a far away look in your eyes and he silently curses himself for being too forward. 
  You flip frantically back and forth through the pages as you scrunch your nose in frustration. 
  She’s cute 
  Ya he’s aware and he’s thoroughly wrecked at any future attempts to match this turn of events for a day off from the museum. 
  “Looking for anything in particular?” He leans in a little closer as he scrubs his sweaty palms on his pants. 
  “Yes…it’s just.” You cease your movements and lean back against the soft cushion. “I know these books leave out so much information. They claim to be special editions but I know there’s more to it than this.” You point at the page like it’s personally offended you. 
  “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?” You raise your eyebrow at him and it’s quiet for a moment. 
  “Aren’t you going to ask?” 
  “Ask what love?” It slips out but you don’t falter or grimace at his words. 
  “Ask me why I’m so far from home.” You look at each other then, it’s just a millisecond of a flash in your eyes. The iris is bright yellow and then gone. His heart quivers a bit and he thinks he may be having a mild heart attack. 
  Calmáte
  He takes a shuddering breath and shucks off his coat. “S’ not really my business I guess.” 
  You’re so focused on him. Like you’re learning every tick and line etched into his features. The way you stare at him like he’s a statue to be studied. It’s maddening and a little unnerving but he doesn’t want you to look away. 
  “Can you tell me why all of the statues of Min are depicted vastly different from all these photographs?” You slide the book toward him but he closes it as a smug smile adorns his face.
  “Well the European scholars of the Victorian age were a bit more…conservative.” He adjusted his pants unconsciously before continuing. “They had most of the phallic members on the statues removed when they were discovered. It nearly wiped out all known history of Min…but you can’t erase the mind.” You chuckle as he taps his finger against his temple playfully. 
  You sigh sympathetically and a comfortable silence falls over the both of you. “Poor Min.” 
  Steven lets out a raucous laughter and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. The old woman from before seated at a table nearby shushes you both and Stevens face turns deep red. 
  You duck your head close to his. “It’s not like we’re in a library.” 
  Ya he’s a goner 
  “Another fun fact, that’s likely not in your book.” He drops his voice a little to not disturb anyone else. His excitement is threatening to boil over at your willingness to listen. “It’s rumored that Min was in charge of overseeing the women while the king and his men were at war. When the men returned from battle all of the women were pregnant.” You cover your mouth in shock. “It gets worse.” 
  Your leg brushes his as you adjust to face him better and he nearly chokes at the brief contact. “The king had his arm and leg chopped off in retaliation.” 
  “Why not his.” You gesture downward but his eyes stay fixed to your face. 
  “Well…funny you ask. The king told the men to remove his er…you know. The men thought it was too magnificent so they made him a god. That’s the rumor at least.” 
  MIN WAS A FOOL
  Steven stiffens at the bird's sudden presence as he’s perched in the corner. Unsure as to why he’s here. Marc made it clear to leave Steven alone when it comes to moon knight duties 
  You’re staring at him with a mesmerized look in your eyes. “How do you know so much?”
  He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve always had a knack for researching and always found Egyptian mythology fascinating. I used to run the gift shop at the British Museum, but now I’m a tour guide.” 
  You shriek in surprise and the old woman abruptly stands with her newspaper, muttering under her breath as she exits the coffee shop. “I’m interviewing for a job there next month. How serendipitous.” You say the last part half whispered. 
  “Wow, that is quite the coincidence. What’s the job? If you don’t mind me asking.” 
  “The curator position has an opening. It’s always been my dream to work there.” Steven glances up nervously at Khonshu who still hasn’t left. 
  DON'T MESS THIS UP WORM
  “I could ugh…help you prepare. If you’d like? I’m sure you know your stuff but if I—.” 
  “I would love that so much. Thank you.” You say enthusiastically as you clap your hands together. 
  You reach into your purse to pull out your phone. “I’m here most mornings around this time.” You hand it to him sounding a little apprehensive. “But I should have your number just in case.” 
  “Of course love.” He punches in the digits trying to calm his shaking hands. He hands it back to you as you look it over. 
  “Nice to meet you Steven.” You slide it back into your purse along with your book. “I should be going.” You wave at him as you slide out and head towards the door with one last glance over your shoulder at him. 
  He exhales as he drops his head back, the cafes a little colder and his heart rate slows to a normal pattern. 
  ****
  Steven frantically stacks his books against the wall after he’s checked on the vegan pot pie in the oven. He’d managed with Marc’s help to attempt a new recipe without burning down the flat. 
  She’s been here before Steven just relax 
  “I just want it to look nice. She’s not just coming over to study.” Despite Marc’s insistence he calms down, he can sense his nervousness. 
  Jake feels it too. 
  You’ve been over countless times, laid out on the floor amongst the books that adorned their home. You and Steven rambling for hours about the ancient texts or the hidden tombs. Swapping ridiculous facts that the other hadn’t heard. Jake often had to remind you both to eat or drink something. 
  Marc would front occasionally…mostly to remind Steven that the body had other duties to attend to. There was always an awkward avoidance on the days after you’d see Marc. 
  But tonight feels different. You were coming over to spend time with them, not just pick Stevens brain for loads of useful knowledge. The way you touched him today and the look in your eyes told an entirely different story than your budding friendship. He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself before you arrive so he tries to keep his hands busy. 
  Jake has to give it to him, the flat has never been this clean in its entirety. He notices some newer candles have been lit but decides to keep it to himself. 
  Just remember she likes us and take deep breaths
  “Thanks mate, I sure hope I know what I’m doing.” 
  ****
  “Steven, you've outdone yourself.” You slide the empty plate forward and take a sip of your wine. 
  It never gets old, hearing your praises. You were always so grateful and appreciative of anything they would do for you. 
  “Marc helped as well.” His eyes meet Marc’s in the reflection of the mirror. 
  You brush your hand over his tracing the veins along his arm. “Well tell him I said thank you.”
  Marc wasn’t avoiding you per say. He just thought it was important for Steven and Jake to experience what he once had. Something he wanted so desperately but was too afraid to mess it up again. 
  The conversation moves comfortably to the couch, where your feet are curled up beneath you as you animatedly tell Steven about the wonderful interview. Some old sci fi movie on in the background that he can’t bother to pay attention to when he could simply watch you. 
  You finally take a breath and realize how close you are. Knees touching as you adjust against the worn leather. He looks at you as if he wants you to continue. You thought he’d be sick of talking about this stuff by now but he looks as though he’d let you go on for hours. You can’t ignore the feeling from earlier and you hope deep down that what you’re about to do doesn’t ruin the best friendship you’ve ever had. 
  If it does, you suppose it’ll make your work relationship less complicated. You aren’t even sure what the policy is on dating. You’re definitely getting ahead of yourself. 
  “Love is everything alright?” He asks as he places his warm hand gently on your thigh. 
  “Sorry, I was lost in thought.” You chuckle softly as you look at the fish tank. Gus swimming in the front staring at you. 
  “Did you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” His hand traces soothing circles on your thigh and he feels you shudder. He moves to withdraw but you grab his hand,lacing your fingers with his. 
  He slowly raises your arm, kissing the back of your hand as his lips linger there for a moment. ‘Go on’
  “I just…wanted to thank you properly. But we were in the museum.” Your voice is suddenly so timid. 
  “We’re not in the museum now.” His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as he waits. 
  It feels like all eyes are on you, and not just Stevens. He’s waiting for you to cross that bridge, giving you the opportunity to say that this can stay exactly what it is and he would be content. 
  You inch closer to him as you rise up on your knees, the couch creaks as you face him, placing your free hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes as you roam over his chest, mapping it with your fingers. His dark lashes flutter against his cheeks as you lean in and press your lips to his. 
  Warmth blooms across his chest at the first feel of your touch. It’s so gentle and experimental as you both share breaths. He releases your hand to wrap around your waist and pull you closer to his chest. 
  “You’re welcome.” He murmurs against your lips as you chuckle in between opened mouth kisses. 
  You can still taste the wine on his tongue as he methodically takes the lead. Much more assured of himself than you’ve ever seen. 
  You yelp in surprise as he swings your leg over his so you’re straddling his lap. You lean back with your hands braced on his chest as it rises and falls beneath you. His hands flex at his side as his eyes roll. 
  “Mírate, eres tan hermosa.” His pupils are black as he bites his bottom lip. 
  “Hi.” You say breathlessly as his hands find their way to your hips. He pulls you in as your noses touch, waiting for permission as you nod. 
  He’s consuming and precise in his movements. His lips crash into yours as you instinctively grind your hips down. He groans into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck. It’s so different from Steven and yet so exhilarating knowing it’s the same body. 
  I wasn’t quite finished yet
  Jake chuckles as he trails kisses along your jaw. “I wasn’t sure if he was going to share.”  He tilts your head to the side as he bites and nips at your chin. “To be continued.” 
  His hands flex again and he relaxes beneath you. A blush creeps up Stevens neck at the position you’re in. You adjust yourself and brush against his hardened bulge in his pants. A soft whimper leaves his mouth as you experimentally roll your hips again. He’s slack jawed as he watches you with hooded eyes. You’re beautiful just like this. 
  Your nerves start to get the better of you and he notices your trembling. He gently unwraps your arms from his neck as he places a kiss on each palm. 
  “We don’t have to go any further love.” He breathes in the scent of your perfume, heavy on your wrist. “I like this. What we’re doing now.” 
  You place your hand on his rapidly beating heart, quite the juxtaposition to his outwardly calm demeanor. You’re so content to stay like this…so you do until your eyes fall heavy. Lips chapped from kissing as the candles go out on their own. Curled up under the broadness of their body as they wrap you up into them. You push the thoughts away before sleep claims you of not having seen Marc, you want to thank him…in time. 
  ****
  The golden sun bathes you in a warm embrace as you rustle amongst the robust reeds. Your fingers trace along the silky fabric of your dress as the breeze brings scents of jasmine to awaken you softly. 
  The crunching of grass with each deliberate step, a gentle symphony beneath the weight of someone weaving through the emerald blades. As they move it casts a shadow along your tranquil resting spot. 
  You hear a faint laugh as you open your eyes. A tall majestic man stands before you, adorned in blue and gold. His dark locks sit beneath a nemes crown. He crouches down beside you as he lays his crescent staff amongst the grass and pulls you close. He rests his head atop yours as he hums quietly to himself.
  “I knew I’d find you here.” 
  ****
  You stretch your sore limbs, having fallen asleep in such an awkward position. Fragments of a dream linger in your mind briefly. Your eyes adjust to the light in the flat and you’re acutely aware of the lack of warmth against your back. 
  There’s a soft quilt draped over your form and you pull it close as you sit up on the brown leather couch. It’s silent in the flat, the only sound over the quiet hum of Gus’s tank is the sound of your beating heart as you brush the tears away with the blanket you’re holding tightly to your chest. 
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80pairsofcrocs · 2 years
Text
baby scarab masterlist
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TAGLIST REQUEST FORM!!
fanart!!
playlist!! - by @hutaos-gh0st
y/ns tumblr - @p0pt4rts
welcome to the baby scarab masterlist!! the chapters will be slow coming out but i'll try my best
chapters with the ( * ) indicate nsfw, but dont worry! if its not your cup of tea, they have nothing to do with the plot. they are just bonus chapters.
hope you enjoy <3
sausage
casper headcanons
dating casper
also dating casper*
~~~
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
chapter 21
chapter 22
chapter 23
chapter 24
chapter 25
chapter 26
chapter 27
chapter 28
chapter 29
chapter 30
chapter 31
chapter 32
chapter 33
chapter 34
chapter 35
chapter 36
chapter 37
chapter 38
chapter 39
chapter 40
chapter 41
chapter 42
chapter 43
chapter 44
chapter 45
chapter 46
chapter 47
chapter 48
chapter 49
chapter 50
chapter 51
chapter 52
chapter 53
chapter 54
chapter 55
chapter 56
HALLOWEEN SPECIAL
chapter 57
chapter 58
THANKSGIVING SPECIAL
chapter 59
chapter 60
chapter 60.5
HOLIDAY SPECIAL
chapter 61
chapter 62
chapter 63
chapter 64
chapter 65
chapter 66
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moonknightyws · 2 years
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This is hot
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heartthrobin · 9 months
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my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night
jake lockley x female!reader
wc: 9.5k
warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me
an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers
summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?
Mouse was noisy.
You really wished he wouldn't be.
He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.
Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.
It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.
When he'd be left alone in the flat.
Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.
You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.
There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.
It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.
After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.
Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.
You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?
He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.
You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.
Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.
That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.
Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.
Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.
You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.
Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.
From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.
Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.
Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.
He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.
There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.
You met Marc eventually.
He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.
You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.
More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.
It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.
It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.
The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.
Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.
He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.
There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.
Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.
You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"
His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.
"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.
Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.
He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.
"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.
The man's brow tightened, "Sure."
There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.
"Uh ... I suppose so."
Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.
Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.
"It was nice meeting--"
It closed with a thump.
"... you."
Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.
Steven worried about him, about Jake.
Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.
"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"
Marc's eyes flickered up just once.
"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."
"You don't know?"
His eyes flickered.
"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.
His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.
"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"
And so it passed that way, for weeks.
Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.
It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.
The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.
Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.
You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.
The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.
"Jake?"
He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.
"Yeah?"
His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?
"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"
Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.
You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."
He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."
When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.
That was the first night.
The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.
It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.
Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.
"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.
In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.
Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.
"Jake?"
The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.
"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.
Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"
"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.
He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."
Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"
He nodded.
Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.
You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"
"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."
Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.
"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"
Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.
You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"
Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.
"You're a doc, aren't you?"
"For animals!"
He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."
Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.
The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.
You nodded eventually.
"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."
There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.
He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.
"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."
With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.
"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.
When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.
He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.
"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."
"He tenido peores."
I've had worse.
You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.
Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.
You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.
Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.
When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.
"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."
The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.
"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"
You huffed. "Jake, please."
It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.
You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.
He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.
When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.
"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.
He shrugged, "Are you?"
Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.
Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.
The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.
Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.
"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."
A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.
"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."
You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.
It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.
Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.
When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.
Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."
You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."
He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.
The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.
"Thank you."
You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."
But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.
His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.
"What is it?"
Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."
You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."
"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."
"Meaning?"
He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.
"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."
The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.
"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"
He shook his head in place of answering.
"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.
The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.
-
In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.
Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.
You didn't see Jake once in that time.
Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.
Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.
But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.
That was until he came again.
Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.
The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."
You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.
He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.
"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.
Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.
Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.
When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.
You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.
"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."
Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.
"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.
You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.
Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.
Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.
The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.
Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.
Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.
"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.
He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"
There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.
"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."
Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.
"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."
You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.
"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.
Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.
"Who took out the stitches?"
His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."
The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."
"Yeah."
"What did they say? About the scar?"
Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.
Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."
Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.
Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.
It was warm and sticky with sweat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"
His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.
You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.
"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."
You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.
-
Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.
It peaked suspicion in you.
"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"
Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."
Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."
"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.
Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.
It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.
Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.
He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."
"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"
"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."
You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."
That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.
It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.
You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.
He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.
The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.
It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.
He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.
His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.
A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.
He didn't.
The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.
Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.
It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.
The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.
Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.
Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.
Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.
Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.
"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"
I never stop.
"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"
He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.
You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.
Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.
And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.
You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.
"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"
Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.
Why're you doing it then?
Because Marc and Steven are in there.
They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.
"What's it to ya, Lockley?"
Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.
He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.
Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.
Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.
It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.
"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"
You hummed, not looking at him.
Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."
A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.
"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.
Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."
You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.
He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.
"And white roses?"
"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."
It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.
"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."
"Not to you, I didn't."
Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.
He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.
"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."
You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.
"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"
"You kissed him."
That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.
Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.
"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.
Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.
"Yeah. Tha's all."
He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.
The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.
"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"
As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."
"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."
"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"
You swallowed. "That you're okay."
His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?
"You have work in the morning."
A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."
He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.
"I'm not gonna go change."
"But you're wet."
"A little rain never killed anybody."
"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"
You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.
"Shut up." He mumbled.
You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.
"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.
He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.
The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.
"Where did you find this giant dog--?"
"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"
Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.
"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."
He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.
A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.
"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.
You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.
"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."
There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.
He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.
Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.
A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.
He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.
It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.
His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.
He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.
Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.
Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.
That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--
He blinked the thought away.
There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 
Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.
But not him.
It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 
Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 
You twitched against him.
"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."
I promise.
-
Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.
You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.
It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.
Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.
Marc was around almost as much as Steven.
He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.
You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.
He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.
His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.
"Steven?" You whispered against him.
Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.
"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."
You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."
He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."
You kissed him.
Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.
You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.
But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.
He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.
Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.
"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."
It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.
"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.
He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."
That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.
"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.
Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."
You rolled your eyes.
"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."
"Jake, wait--"
His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"
He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."
You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."
It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.
Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.
"Why're you looking at me like that?"
He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.
You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"
"Like that."
"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.
"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.
Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.
"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.
His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"
He was gone again.
It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.
Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"
"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."
-
Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.
There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.
You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.
The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.
Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.
But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.
With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.
The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.
"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"
Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.
Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.
Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.
It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.
You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.
The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.
Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"
Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."
The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.
“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.
He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”
He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.
“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.
“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”
It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.
The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.
But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.
“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."
Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.
"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."
"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.
"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"
He betrayed you with his silence.
"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.
Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."
"Can't? Can't what?"
"I can't have what I want."
You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.
"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."
Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"
"It's not the same. thing"
"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"
Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.
"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"
You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.
"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.
He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.
His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.
"Don't come back, Jake."
Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.
"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."
Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?
"I want what they have."
He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"
His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."
You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."
It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.
"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"
You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.
"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."
Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"
His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.
"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."
Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.
There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.
When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.
"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."
He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.
"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"
He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."
You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.
"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.
You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"
"You're very annoying."
Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."
His face ran hot all over at the allegation.
"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."
Your face drew closer against his own.
"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."
His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"
"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."
It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.
His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.
"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"
Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."
Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.
You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."
Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.
"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"
A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."
"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."
Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.
-
comment and repost <3 mwah!
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kantush · 2 years
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What I would do to see the trio together in a single room. Enjoy the animation because I gave up after the 3rd frame
Enjoy the advice
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