#jake lockley x female!reader

[bit-dodgy-innit]

First

Summary: You fell in love first with Marc. It didn’t mean you loved him more than his other alters, but when you notice he’s hesitant to front after your daughter is born, you gently confront about it and assuage him. 

Another fic set in THE SHAPE OF YOU verse 

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, background Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader

Word Count: 4.3k 

Rating: M

CW/TW: Mentions of abuse, divorce and pregnancy, domesticity, sexual themes and content, angst, feels, fluff.  

A/N: Sometimes you need to write the entire history of a relationship before you actually write the scene between two characters you’ve been thinking of! Tre fun! 

I need everyone to know that I adore Layla and May Calamawy sooo much so that every OC I write must be intimidated and jealous of her because she is truly a goddess among us. That being said, I hardcore ship Layla and the Moon Boys in canon, wanted to make sure NO ONE thinks I’m a hater!

You met Marc first, through work of all places. Your company was doing a defense deal, and your superiors thought it prudent to hire a consultant to ensure no party was getting screwed over money or terms-wise. And it would have been, it would have been a perfectly prudent, responsible choice if your first thought upon meeting Marc Spector hadn’t been oh my God, why does the military consultant have such soulful eyes?

The attraction to him was instant. Suddenly you were berating yourself for not doing more with your hair that day, and of course you’d wore your least flattering skirt. The good news was that you were running point on this deal and would have more opportunities to dazzle the American in the coming months with your business acumen and your beauty.

Initially, you two were nothing but friendly professionals. You got along easily, which was imperative since you were liaising with the slow and infuriating bureaucracy of the Ministry of Defense. Marc made the painstaking work and negotiations your company had dispensed you two with tolerable, even enjoyable. 

You did start making more of an effort in the office though. It was subtle, you didn’t want Marc to know you were trying, let alone trying for him, but your heart would sink a little every time he politely declined your team’s invite for a post-work pint when you’d gotten up extra early that morning to blow out your hair. 

That all changed at a client dinner. Your bosses were attending as well as members of the Ministry of Defense, so Marc had to be there. The chance to interact with the elusive American outside of work was stupidly exciting to you. Even better, you were seated across from him at the table. You were damn good at your job, which meant you could multitask: you charmed the clients, laughing in all the right places during their boring and problematic anecdotes, and got as drunk off the sight of Marc in a suit and tie as you were on the expensive wine your boss ordered. 

Up until that night, you had assumed that your interest in Marc was one-sided. Hell, you’d believed it all throughout dinner too. It wasn’t until after the meal, when everyone headed home for the evening, that Marc insisted you split a cab and the irrevocable shift took place.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you insisted as the taxi Marc hailed pulled over, “I’ve lived in London my entire adult life, I know how to get home in one piece.”

It was true, but the real reason you were protesting had more to do with the wine you’d consumed and the ensuing proximity to Marc than your personal safety. You couldn’t trust yourself not to do something horny and stupid. 

“C’mon, it’s no trouble, besides we’re not far from each other. What kind of gentlemen would I be if I let you leave unaccompanied with all the crazy shit out there nowadays?” Marc opened the car door for you. 

Your heart soared and your panties flooded. Trying to play it cool, you threw out one last protest as you got into the cab, “That’s not your job Marc, that’s why we have Thor and that white knight guy.”

Marc got in behind you and muttered, “You shouldn’t trust him.”

You weren't sure if he meant the god of thunder or the other vigilante, but frankly, you didn’t care because you were in the backseat with Marc. You couldn’t remember anything else you said after that, you knew that you apparently carried on a whole conversation while the cab ferried you across the Thames, but Marc’s lips so close, the scent of his aftershave, his hand resting on the seat millimeters from yours were the only things you could focus on.

The driver pulled to a stop and recited your address, shattering the warm, heady haze of desire you’d sunken into over the course of the ride. 

“That’s me!” you called over the divider.  

Marc told the driver to wait, that he’d walk you to your building’s door. Your throat was as dry as sandpaper but somehow you found the saliva to say “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

You opened your purse. “How much do I–”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay well, make sure you expense this then.”

“I’m really not worried about it.”

“Right. Good night, Marc.”

You’d said the words to him, but didn’t move. Those dark, expressive eyes had you pinned in place. After a beat, you decided you’d been imagining ‘a moment’ and began to retreat. That was when Marc, rather Marc’s body almost independent of him, lurched toward you, crashing your lips together. 

Needless to say, it was a good kiss. The kind of kiss that makes your toes curl, that feels like you’re getting lost and coming home at the same time. 

When you breathlessly broke apart, Marc had sucked any sense out of your brain, leaving nothing to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth “That was unprofessional.”

It wasn’t a judgment. Nor a condemnation. Just an observation. A statement of fact.  

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

“But I think how much I enjoyed it is even more unprofessional.”

“Fuck,” Marc swore lowly before kissing you again. It was just as good as the first. No flukes here. The next time you both gasped for air, he reeled. “We can’t do this.”

“I know,” you conceded. 

“Not while I’m working with you.” 

“Okay.” It was all you could manage while your head swam. Then it occurred to you to follow up with, “After?”

“Yeah. After.” Marc nodded. You opened your building door, he jogged back to the taxi, and that was it. 

The next morning at the office, you’d concluded that “After” from Marc meant he was letting you down easy. While you felt like you’d arrived at the office altered on a cellular level after acting on your feelings for him, Marc was reserved and distant in your meetings. 

You cried on the Tube on the way home and ultimately absolved him. The two of you had been drinking last night, and Marc was a hot American guy in London. He was probably drowning in pussy, why would he wait for a woman who was off-limits for another six weeks? It was your fault for nursing a schoolgirl crush on him as a grown-ass woman. 

His refusal to join the crew for drinks after the deal closed felt like the nail in the coffin. Marc didn’t want to pick things up despite his contract with your company being completed. You got absolutely shitfaced that night, so much so that it wasn’t until the next morning that you saw that he’d texted you. 

From Marc Spector: now where were we?

You thrashed in your bed in delight, giggled, and then promptly shuffled to the bathroom to vomit. 

***

You got dinner, just the two of you this time. Marc revealed that the reason he’d been so evasive had stemmed from the fact he was attracted to you too, but Marc was building his reputation as a consultant and wanted to maintain professionalism. He didn't want to compromise you and your job integrity either. All was forgiven over dinner while you got to know each other better. 

You’d never tell Nyla this, but you jumped into bed with Marc sooner than you would with anyone else. It was not a feminist, nor a particularly romantic thing to say, but you considered your fate to be sealed after the first time you and Marc slept together. The way he bounced you on his cock, then maneuvered you onto all fours and pounded you from behind while growling “Yeah baby, work that ass back on this dick” swiftly and effectively ruined you for other men. 

You found that dating Mark was like an archaeological dig. The closer you got, the deeper you dug, you unearthed a new revelation about the beautiful, but complex, man who would become your husband and the father of your child. 

Revelation One: Marc had been married before. That one wasn’t much of a surprise, given his age and experience in the sack. With a face that handsome, a cock that fat, and ass and thighs that thick, it only made sense that someone would’ve tried to lock Marc down. He didn’t tell you many details about his ex-wife, only that they were married for a few years and that she lived abroad. You were privately pleased that she wasn’t in the British Isles, a childish possessiveness fueling a small pit of jealousy within you. 

Revelation Two: Marc had been a mercenary. This didn’t really come as a shock either, you’d witnessed first-hand Marc’s extensive knowledge of the military and the black market, both of which were indispensable as you’d hammered out the deal at work. Perhaps it didn’t bother you as much to know that your boyfriend used to kill for a living when you could see how the vocation still haunted his features when he spoke about it, how earnestly he wanted to repent for his actions. It also helped that it was a nebulous concept to you, you’d never seen him act as the cold-blooded killer he professed he’d been, so it wasn’t quite “real” to you. 

Revelation Three: Marc had suffered trauma and abuse. It helped explain Marc’s path to his former dark line of work, not to mention it broke your heart to learn that his own mother had beaten him, a horrendous misdirection of her grief over the death of his younger brother. She had died recently too, which triggered a whole mix of emotions that Marc was working through. 

Revelation Four: Marc had Dissociative Identity Disorder as a result of the trauma and abuse. This one took some backup to wrap your mind around, yet it did explain why Marc never went out for drinks after work – Steven, one of his alters, had been TA’ing a class at University College London that met in the evenings as part of his Ph.D during Marc’s contract. It also provided the reason for why Marc had sort of lurched into the first kiss you shared. His second alter Jake had taken control and given Marc the push he felt the other needed. 

You did your best to school your features to impassivity when he told you. Marc thought you’d break up with him then and there. You didn’t, but you told him you needed a minute to make sure you could process everything properly. So you reached out to a therapist you’d seen a few years ago after a bout of depression. It took a few sessions and research on your part, yet it wasn’t long until you felt comfortable enough to meet Steven and Jake.

It was weird, meeting Marc’s alters felt like a mix of going on a blind date and meeting your significant other’s family. The apprehension you initially harbored dissipated in the first five minutes you met Steven, however. You fell for his accent, his dorkiness, and the way he looked at you like you were a treasure from one of ancient civilizations he was an expert on. It also didn’t hurt that he would eat your pussy for hours and was obsessed with your tits. 

You and Steven went on a few more dates just the two of you, then took a month for you to adjust to being present when he and Marc would switch and be co-conscious before meeting Jake. Your first date with him was at a salsa club, so wildly unlike Marc or Steven, and you had to pick your jaw up from the floor when your boyfriend greeted you with a Spanish term of endearment in a flat cap and leather gloves. Jake was less inhibited than Marc, a double edged sword in that he was quicker to anger and violence, but less guarded about his emotions and affection toward you. Plus, Jake gave you a reason to dust off your high-school Spanish. 

It took a few months, but eventually you four settled into a routine and ease with each other. Your relationship was unconventional for sure, but it was also the happiest you’d ever been. You’d believed that you’d gotten through the most stunning revelations from Marc, that you’d hit his metaphorical core, and everything from here on out would be relatively smoothly sailing. You were so confident that you started dropping hints to each of the boys about engagement rings. 

Turned out you still had more to learn. 

Revelation Five: Marc and both his alters had a stint serving Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon. Superheroes and gods and aliens were a part of your life, part of everyone’s after The Snap, but you never thought that the man you slept next to would’ve been so directly involved in it. 

“You were white knight guy!?!” you gaped when Marc told you.

“Yeah, Khonshu’s Moon Knight,” he clarified. 

As bonkers as this information was, it was similar to when Marc had told you he was divorced or that he’d been a mercenary. While of course you believed him, you had never actually seen Marc’s mysterious ex-wife or watched Marc take down a target, the information had never been made tangible. 

It was easy to accept when you learned that your boyfriend was Khonshu’s avatar, because you would never see him in the suit. Apparently, the Egyptian god was kind of an asshole, and the men had renounced their ties to him just before you and Marc began dating. It was why Marc had been so adamantly against an office romance, he was desperate to build a life without violence, outside of Khonshu after years of service to the deity.

Marc had tried to push you away, even revealing some of these facets of himself in an attempt to get you to leave him, but you stayed the course. You patiently held your ground and told Marc, each and every time, that he wasn’t getting rid of you that easily. You received every revelation with a measured countenance, well, until you discovered that Marc’s ex-wife was The Scarlet Scarab. That launched you two into a row for the ages. 

“How do I compete with that?!’ you shrieked at him, “I can’t compete with that.”  

“I don’t want you to! I want you because you’re you, you’re not like her, you’re—”

“Boring?” you supplied. 

Marc’s frown deepened. “No, stop. You’re putting words in my mouth.” 

“So what am I to you? Your breather before you go back to her for superhero sex?”

“Ok, first of all I wasn’t a superhero–” 

“Marc, you had a special suit, enhanced abilities and fought criminals. That’s a superhero.” 

“You’re missing the point,” he argued. “Layla and I are through. She wanted to be a superhero and I’d had enough of Khonshu’s bullshit. I couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted the adventure and I wanted this, what we have. We made a good team when it was stealing artifacts and chasing madmen across the globe but we were shit at all the real stuff - well not that it wasn’t real - the relationship stuff.”  

You studied Marc for a long moment. You wanted to keep your jealousy at bay, you really did. So you tried to play it off, scoffing “Ugh, you’re lucky you’re an animal in bed and that Steven’s the only one who will go to that impressionist exhibit with me later this month.” 

“You’re being glib, which means you’re not mad?”

“No, I’m sad,” your face crumpled and a sob escaped your throat. You thought you and Marc had made it through the worst of it, the deepest, darkest parts of yourselves, but here you were, fighting over something that Marc had kept from you because you were envious. A nexus of both of your vices. “What are we doing here?”

Marc watched you cry, cold fear sluicing through his veins. He looked to his reflection in hopes that Steven or Jake would tap in, they were better at this stuff, but Steven denied him with a curt shake of his head. 

Not a good idea, Steven relayed through the reflection of the microwave in the kitchen, You were married to Layla and well, she fell in love with you first. Don’t abandon her. 

“Maybe I should,” Marc muttered.

You looked up from your hands that had been catching your tears, “What?”

“I should leave, I’m not the kind of guy who can do long-term–”

“STOP!” you wailed at him. “No! You don’t get to run away Marc, this is what a relationship is, it’s leaning into the hard times no matter how much they hurt and fucking working through it. I will not let you throw away the last two years of my life and my love for you, and Steven and Jake because of this. I’m angry about Layla so just comfort me God dammit! Or at the very least, call me out for being a jealous bitch.”

Your challenge sent a flare of anger through Marc, “Okay! You are being a jealous bitch! I’ve told you everything, everything about me and this is what you choose to get mad about?! It’s stupid, you should have run for the hills when I told you about the mercenary work, or the DID or fucking Khonshu, but you stayed.” 

“Yeah so now give me a reason to,” you fired back. “Why should I believe you won’t go back to your hot, super-powered ex-wife?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T LOVE HER ANYMORE!” He roared. “I love YOU! I have been leaning into the hard shit. I've told you about my mom and my brother, I let you meet Jake and Steven because I want to be with you for the rest of my life! You were the reason I finally renounced Khonshu!!”

Marc collapsed onto one of the breakfast bar stools. You went to him, afraid he’d switch unintentionally or worse, hurt himself. To your surprise, he let you collect him in your arms. 

When Marc spoke again, it was much softer, “What you call boring or ‘normal’ is what I’ve wanted ever since Randall died, but didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t want to be an avatar or a superhero or whatever, I wanted a steady job and a family, but the dishonorable discharge, the D.I.D, the fucking birdgod prevented me from having that, made me believe I couldn’t.’ 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his hair. “I don’t want to lose you Marc, I love you so much. I guess…I got scared that I couldn’t measure up. I’m so afraid that you feel like you’re settling for me.”

“Baby, no,” Marc brought his face to yours. “I’m the one with D.I.D. and a fucked up past, you’re settling for me.”

You shook your head, dismissing the notion. “You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.”   

Tears fell from your face again, but this time they were from happiness. 

***

The engagement and wedding followed. It was a small ceremony, exactly what you two wanted, that observed the Jewish traditions important to Marc. The honeymoon passed by in a haze of sex and sweat in Greece. With three husbands eager to consummate their marriage, you joked to Steven that you could barely walk after the week you spent in Mykonos. To your horror, he took it literally and you were greeted at the airport in Athens by an attendant with a wheelchair. It was a sweet, albeit a little embarrassing, gesture. 

Back home, you worked on getting your parents as comfortable with Marc, Steven, and Jake as you were. Jake started his own business since Steven’s schedule had stabilized now that he was teaching, and Marc had entered a phase of his career where he could pick and choose clients. You all had talked about kids but the concept was firmly filed into the ‘later on’ column of your marital priorities. 

Nyla had other plans. Honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised that you’d conceived on your honeymoon, there were few surfaces on the Greek island you hadn’t fucked on. But even after the missed period and morning sickness, the positive pregnancy test shocked you. You and your husband were as elated as you were terrified. 

***

You all still felt as if you were white-knuckling as parents, but Nyla embracing her sleep schedule and improving on latching allowed you and your husband to exhale some. 

Your daughter had woken you up extra early this morning. The weather was nice, you were graced by a rare sunny morning in London, so you and Marc decided to take Nyla on a stroll in the park. Leaving the flat with a newborn was a tall order, one that demanded all the strategy and concentration of a military operation, Marc found. You both packed up all the necessities to fit in a single diaper bag while also keeping your daughter entertained. 

Your little family made it out of the house in record time. It only took 34 minutes to pack everything to go down the street for a walk in the park. 

You pushed Nyla’s stroller while Marc carried the bag. The movement had lulled Nyla back to sleep. You extended the stroller’s visor to shade her, but Marc insisted on having your baby wear the sun hat you’d packed for another layer of protection from the rays bathing Dulwich park in an early summer warmth. 

You figured now was the best chance you’d ever have at talking to Marc about his reticence to front around Nyla. The subject had to be broached delicately, sneakily, or else you may not get another opportunity. 

His insistence on getting Nyla’s hat gave you the perfect in. “You’re great with her.”

Marc shrugged off the praise as he dug for her hat. So you persisted, “And she loves you so much.” 

“Yeah, because I look like Steven,” he groused.

“Hey, that’s not true,” you stopped his search with a hand on his arm. “You have these cute conversations with her, when you lay her back on the top of your thighs. She gets so enthralled when you two ‘talk’. You’re the only one who does that with her.”

Marc poured the ensuing emotion into his search for her hat. “She’s so tiny. Why didn’t the books say anything about how goddamn little she’d be?”

“Well, she was a few weeks early,” you reminded him. “I wanted her to get over 3 and a half kilos, but Nyla didn’t want to wait any longer.” 

“Just like her mom,” Marc teased.

“And also much like her mom, she doesn’t want you to avoid her, since you make her feel so loved.”

It wasn’t that falling for Marc first meant you loved him more than his alters, but it did make you slightly more attuned to him. Your life had been made so much richer when Marc allowed Steven and Jake’s presences in your life, and you knew your daughter would only benefit from Marc fully allowing his presence in hers. 

Besides you’d heard about the last time Marc had tried to leave things in solely Steven and Jake’s hands, and that had resulted in Steven getting sacked for destroying a bathroom at the British Museum, the two of them getting shot and taking a round trip to the Egyptian underworld, and an evil crocodile lady trying to take over the planet. 

Your husband tensed, the tendon in his jaw working before he answered, “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, stopping the stroller for a moment. “Honey, I wouldn't have married you, let alone had a baby with you, if I thought any of you were capable of hurting me or our child. Believe me.”

“But what’s the point, Steven is such a natural–”

“Yeah, and he’s wonderful. But tell me if I'm wrong, he doesn't hold the memories of your childhood the same way you do. He may have seen them, but he didn't experience first-hand, right?” 

Marc stayed silent, but didn’t correct you.

“He doesn’t carry the baggage quite like you do...which is nothing against either of you! And I know me and him have discovered, um…this new kink that we share, but that doesn’t mean I don't want you around. It doesn't mean you’re any less capable as a father than Steven or Jake. She needs all of her dads, Marc.”

Marc’s eyes drifted from yours to the sleeping infant in front of you.

“You each have your special little things you share with Nyla and it’s so beautiful to watch, babe,” Your eyes welled up with tears. Damn hormones, could you get through anything without crying? “I can't tell you how happy it makes me.”

“Baby,” he murmured. 

You composed yourself, “All I’m saying is that you can trust yourself with her. And if you ever have a moment when you don’t trust yourself, know that I trust you with Nyla, and I'm her mother. What I say goes.” 

“You’re the best mom, you know that right?” Marc questioned. It was your turn to downplay his compliment. “You take such good care of her. I know Nyla will never go through what I did because of you.”

“It’s easy,” you stopped yourself, “Well, it’s not easy, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but loving you and this little girl we made makes me happy to do it. So don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Deal,” Marc agreed. 

“Good, because when my dad gets in tomorrow, he’s going to want someone to talk about sports with, and you know the other boys are shit at it,” you quipped. 

Marc chuckled as he bent over the front of the stroller to put Nyla’s hat on her little head and tie the strings around her chin while she slept. He couldn’t hide the proud grin that brightened his face when he managed to secure it without waking Nyla. 

“See what I mean?” you used his success to drive home his fatherly ability. 

Marc returned to your side, draped an arm around you, and pressed a kiss just under your ear. “Thank you, honey.” 

“I love you,” you whispered, resuming your walk. 

Nyla was the combination of you and your husband, which meant she wasn’t going to let either of you get too cocky. The stroller had only made it another thousand meters before she began fussing, though this time, more hormonally-fueled tears threatened to pour from your eyes when Marc didn’t hesitate to tend to his daughter. 

Read the next fic in the series: THE MAGIC TOUCH

A/N: Y’all I thought of this idea and then the dialogue confronting Marc when reader discivers his ex is ~Layla El-Faouly~ started writing itself and then four thousand more words poured out of me. Ooops. 

I know I say this every time, but it’s true that everyone’s support and responses get me fired up and inspired to write!!! 

Taglist: @twwcs @starfirette @toracainz 

#moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockely x female reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x you #marc spector fanfiction #jake lockley fanfiction #steven grant fanfiction

[ninebluehearts]

Orange kinda love

Summary: Cheese doesn't like Jake. Jake doesn't like Cheese. A few situations in which your boyfriend and cat fight for your attention at the worst times..

Warnings: Cock blocking, oral sex (f receiving), minors dni

A/n: Poor Jake, man. Getting cock blocked by Marc and Steven before, and now by a damn cat 😂💕

Tag list: @hot-mess-express1

-------------------------------------------------------

A few months ago, when you were experiencing a depressive episode, your therapist recommended adopting a cat. "You can't just stay inside alone all day. You need someone to care for. A reason to get out of bed, ya know?"

And you knew she was right, it was just that you didn't know if you could handle the responsibility at the moment. So, you agreed to go home and think it over. But not even two days later, you showed up to a local shelter asking to see their cats. As you walked along the long aisles of kennels filled with kittens of all kinds and colors, you couldn't help but feel disappointed. You didn't feel a connection with any of them.

As you reached the end of the aisle, ready to turn around and tell the assistant that you'd changed your mind, something orange caught your eye. You walked over to the last kennel on the wall and looked inside, seeing a giant, orange ball of fluff. "Excuse me? How about this one?" You asked the assistant, reaching inside of the kennel with your finger to stroke the cats fur.

The orange cat sat up and licked his paw for a moment, then looked straight at you. He had these big, green eyes that were so intense for such a small creature. He rubbed his face against your finger, his loud purrs vibrating your entire hand.

"Oh, that one? Um, he's a little old. Are you sure you don't want a kitten? We have plenty of orange ones." The assistant said, gesturing back down the aisle.

But it was already too late. In just two minutes, this cat crawled it's way into your heart and refused to leave. "No, I'll take him."

So, after signing a million pieces of paper work and an expensive trip to the pet store, you finally got to bring the cat home. And as you laid in bed that night, the orange furball curled up on the pillow next to you, you couldn't help but notice how happy he made you already. How could such a small creature bring you so much joy?

You reached over and gently pet his side, kissing the top of his head. "Your name is Cheese now." You mumbled, smiling at his thunderous purrs. You rolled over and went to sleep, finally relaxed enough to do so.

-

Two years later, your boyfriend Steven asked you to move in with him. You met Marc a few months after you adopted Cheese, then met his alters soon after. Both Marc and Steven loved Cheese and got along with him just fine, it was Jake that had a problem.

See, Cheese had no problems with Marc or Steven showing you any kind of affection. In fact, he would come over and sit with you guys, curling up on either of your laps and going to sleep.

But when Jake was fronting? Cheese was up your ass. He wanted to be with you at all times, only sitting on/around you, following you everywhere. He did not like it when Jake even kissed your cheek. And Jake was at his wits end with this damn cat. So when you agreed to move in with them, Jake had plenty of mixed feelings about it, but at the end of the day, if he could wake up every morning with you in his bed, he'd put up with your annoying cat.

Considering how small your apartment was, it didn't take you and Marc very long to transfer your stuff to their flat. Both you and Cheese had little to no problems with the move, easily making yourselves at home.

-

You and Jake were sitting on the couch watching Jaws, Cheese taking up the space between the two of you by sprawling out on the cushion. Jake was grinding his teeth the entire movie, trying not to murder your cat. He's been there since he caught Jake kissing your neck and he showed no signs of leaving anytime soon.

Jake paused the movie and sighed, staring down at the feline between you. "Muñeca will you please stand up for a moment?" He turned to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Why?" You asked, though you still stood up.

Jake reached over and grabbed your hips, pulling you onto his lap. "Much better." He mumbled, burying his face against your neck.

You immediately wrapped your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the comfort of his hold. Cheese got up and stretched, arching his back comically, before jumping off of the couch and disappearing down the hallway.

It wasn't long before Jake laid you back on the couch and slowly started removing pieces of clothing from both of your bodies, the movie long forgotten. He was working on creating a rather large hickey on your collarbone, when both of you could hear a quiet scrape, scrape, coming from the kitchen.

Jake sat up and glanced over towards the kitchen, only to find Cheese on the counter with his paw on a glass cup, pushing it towards the edge. "Hey! Knock that off!" He yelled, watching as Cheese completely ignored him and pushed the cup off of the counter, a loud CRASH echoing throughout the room.

"Cheese!" You called out, standing up to put your clothes back on. Cheese ran over to you, rubbing his face against your calf with a 'meow.'

Jake walked over and started to sweep up the mess. "Fucking cock block.." He mumbled.

"Hm?" You hummed as you scooped Cheese into your arms, scratching behind his ears.

"Nothing, mi amor."

-

Knowing that Cheese wasn't gonna give up easily, Jake decided to play dirty. One night, after he took you out for dinner and a movie, Jake ushered you back to your bedroom, trying to beat Cheese there. Once you were both inside, he closed the door and locked it.

Jake turned and looked at you, lust clouding his vision. "I need you, mi vida. Right now."

"Take me." You whispered as you crawled onto the bed, yanking your short black dress off of yourself and into the laundry basket. You thought it was strange that Jake shut and locked the door, given that the two of you lived alone, but you didn't think much of it.

Jake walked over and crawled onto the mattress, practically ripping his shirt off of his body. "Someone's eager." You said, biting down on your bottom lip as your eyes raked over his body, drinking in his toned abs and his strong hands.

'You better watch out, Jake. Cheese knows you're home.' Marc teased, watching them from the mirror on the dresser.

"Shut it." Jake muttered, flashing a glare towards the mirror.

"What?"

'"Nothing, mi amor." Jake grabbed your ankles and yanked you towards him, satisfied with the high pitched squeal you let out. He pressed his tongue against your knee, licking all the way up to your thigh, his fingers tugging at the lace straps of your underwear. "Tell me how much you want it, cariño." He mumbled, nipping at your inner thighs.

Cheese sat at the door, gently pawing at it.

"Fuck, I want it so bad." You moaned, tangling your fingers in his hair. "Please."

"Good girl." Jake pulled your underwear off and lazily folded them, shoving them into his pocket, before leaning down and gently licking up from your core to your clit, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

"Fuck!" You moaned out, arching your back up. "Yes, right there baby-" All of the sudden, there was a loud, high pitched meow coming from the door. "Cheese?" You glanced over at the door, considering getting up to open it for him, but Jake wrapped his arms around your thighs and held you there.

He only stopped for a second to mumbled, "Ignore him." Before going back to lazily flicking his tongue along your clit. And with the way his tongue was making you moan, Cheese's meows were easily drowned out and forgotten.

Jake was holding back a grin, knowing that he won this time. But right as you were on the brink of your first orgasm, Cheese reached his paw under the door and gripped it with his nails, pulling and scratching at it with an impossible amount of strength for a cat.

'I told you so.' Marc said with a sigh.

'Ignore 'em.' Steven mumbled, too focused on the way you were spread out just for them.

Jake looked up at you, a pleading look in his eye. "Ignore him."

"But he's lonely." You said, running your hand across his cheek. "Just let him in real quick?"

"He's gonna get in the way." He whined.

"Jake." You stuck out your lower lip.

Jake stared at you for a moment, but sighed when Cheese meowed again. "Fine." He got up and opened the door, shaking his head when Cheese immediately ran in and jumped on the bed. "Maldito gato." He mumbled as he walked back over to you. Cheese may have won this time, but Jake would be damned if he was gonna let him win again.

-

"Cheese, no!" You pulled the stick of butter away from him again, gently picking him up and setting him on the ground. "You know you can't have butter. I don't want to upset your belly." You said, continuing to spread butter onto your toast

Jake staggered into the room, heading straight for the coffee maker. As the machine started doing it's job, Jake wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "Buenos días, mi amor." He mumbled, nipping at your ear.

"Good morning, darling." You turned your head enough to where you could kiss him. Jake slid his tongue along your bottom lip, slipping it into your mouth when you opened it for him.

"Meow" Cheese stood on his hind legs, digging his nails into Jake's leg.

"Ay!" Jake yelped, jumping back. "I'm telling you, cariño, he doesn't like me! I don't know why!" He reached down and rubbed his thigh, glaring at Cheese.

"He doesn't hate you, he just wants to protect me. That's all." You said, holding back a laugh while you stroked Cheese's back. "Hey, can you make sure he doesn't get on the counter? He's a butter fiend and I need to use the bathroom." You walked over and kissed his cheek, snickering when you heard his salty grumbles.

Jake stood there, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, blocking out Steven and Marc's laughter in the headspace.

"Meow"

Jake turned around and sighed, staring down at the orange cat in front of him. "What do you want?"

Cheese walked over to the counter and sat on the ground in front of it, looking at Jake then back to the butter; to the butter then Jake.

"No. She said not to give you any. Why should I, anyways? You're a fucking cock block. Fuck you." He turned back around and continued to stir his coffee, but Cheese meowed again, this time rubbing his face against Jake's calf.

Jake sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. But if I do this, you have to leave me to my business, got it?" He looked down at Cheese, who just blinked up at him. "Good enough for me." Jake bent down and picked up the cat, setting him on the counter and cutting a nice, thick slice of butter for him.

Cheese immediately started licking it as though you didn't feed him three times a day. "Ay, you really like butter." Jake mumbled, gently running his hand along Cheese's back.

Cheese started purring, arching his back against Jake's hand.

'Is he actually purring right now?' Steven asked, watching in amazement as Jake actually bonded with Cheese.

'Damn, who knew butter was the answer?'' Marc said, equally as amazed as Steven.

"Jake! What the hell!" You said, rushing over to pick Cheese up. "He can't have butter! Why would you let him eat that?"

"He'll be fine, cariño. Let the boy eat some damn butter." He said with a laugh as he reached over to pet Cheese behind his ear.

"Wait, you guys are getting along now?" You asked, feeling Cheese start to purr again as Jake pet him.

"I guess so."

-

Later that night, when you and Jake were making love, Cheese laid in a nearby chair, dead asleep. He never messed with you or Jake once, leaving you be. Jake wished he gave the damn cat butter sooner.

[Spanish -> English]

Muñeca - Doll

Mi amor - my love

Mi vida - my life

Cariño - dear

Maldito gato - damn cat

Buenos días - Good morning

#moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #moon knight imagine #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #jake lockley imagine #Jake lockley gets cock blocked #poor baby #marc spector mentioned #Steven Grant mentioned #jake lockley x female!reader #Cheese the cat #💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙thoughts

[jake-g-lockley]

Could I request number 3 with Jake, with him as the cook? I hc him as a great chef!

A Smidge of Love (Jake Lockley x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompt: Feeding you their cooking and hoping you will like it

A/N: Hi lovely!! Thanks for the ask<333 DOMESTIC JAKE AHHH omfg jake would make the most magnificent things and he’d rule the kitchen for sure. Here is him making the Guatemalan national dish, Pepián de Pollo!

Word count: 738 words

You woke up pretty late after last evening’s ordeal at work. It had been a tough few weeks and you finally got a chance to take your Sunday break. Before going to bed last night, you switched off all of your alarms and buried your head in your boyfriend’s chest, the comfort easing the tension out of you almost instantaneously. 

You frowned when you realised you woke up in an empty bed, your head cushioned by lots of pillows. You took a deep breath and sighed when the delicious aroma of food filled your nostrils. Quietly slipping out of bed, you tiptoed to the kitchen and found your boyfriend’s back turned to you, singing a soft song and dry roasting something.

You recognized the song, Cariño by The Marías

“Quiero tanto devorarte,

Esta vez besarte,

Si es que soy capaz.”

You slipped into the barstool silently and gazed lovingly at your oblivious Jake who was swaying slightly to his own singing. You were still dreamily staring at him with a smirk when he turned around and froze. He gulped audibly, his eyes comically wide as he held the tongs in his hands in a defensive stance

“Whatchu doing, Jakey?” you ask, tipping your chin down and raising your eyebrows at the funny expression that adorned his handsome face.

Jake offered you a dopey smile and shrugged, gesturing to the stove behind him.

“Making pepián de pollo, for you.” he said softly, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks.

You swore that at that moment, your heart melted at his cuteness. His hard outer shell was nothing compared to the soft mush that he held out for you every single day. You had nothing but love for him as your heart contracted almost painfully at the thought that he woke up thinking of you before making this.

“Need some help?” you asked, despite already knowing what Jake’s reaction would be.

You grinned when his eyebrows pinched together and he frowned, his lips dipping downwards.

“Shh, as long as I am here, my princesa doesn’t need to do anything.” he huffed and you laughed, tipping your head back, eliciting a smile from Jake.  

You waved the chef off and watched as he went on to prepare the dish.

You remember the first time he made pepián de pollo. It was a rainy London afternoon, the sun nowhere to be seen. You had been frowning at the constant bad weather you had been witnessing for weeks when Jake pulled you up from the sofa, scooping you into a bridal hold and dropping you onto the exact same barstool you were sitting on right now. He quietly worked around the kitchen, just as he did now, humming a soft melody, his hands working with the rhythm. You tried not to drool when he started to cut up his ingredients, that man certainly knew his way around a knife.

The sound of the food processor startled you out of your little flashback and you jumped slightly. Jake grinned at you apologetically and you smiled reassuringly back. While the chicken and sauce was simmering in the pot, Jake grabbed two beers and only popped one open and you glared at him when he didn’t offer you the other one.

“Not on an empty stomach, mi amor.” he chuckled before taking a sip. 

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him and he sticks his tongue out back at you, making you giggle. Soon, Jake was plating up the food, white rice and avocado in two plates for the both of you and the pepián de pollo looking as delicious as ever in a big bowl. You grinned happily and thanked Jake before tucking in, your stomach and heart satisfied with your first bite, but yearning for more.

“You like it?” Jake asked nervously and you sighed, sliding out of your seat and stepping between his feet, throwing your arms around his waist, hugging him close as you buried your nose into his sweater-clad chest.

“I love it, and I love you.” you mumbled into him and he relaxed, his whole body melting into yours as he held you against him. 

“I love you too.” he says into your hair, kissing the top of his head. 

“Ok, time for my tummy to be happy, I’ll give you a million kisses after I’m done!” you pulled away, causing Jake to chuckle at your usual antics.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley fluff #moon knight fluff #jake lockley x you #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight headcanon #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marvel moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight headcanons #moon knight x reader #moonkight #moonknight smut #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #steven grant fluff #marc spector fluff

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Loving You - Oneshot

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!Reader

(Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader are mentioned, not shown)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Jake lotions up your body in the early morning.

Warnings: a bit of body worship ig?, Jake likes to swear

A/N: Just a short little thing as I try to get a grip on both Jake and the rest of my wips. Can be read as part of The Dress universe, but wasn't written with the intention of it being a part of it.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

“Wanna do it?” 

You’re smiling at him, sunlight filtering through the curtains and making you look more divine than you usually look. The soft scent of vanilla is dancing in between the dust particles illuminated by the sun. Jake thinks he’s found heaven on Earth. 

He’s not sure if you’re asking the question ironically, using it to point out that he’s been staring at you like an absolute pervert. He doesn’t give you the chance to laugh, to tease and tell him to look away. Pounces on the opportunity like a cat. 

“Sí,” he sits up from the bed, shucks on a pair of pants even though you’re standing naked in front of him. Jake holds himself back from saying anything more, for fear of you realising how truly desperate he is to do it for you. Lotion up your body and make you glow. A cherished routine of yours that he loves to watch in the mornings, his head still hazy with sleep.

You’re still smiling at him, eyes warm as he comes up to you. You reach up and brush the curls away from his forehead, grinning when they bounce back stubbornly. Your happiness is Jake’s, and he manages an upward motion of his mouth, not really sure if it can constitute being in the same category as your rainbow-like, room-brightening displays of happiness, affection, contentedness. 

Regardless, when you nod, give him the go ahead again, he takes some lotion into his hands, bends down, and pats it all over your calves and thighs. Blotches of white, rough rocky terrain disrupting the smooth surface of your legs. 

He’s watched you enough times to know that your legs are always the driest, always require the most care and attention, and when the first layer has absorbed, he reaches up again for your jar of cream and repeats his actions. This time, he litters your legs with little kisses, to the inside of your ankle, your knee, the tops of your thighs where he knows the muscles get sore and start bugging your calves. 

His fingers continue tracing their path upwards, to the stretch marks around your stomach, the tops of your breasts. He does as he always does when you’re in his arms after he’s made you see stars twice over. He follows the jagged edges of the scars and kisses their path with his fingers and his mouth. Tries to convince you that it’s alright that not everything is smooth, soft, markless terrain, that he doesn’t fucking care about that. Neither does Marc or Steven. 

Then, with his hands on your hips, he pulls you a little towards him, starts working on your back, takes the opportunity to massage the muscles he knows will be hardened over into rocks by the end of your workday, the muscles he’s going to have to loosen up again so you can sleep easy and without a headache. While there, he starts working on your neck, eyes focused on his work, fingers digging into the sore spots and making you sigh in relief. As always, he finishes the deal with a kiss, this time to that soft spot underneath your jaw that makes your legs turn into mush. 

Finally, he mirrors his actions on both sides of your body. Runs the lotion down your arms, giving special care to your elbows. He stops at your hands, and with caution in his actions, takes yours in his, intertwines your fingers with his slippery ones, spreads the lotion into the skin of your fingers that rub together. 

His eyes fall on yours now, and does the exact opposite his body was screaming for him to do. He pulls away, when he wants his forehead pressed against yours, when he wants to keep the calm of the early morning before you have to head off to work, immortalise it like a fossil. 

There are tears in your eyes. Tears he fears he put there, from gripping you too harsh, from being too rough. There was a reason why you usually let Steven do this and let Jake watch. 

He murmurs your name, apologies on the tip of his tongue when you shake your head, clench your eyes tightly, so only a drop escapes, one that Jake catches before it falls, wipes it away on his pants. Your eyes open and you smile at him again, watery, but true. And though he’s confused and still half-ready to bolt and hand the reins back to Steven, he stays put, watches your actions below him in awe. 

You reach over to the jar of lotion, still open on your vanity table and grab a heaping fingerful of it, rub it between your hands and dab it all over his chest. “Is this alright, Jake?” you whisper, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He can barely nod his agreement. His heart longs to feel your fingers across his chest, a kind of intimacy he hardly ever allows himself to share with you without the disguise of the sex before it. 

His eyes fall shut, he understands why you were about to cry before. At least, he thinks he does. Jake never had the mind-reading abilities of Steven, the soul-touching gaze of Marc. Sometimes he didn’t even have the body. All he was reduced to was a fleck on the wall, a nuisance that needed to be painted over soon. 

So it felt good, felt great, when you walked up to the wall, saw the fleck that was Jake Lockley. Your eyes glowing and fingers itching. You wouldn’t paint over him, instead, paint a mural in his honour, centred around the fleck that was a nuisance, made when someone misunderstood the limits of physics and moved something too quickly, in too little space and bumped into the wall. 

Once you’re done, and he feels he’s encased in the same little vanilla love cloud as you, you lean up and press your forehead against his. You feel soft underneath his hands, your skin bare and blemished for him to take in. 

He hopes he feels just as good underneath your palms, that he’s bringing you even an ounce of the same pleasure you bring to him. It’s the least he can do and he wishes it could be more. But he’ll take an ounce, he’s happy with an ounce. 

“I love you, Lockley,” your voice is thick with unshed emotion he can read and makes his chest warm with. “Love the way you touch me.” 

“And how’s that, mi alma?” He opens his eyes, lets his hands drift from your back to your waist, pulls you into him, brushes the tip of his nose against yours and returns his forehead back to where it was. He watches you intently. 

“I-I…” your fingers dig into his shoulders as you fumble for an answer. “I feel special.” 

“That’s ‘cause ya are, ya fucking are special.” 

That makes you laugh, makes Jake’s heart stutter. He loves you too, he knows that to be true, if anything at all. He knows that he adores you too, maybe he adores you just as much as he loves you. “And…and like I mean, I feel safe with you.” 

He can’t control the whine that comes out the back of his throat, can’t convey to you how much that means to him. He knows that those words are ones he’s going to tell you to repeat back to him so often that he’ll get embarrassed and stop, and instead resort to replaying this memory over and over again in his head. 

But, he’s not there yet, so he can be selfish, “Say that again. Please.” 

“I feel safe with you, Jake, you touch me like I’m safe with you.” Your hands are roaming his body, sneaking up into his hair, down and around his neck until you pull away from his forehead and hide your face in his chest. 

“That’s 'cause…” his voice is low, much less teasing and heavier with feelings he’s not sure how to convey besides through swearing. “You’re fucking safe with me, mi alma, I know that if I fucking know anything at all.” 

“We should do this more often,” you’re smiling. “Maybe on the weekend, where we have all the time in the world.” You’re pressing kissing across his collarbone and they feel like butterflies. 

“Sure.” 

“You’d like that?” 

Jake brings your face to his, your chin grasped between his fingers and his thumb. He lets his eyes roam your face, drift down once to your body, soft and smelling of vanilla. Closes his eyes and kisses you. Hopes you can read through his actions and realise that this is all he ever wants to do. 

If you let him. 

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought of it, it means the world to me! Masterlist here.

Everything tags: @whats-belay

Taglists are open!

#jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley fluff #jake lockley angst #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley fanfic #jake lockley fic #jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley imagine #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight fic #oscar isaac

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Hung the Moon (Epilogue)

Chapter 9 | Masterlist

Pairings: Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Summary: A day in your life nearly a year after you said goodbye to the boys in New York.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content: smut, breeding kink, light bondage, oral sex (m + f receiving), deep throating, unprotected p in v sex

Word count: 4K

A/N: I can’t believe I’m at the end of this story! I want to say thank you to everyone who has followed along and commented, reblogged and liked these chapters. Each and every one of your comments brightens my day and helped me to continue to write this series. And if you’re finding this in the future, welcome! I’d love to hear what you think! 

On a personal note, I have been writing for many, many years, but I typically have a lot of trouble finishing a story. This has been quite a journey for me, and I’m proud to have gotten to the end with this one!

Translations are inline and contained with in < >.

~~~

~ About 11 months later ~

You’re lying in bed on a cozy Friday morning. Light from the window at your feet shines through a gap in the curtains. If you lifted your head you’d be able to see the trees in the park across the street. But you don’t have to get up just yet. You stretch out your arms and then curl back under the covers.

You have a long day of studying ahead of you. You’d managed to get a late acceptance to a decent university, and the first two weeks have kicked your ass. Not only was the workload more than you imagined, but there was so much you didn’t understand and had to get caught up on.

Next to you, Steven moans softly and rolls over, tumbling into you. He wraps an arm around you and presses his chest to your back. The steady rise and fall of his breathing tells you he’s not yet fully awake. You shift a bit, moving into his warmth, your body now flush against him. In the process, your ass brushes his morning wood, which settles right between your cheeks.

His hold on you tightens and he moans again, but this one is less a sleepy protest and more an awakened desire. You push back and grind into him, and he responds by rolling his hips and slipping his hand up your shirt to play with your nipple.

“You sure you want to start something so early, love?” he asks of you and nips your earlobe.

“Mmm. Absolutely.”

You pull down your sleeping pants, kicking them off down into the blankets, as Steven pulls his down enough to free his aching cock.

He lifts your leg and wedges his thigh in between. He slides his fingers over you to check if you’re ready for him and you definitely are. “Fuck, babe, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were ovulating.”

Almost as soon as you’d moved in together nearly two months ago, a flip had switched and Steven had become really domestic. He not-so-subtly wanted to start a family. He’d agreed that for the time being you should focus on school and figure out your future before bringing kids into it, but that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about knocking you up.

You wouldn’t have guessed that you’d like it, but when he said shit like that to you, especially with that needy edge in his voice, you wanted to give him whatever he wanted.

He works his way into you slowly, shifting his hips to get the angle just right. His hand hooked under your thigh keeping you open for him, his hot breath settling sticky on your neck, his kisses like praise as he sinks into you.

His thrusts are short — he likes to stay buried in you, the head of his cock relentless on that spot deep inside — but his pace is brutal. He clutches tightly to you as he humps your brains out.

In between soft grunts, he whispers, “Want to fuck a baby in you…take my come so deep…make you a mum…”

You reach your hand back to grip his ass and feel those muscles working to fuck his thick cock into you. You try to pull him in deeper and you feel the tip kiss your cervix. If you were really trying to get pregnant this would be the perfect position.

Steven slides his hand down to rub your clit and the extra sensation has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love. Want to feel you come.”

Your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm rushes through you. His rhythm falters and his hips snap, driving him deep into your core as he paints your walls.

Still catching his breath, he says, “Well that’s a brilliant way to start the day, innit?” 

You don’t want to move but unfortunately you can’t stay there all day. You release the generous muscle of his ass and snake your hand to the back of his head, turning to plant a kiss on his parted lips. You gasp as his cock slips out of you, and he swallows it down with a kiss of his own.

After you clean up you both start in on your morning routine, already a smooth choreography of sharing a bathroom and closet.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asks from the sink as you pull a shirt off a hanger. 

You groan thinking about it. “Studying.” You say it like it’s a bad word.

He emerges from the bathroom. “None of that negative self talk today, alright? Learning is supposed to be fun, not stressful.” He kisses your cheek. “Do you want upstairs or downstairs today?”

There’s a rule at your house: you and Steven have to study in separate rooms. Because once he puts those glasses on, you suddenly find yourself climbing into his lap and steaming them up.

“I’ll take upstairs.”

“Alright. I’ll just be doing some light reading.” He grabs a huge stack of books and heads downstairs. “Give me a shout if I can fetch you some tea or snacks.”

—

You had been back in London for about two months. Initially, you, your sister, and the boys lived in their flat together, but it had gotten cramped fast, and a month ago you and the boys had moved into a townhouse a little removed from the center of London, leaving the flat to Cassie. Steven could no longer hop the bus to school, but as Jake didn’t mind driving you and Steven, it all worked out.

You’d been surprised when Cassie had decided to come with you to London. After a rough start in Spain — she’d let her displeasure at having to move be known loudly and often — she had really taken to the change. She’d loved the nightlife, especially all of the attractive people her own age. Plus, the substantial amount of cash the boys had given you helped win her over. Despite never picking up the language, she seemed to really thrive there, and when the boys had called to say it was done, they were finally free, you had worried that you’d have to leave her. Because, by some miracle, you two had actually bonded in a way you’d never managed before. It had started, you were pretty sure, when you were finally honest with her. Suddenly her life made a lot more sense to her, and you were no longer the person who ruined her life. She could finally see you as the person who wanted the best for her.

And she had been there for you, for your time in Spain had been markedly different than hers. Other than one visit 100 days — yes you counted — after leaving them in New York, you didn’t get to see your boyfriends until they were moving you to London. They called you as much as they could, at times you spoke every day, but sometimes, without warning, they’d go silent for a week or more. It was terrifying each time, and the feeling of complete helplessness was torture, not knowing if they were still alive.

They also hadn’t been very forthcoming in what they were doing. You didn’t think they kept you in the dark on purpose, rather they clearly didn’t like to talk about it. You still didn’t know the details, only that they were now free of Khonshu and that Foswell’s organization was gone and there was no one left to come after you or your sister. You weren’t sure if they would ever tell you, and you were mostly okay with that as you didn’t exactly want to know, but you just wanted to know how they were dealing with it.

You got the feeling they mostly wanted to leave it behind them. From the moment you’d reunited, their arms around you once again, they’d been all in on starting a life with you. The townhouse had been the first step, a new beginning for all of you. Gus 1 and Gus 2 — whom Steven contends are actually Gus 2 and Gus 3 — came with you, of course, and Jake adopted a stray cat that wandered around the neighborhood and he was currently in the process of turning him into a house cat. He named the cat Gustavo, which caused Cassie to opine — in front of the boys — that she wished they all had the same name like their pets. It was (mostly) a joke as she had learned all of their names, and had even chosen a favorite alter: Steven, though she claimed she couldn’t understand a word he said — whether that was due to the accent or his tendency to ramble about ancient Egypt, you weren’t sure. In any case, your sister liked to drop by, always unannounced, and the boys enjoyed/tolerated her visits on a sliding scale.

Despite Cassie’s repeated offers to re-decorate the house for you, you loved the townhouse — it felt like home to you in a way that no other place had, safe and full of love. It wasn’t large, but it was roomy enough. You’d converted one of the upstairs bedrooms into a study. Books lined the shelves on either side of the cozy fireplace, in front of which was a low-backed couch. Behind that, pushed up against the window was Steven’s desk.

All morning you’d been studying at that desk, failing miserably at taking Steven’s advice. He’d come to check on you about every hour bringing you a treat or topping off your water bottle, the plates piled up in the corner of the desk evidence of that.

Sometime after lunch you hear the footsteps, the ever-so-slightly heavier footfall and even pacing. Just by that you can tell Steven is done reading for the day and Marc is seeking you out. He finds you with your nose in a book. He doesn’t disturb you, instead taking a seat in the armchair in the corner. He picks up his guitar on the stand next to it and strums for a bit, alternating between chords and plucking a melody.

It’s mildly distracting, but only because you’re so tempted to turn and watch him. He’s so ridiculously beautiful when he’s playing guitar. But on the other hand, the sound is soothing and you feel your shoulders relax a bit and a little calm settling over you, melting the stress away.

You get to the end of your reading, noticing that the notes you took are practically just an entire copy of the text, and you snap the book closed. As soon as you do, the music abruptly cuts off and you hear the hollow thunk of the guitar being returned to its stand.

Marc comes up behind you and leans down to kiss your neck. “How’s the studying going, baby?”

You’re still kind of amazed by you how far you’ve come with Marc. When the boys visited you in Spain, Marc had only fronted on the last day. You’d been having such a wonderful time with Jake and Steven, and had given up on getting to see Marc. But he appeared while you were preparing some dinner in the kitchen. From the doorway he asked if you wanted some help. You worked together mostly silently, but the air between you was buzzing. You had a pleasant dinner afterward, and he seemed to open up to you. That night you went to bed together, finally giving in to your feelings for each other. You’d never forget the drag of his lips over your skin or the sweet way he’d moaned your name.

“Oh, despite the fact that I’m not smart enough for this, it’s going great!”

He chuckles against your skin. “I know you’re just letting off steam, but Steven wants you to quit talking like that.”

You press your cheek to his and sigh. “I just feel so behind already. I have no idea how I’m going to catch up.”

“It’s bound to be hard at first, but you’ll get the hang of it. Do you like what you’re studying?”

You don’t answer right away. “I guess so? I really fucking hope so, but it’s just so hard and stressful I can’t really tell.”

In his sexy voice he says, “I think you just need to take your mind off it for a bit.”

His lips are on yours and as soon as his tongue touches yours all thoughts of school disappear. You sigh into his mouth, then remember your appointment this afternoon.

“Wait, what time is it?”

“We’ve got time,” he assures you.

You stand from your chair and wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. You never get to touch him for very long so you have to take advantage of it when he lets you.

Sure enough, after he pulls your shirt and bra off, he says, “Wrists.”

You hold your wrists together and out toward him. He pulls a silk tie from his pocket and ties them together. “What’s the safe word?” he quizzes you.

You tell him and he nods, satisfied. 

More often than not sex with Marc includes bondage. He has to be in control and doesn’t like to be touched. It was only last week that you got to reverse roles — something you were surprised by when he asked you for it. You had the feeling that he was craving punishment, but instead you had tied him up and treated him right, gently exploring his body. Though you were intimately aware of him physically thanks to your exploits with Steven and Jake, you hadn’t yet gotten to know what Marc liked. You’d taken your time with him, and taken his cock down your throat — a skill you’d been working on with Jake. The way he reacted to you, though, had you feeling he might’ve preferred the punishment to your kindness.

He strips off the rest of your clothes and you stand in front of him completely naked whereas he is still fully clothed. He has a wicked smile on his face as he guides you over to the couch. Your legs are already shaking as he bends you over, your ass up in the air.

When you and Marc had gone furniture shopping, you had found it weird that Marc would always check out the back of the couch instead of the front. With your hand in his, he’d pull you behind the couch with him. As soon as he’d come across this one, he immediately wanted to buy it. It wasn’t until the first time he’d bent you over it that you realized he had been searching for one that was the perfect height.

You’re not sure what he has planned but your lips are already swollen and slick, ready for anything. You crane your neck to try and see what he’s up to. You watch him disappear as he gets on his knees behind you. He caresses your legs with both hands then adjusts your stance, spreading your legs wider.

You whimper as you feel his breath on the upper most part of your thigh. His face presses into you and his tongue slides over your sensitive nub. You grip the cushion of the couch, wishing so bad you could reach back and tug on his hair. All you can do is squirm, and you can’t even do much of that with the way he holds your hips steady.

You hear the clock downstairs chime twice. It’s two o’clock and you both have to leave around three. One would think that was enough time, but Marc can easily edge you for an hour. 

And that’s just what he does. No matter how you try to hide it from him, he always knows when you’re close. He brings you right up to the edge and backs away. Over and over. You try to lift your leg and slide it over his hip, just for some contact. But he catches your ankle and holds you in place.

You’re not sure how many times you say the word ‘please’ or moan his name.

The clock chimes three times. “Shit, Marc. We have to go.”

He doesn’t respond. Only tosses your thighs over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt, finally allowing you the release you’ve been denied.

You go limp, your head blurry with bliss, nearly drifting off to sleep. Until you feel the head of his cock at your soaked and oversensitive entrance. He pushes in gently and even though the sensation is overwhelming, it feels amazing to finally be filled. His pace is quick, and he’s muttering to himself about how good you feel. He’s quick to his orgasm, and he only touches your swollen clit when he’s moments from cumming. You clench around him and have another, albeit weaker, orgasm.

He pulls out slowly. Your thighs are soaked and you feel his cum leak out of you too. He reaches over you to untie your wrists, giving them each a kiss when they’re free. “Let me get a washcloth. Be right back.”

You both clean up quickly, Marc washing his face of your juices and his sweat. You tie up your hair and notice an indentation line across your face from pressing it into the couch. You show him and he chuckles before flashing you a guilty look. “This better be gone before we arrive,” you say playfully.

—

You and Marc started therapy six weeks ago. You have different therapists, but you booked your sessions for the same time and within the same practice so that you could go together. You could tell it was already helping even if it was only in the most minor of ways.

After your sessions, you walk around the city with Marc, both of you in quiet contemplation. Eventually, you come out of your heads and you talk and laugh and get ice cream on this unseasonably warm day.

When you get home, you cook dinner together. Marc is admittedly a better cook than you and could probably prepare the meal much faster on his own, but you can’t resist being in the kitchen with him. He never walks by you without touching a part of you. A hand on the small of your back, a pinch to your waist, a pat on your ass. 

It’s after you and Marc clear your plates that Jake shows up. You’re washing up at the sink and he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “No puedo esperar a mañana, cariño,” he murmurs in your ear. <Can’t wait for tomorrow, sweetheart.>

You have special plans to spend the whole day together, just the two of you. In the evening, you have dinner reservations and you’ll be revealing a new dress you bought just for the occasion. Later, you’ll reveal a little something else you bought underneath.

Jake pops on a movie in the living room and you cuddle up next to him on the couch. It’s a new release that you’ve both been interested in watching. But no matter how good it is, you always get distracted by the man next to you. His arm around you, his thumb tracing arcs where his hand rests on your back. His broad chest beneath your head. The smell of him so rich and sweet.

You start with your hand on his knee, gently squeezing to activate that sensitive part of his inner knee. You’re not sure when he catches on to what you’re doing — knowing him it was right about the moment you thought to do it. But as you caress your hand up his inner thigh he spreads his legs a little wider giving you more access to him. 

He’s wearing sweatpants without underwear — a Marc specialty that Jake has really embraced. So when you touch him, cupping his balls and gripping his cock, there’s only one layer of fabric in between and you can really feel him.

With his arm still wrapped around you, fingertips gripping your jaw, he tilts your head up to him. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyelids heavy with desire. Then he captures your lips in an all-consuming kiss, his tongue sliding over yours. You continue to stroke his cock, feeling it harden beneath your grip as you make out.

You pull away and tug down his pants until his cock springs free. Mouth watering, you get on your knees in front of him and take the head into your mouth, letting your spit drip down his shaft. You stretch your lips wide to fit around his girth as you take more of him. When the tip hits the back of your throat, he inhales sharply then groans as you focus on relaxing, taking a breath before pushing deeper.

“¡Joder!” <Fuck!> Jake continues to curse as you bob your head, taking him deeper until your nose touches his pelvis.

You only manage to take him all the way down a few times before he pulls you off him, stopping himself from cumming. Unexpectedly, he stands up and says, “I’ll be right back.”

“Jake!” You call to his back as he heads up the stairs.

“Be right back!”

You sit back on your heels and rest your arm on the seat of the couch, wondering two things: what the fuck he’s doing, and what the fuck is happening in this movie. 

He returns, one hand behind his back. “Just had to get…this.” He reveals your vibrator with a flourish, purring from the back of his throat as he does so. You roll your eyes. It turns out that out of the three of them, Jake is the goofiest.

He tugs his shirt off in a flash and shucks off his pants. You look up at him from your place on the floor, casting an appreciative eye over his naked form. When you reach his face there’s a cocky smirk waiting for you. “I didn’t go get this for me. Want to take off your clothes now?”

You strip off your shirt and whip it at him for being a smartass, earning you a wide grin. You make quick work of undressing, but when he wraps his fist around his cock you nearly trip trying to step out of your pants. 

He’s on you the moment you straighten up, pressed against you, his erection sandwiched in between your bodies, lips on your neck, hand gripping your hair then trailing down your back and finally grabbing a handful of your ass so he can pull you down on the couch on top of him.

You ride him slow at first and he’s content to lay back and enjoy the show. But as soon as he turns on your vibrator and places it on your clit — positioning it so he gets a little vibe, too — he’s thrusting up into you and neither of you lasts much longer. He manages to catch the look of you as the pleasure crashes over you, then he follows with a series of grunts, dropping the vibrator, still buzzing, on his stomach to grip your hips with both hands.

His eyes are still closed as he says, words ever-so-slightly slurred, “With how often we cum inside you, you’re bound to get pregnant even with birth control.”

Your laughter is soft at first, but as the ridiculousness of his pussy-drunk brain hits you, you laugh harder. He joins in, both of you laughing at him and perhaps simply at the euphoria of the moment.

A yawn takes over as your laughter subsides and you begin to speak through the end of it. “Can we go to bed? I’m fucking tired.”

You’re not so tired that you can’t walk up the stairs on your own but Jake insists on carrying you.

In bed, he holds you tightly against his chest. There’s a glow from the bedside clock and you both watch it tick over to midnight. “Happy anniversary, mi amor.”

~~~

A/N: I hope you liked the ending. While I have no plans to continue this series, I have thought of some possible bonus chapters. I’m not sure whether I’ll write those or not, but please let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst @bullet-prooflove @trashboat-the-raccoon @daisies-yellow @kingtwhiddleston @stevenknightmarc @lilredbird101

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley smut #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #jake lockley angst #marc spector angst #jake lockley fluff #marc spector fluff #steven grant fluff #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley x you #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fanfic #marc spector x you

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

-

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

-

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

-

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#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #khonshu #steven grant x female reader #steven grant fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction #moonknight fic #moonknight #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #jake lockely x you #jake lockely imagine #jake lockely x reader

[pimosworld]

Bad days

Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.

Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.

WK-2.4k

A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.

Not beta read

[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner. 

It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement. 

Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.

  For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items  in the gift shop. 

  He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you. 

  Ask her now

  It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known. 

  He’s right, ask her

  It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop. 

  “I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?” 

  You said yes before he could even get the words out. 

  That was a few months ago. 

  ****

  Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened. 

  I told you to just give her a key hermano 

  Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you. 

  You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that. 

  He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs. 

  Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder. 

  ****

  “I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys. 

  “It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys. 

  “Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping. 

  “Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.” 

  Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first. 

  He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other. 

  “There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms. 

  “Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.” 

  He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

  I would do what she says if I were you. 

  He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.

  ****

  Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions. 

  You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him. 

  His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong. 

  Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him. 

  The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs. 

  “What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside. 

  “I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer. 

  “Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.

  Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.

  “Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.

  Say yes Steven

Say yes Steven

  It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would. 

  “Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying. 

  It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires. 

  You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times. 

  He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him. 

  The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind. 

  The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted. 

  He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop. 

  Fuck

  Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine. 

  You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The  dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head

  “What?” He rasps out above you. 

  You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow. 

  “I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud. 

  Idiota

  “Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—

  His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little. 

  “Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping. 

  Listen to me and don’t say anything 

  Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements. 

  You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it. 

  You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer. 

  “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least. 

  You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. 

  It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions. 

  The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain. 

  You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually. 

  “I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.” 

  Cállate y déjale

  “It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest. 

  You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face. 

  The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon. 

  “That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin. 

  “I’m glad I could help.” 

  The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax. 

  “Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on. 

  He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment. 

  “You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life. 

  “I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.” 

  I love her 

Ella es perfecta

  You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch. 

  “I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it. 

  He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying  to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food. 

  His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands. 

  “Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye. 

  Smooth

  “Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”

  “Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.” 

  You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it. 

  “Eat up, before it gets cold.” 

  Before I take the body and eat my own

No me parece 

  He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you. 

  ****

  Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work. 

  Steven: where are you love?

      On the bus I just left work, how was your day?

  Steven: It was quite dreadful 

           I’ll be home soon to make it better 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents

#moon knight fanfiction #steven grant fem reader #steven grant x female reader #moon knight mcu #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant smut #marc spector x f!reader #jake lockley x reader #moon boys x reader #steven grant fluff #sub steven grant #marvel moon knight #steven grant x f!reader #jake lockley fluff #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x you #oscar issac characters #oscar isaac

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Free Ride [2]

Jake Lockley x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Part 1 Here • Free Ride Masterlist •

Summary: You recognised Steven and Jake had no choice but to play along, and give in to some impulses of his own.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: I have not checked this over very well at all, I am so sorry.

Warnings: Jake being mistaken for Steven, dubious consent because reader thinks he's Steven, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk, lube, mentions of a vibrator, Jake has a big dick, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2841

Jake pushes you back into your flat, his lips on yours, licking into your mouth hungrily. 

You stumble a little, but his strong hands keep you stable, pull you closer against him. He trails down to your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly at your skin before sucking hard on your pulse point. 

A shiver runs up your spine, crawls at your throat. You gasp and clutch into him. “Steven, I-”

Jake growls softly, moving quickly and kissing you mercilessly. He nips lightly at your lip, not enough to cause damage but the sudden sensation makes you jump slightly and he smiles. 

You pull back, just enough to see the expression. In that moment it’s so unlike Steven, not his usual beaming grin. His eyes don’t crinkle the same way, his-

Before another thought can form his lips are on yours again as he walks you backwards towards your bedroom, tugging your pyjama top over your head. He pauses once, barely moving his mouth from yours to sweetly ask your permission before continuing. Waiting with soft eyes for your clear confirmation and then kissing you breathless once more. 

His fingers dig into your skin, squeezing every part he can reach. 

As the back of your legs hit the edge of your bed he dips his head down, rolling the flat of his tongue against your left nipple. You bite your lip, trying to keep some semblance of control over yourself but can’t stop the small moan that escapes and fills the air.

Jake groans, latching onto your breast and sucking. Your fingers tangle in his hair, breathing rapidly as he flicks his tongue over the quickly hardening nub. 

You arch into him, your hips bucking of their own accord as he pushes his knee between your legs as he moves to your other breast. 

You whine, letting his warm hands roam your body and press firmly into your back, keeping you balanced as you lean into him. 

He slides his left hand up, cradling the back of your head and then carefully urges you onto your back onto the mattress. 

Should you stop him? You bite your lip. This was going head spinnngly fast. Sure you’d had a not so secret crush on him for ages, but-

He leans over you, pressing his body flush to yours and kisses you senseless, his tongue slipping into your mouth and drinking down every sound that slips past your lips. 

The hard outline of his cock presses into your core through the stiff material of his jeans and any doubt just blinks out of your mind as the spark of pleasure runs up your spine. 

He growls, low and soft in his throat as you move against him, pressing yourself more fully against the bulge in his trousers. 

“Steven,” you moan.

He pulls back instantly, his lips pink and kiss swollen. For a second you think you’ve done something wrong, made the wrong move, but he stands back up quickly. Hooks his fingers under your waist band and drags it down, leaving you completely bare.  You yelp a little at the speed of his movements, the dark look in his eyes makes your stomach drop and fill with anticipation. 

Jake grabs your hips, his warm fingers digging in, just boarding on the possibility of being too hard, and flips you over with a surprising sudden show of strength. 

You let out a small cry of surprise, barely having a moment to react as Jake raises you up by your hips so that you’re on your knees, face down, ass up. 

Heat burns into your skin as he pushes your thighs apart, his thumbs on either side of your entrance and spreading your lips wide. 

The sound of his groan of appreciation alleviates any self consciousness you could feel. Jake palms his cock roughly, squeezing the thick outline with one hand to get a hold of himself before he dives in. 

He swipes his tongue through your folds, groaning again in appreciation as he laps at you. 

The moan that leaves you is sinful. It would make another wave of embarrassment roll through your stomach if you weren’t already too far gone to care. You press your face into the covers, screwing them up in your fists as Jake licks annoyingly slowly, flicking his tongue against your clit before pulling up and just dipping into your entrance. Teasing with the very tip before starting the whole process all over again.

You squirm under his actions, simultaneously trying to escape and push closer to the pleasure of his mouth. He grabs hold of your hip with one firm hand, pulling you firmly against him. 

“Hush bebé,” he mutters against you, barely moving far enough for his words to be heard. “Let me take care of you.” 

You moan again and bury your head into your mattress, drooling on the duvet. 

Pleasure boils along your skin, spiking down from your lower stomach with every warm swipe of his tongue. He groans at the taste of you, the small buzz of sound reverberating through you and vibrating against your already swollen clit. 

A choked, “please,” escapes your lips and Jake chuckles. 

“Begging already?” 

You moan and nod. Your eyes screwed up tight, your hips rocking back and forth in time with him. 

It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and even longer since that you’d been with someone who seemed so eager to devour every part of you. 

Jake pulls back for a second, biting lightly at the back of your upper thigh, before he sinks two thick fingers into your heat. 

You gasp, whining at the sudden but welcome intrusion. Your legs shake at the stretch, your mind going blank for a second. 

“Fuuuccck.” Jake hisses under his breath, mesmerised as he presses in to the second knuckle before pulling back again, marvelling at your slick in the light. “So tight bebé, hmm?” He groans as he pushes back in, revelling in how your walls clench around him, seem to suck him deeper despite the stretch. “Don’t think I’ll fit in here…” he gasps as he slowly eases out and back in, the ache in his cock maddening. “So tight… When’s the last time you got fucked by anything other than your fingers?” 

A choked sob leaves your lips, your orgasm burning along every nerve ready to explode at any second. “Please,” you moan, “I’m, you’re gonna make me…”

Jake hisses in another breath, unable to resist the urge to push his fingers as deep as they can go and stroke your walls languidly, searching for the spot to make you see stars. His thumb presses against your clit, barely moving except for a steady alternating of pressure. 

You cry out, your back arching, the pleasure so close you can taste it. 

“That’s it,” Jake mutters, “oh, there?” He presses deeply, his strokes sure and firm and oh so slow. “That’s where it’s good?” He whispers, his breath skittering across your skin.

“Please!”

He bites back a groan, his eyebrows pinched together as you squeeze his fingers. “Gonna come? Gonna come just from me tasting you and touching you? And-”

You cry out as your orgasm crests and pulls you down under the wave, washing over every nerve, curling your toes and leaving you boneless. 

Jake moans with you, leaning closer as he continues the torturous pace of his fingers and squeezes his cock through his jeans with his other hand, just about managing not to cum in his boxers. 

You shudder, shiver as you come down and back to yourself. Jake slowly eases his fingers out of you, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth now that it’s over, not that-

Suddenly you turn, smiling at him and raising up onto your knees to wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss him softly, sweetly, pressing your chest up against him. 

He stiffens for a moment, the action unexpected before he returns the kiss. 

He swallows as you pull back for a second, “we don’t have to d-” tumbles out of his mouth at the exact same moment as you say, “do you want to…?” You pause, giving him a slightly bashful smile. For some reason the fact that you’re naked while he’s fully clothed makes a little thread of anxiety tighten in your chest. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say in a bit of a rush, “if you want, I could just-”

He silences you with an urgent kiss, already, tugging at the helm of his shirt. “Please, let me fuck you.” 

You shiver at his desperate growl, nodding rapidly as you unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. 

Jake pulls his shirt over his head as you push his trousers down his thighs. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. 

“What?” 

You bite your lip and shake your head as you laugh. “You weren’t joking.”

He raises an eyebrow in question. 

“I don’t know if you’ll fit.” 

Jake laughs and presses his lips to yours, “only one way to find out.”

You giggle as he litters your neck and chest with kisses, slowly easing you back down onto the bed before he stands again. 

You lean up on your elbows and he tuts, swatting playfully at your arms as he kicks off his jeans and boxers completely. He grabs two pillows, tucking one carefully under your head and the other under your hips. You raise up as best you can to help. 

As he bends down to grab his jeans from the floor you can’t help but admire how he moves, the soft skin of his back and the ripple of muscle underneath. 

He pulls his wallet from his jeans.

“You got lube?” The offhandedness of the question catches you off guard for a second and you flounder before you can answer.

“Erm, yeah, in the drawer.” 

He nods, taking something from his wallet before tossing it back to the floor. He puts the edge of the wrapper between his teeth and pulls with his right hand as he walks around and opens your bedside drawer. 

Which is the exact second your brain decides to remind you what else is in the drawer along with the lube. 

“Wait-”

Too late. He’s already opened it and obviously seen it. 

Jake smiles as he looks up at you, practically a smirk and takes the wrapper out of his mouth. He holds up your vibrator. “Worried about me seeing this?” 

You cover your face with your hands and laugh as you nod. 

He grins. “Don’t worry, it’s size isn’t intimidating.” He looks it over for a second, “no wonder.” 

“No wonder?” 

“It’s barely thicker than one of my fingers, let alone two.” 

You grab the pillow from under your head and pretend to throw it at him. 

He laughs loudly, beaming at you as he places it back in your drawer. “Besides, I knew you had one anyway.”

You frown.

“The sound.”

“Huh?”

He points upwards. “Walls are pretty thin. Or ceilings, I guess.”

Embarrassment rushes along your bones, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he takes out the half full bottle of lube. For a second he scans the label before he walks back in front of you and kneels between your legs, hooking the back of your left knee over his shoulder. 

“What are you-”

“Getting you ready.” He mutters as he gazes at your pussy. There’s a crinkle of foil as he puts the wrapper next to him and then a pop as he opens the lube bottle. 

Jake warms the lube on his fingers for a second before he pushes three inside and flicks his tongue over your clit. 

You suck in a breath, arching up towards him and screwing up your eyes as he continues his tortuous pace from before. 

It’s a maddening tease. Slow and steady as he works you open and presses against your sweet spot before backing off again. Hitching you higher and higher.

He hums as you shake and buck against his touch, groans as you run your fingers through his hair. 

“Please,” you moan. 

“Hmm?” Jake barely moves away from you, too preoccupied in the feel of your skin against his. 

“Please,” you swallow, your words spilling out in a lust filled haze, “please fuck me, please, Steven, I-”

He moves away from you quickly, and you whine, already lamenting the loss and trying to chase his fingers. 

Jake grabs the condom wrapper and tears it open as he stands, hisses as he rolls it over his aching cock. A dark twist of emotion knots itself in his stomach, twists around his intestines and lungs, but he forces it down, down as he pushes your right thigh wide, the action boarding on painful, before quickly lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in. 

You almost don’t recognise the sound that leaves your lips as your own, the gasp from deep in your chest as his hips snap against yours filling you completely. You can’t remember a time when you’ve felt so full before, when you’ve been so stretched and spread. 

The sensation almost borders on pain, the thick weight of his cock straining you to your limit. But the thick tip of him brushes so wonderfully inside, his pubic bone rubs against your clit and all you can do is drown in the pleasure as he eases his hip back and forth a few times in long, languid strokes before he starts to fuck you in earnest. 

He pounds into you, rocking you back onto the bed with every thrust and banging your headboard against the wall with enough force to chip the paint. 

You whine low in your throat, barely able to get enough oxygen into your lungs as he pushes you higher and higher, forcing pleasure into your veins as though he was made to please you. 

You grab hold of his arms, his neck, anything you can get a hold of and pull his mouth to yours, sliding your tongue past his lips and moaning as he rolls his hips, forcing all his energy on hitting that perfect spot just right.

Your high pitched gasps leave you with every thrust, your thighs tense and shake as you strive to meet him. That deep ball of pleasure tightening and tightening. 

He groans low, kissing you for all his worth to stop the words that want to spill out from his tongue. 

Jake knows he’s not going to last, not with the way you’re whining and begging and kissing him so desperately. Not with the way you squeeze him and urge him deeper, practically beseeching him to take and take and take and-

You pull your mouth back from his, your hands on his shoulder and in his hair. “S-” you stop yourself from saying his name, from causing that little flutter of a frown to cross his face, “sweetheart, please,” the moan that leaves you is practically pornagraphic as Jake’s hips stunner, his mouth opening in a little blushed gasp as you call him ‘sweetheart’. 

“Fuck,” he groans low unable to stop the pleasure from barreling through his every cell, from lighting up every nerve. He fucks you through it, trying and failing to keep his eyes open to watch you. But he feels you tense, hears you moan as you come undone beneath him. 

You come harder than you can ever remember, stars exploding behind your eyes as pleasure erases every thought for a blissfully moment. 

He leans against you, burying his face into your neck and holding some of his weight off you with his arm. 

You breathe heavily for a moment, both of your chests rising and falling in time with each other as you stroke his damp hair. Sweat cooling on both of your skin. 

For a moment, you think he might have nodded off. His muscles go slack for a second, but he shudders and tenses again.

You smile and kiss his temple. 

“Wait… what?” His voice is barely a whisper and… now that you hear it… very… Steven like. Which made no sense at all, because, well, it was always Steven, wasn’t it? Maybe you’d been too caught up and misheard, maybe when he was horny he put on a bit of a voice. You’d heard about that, when-

Steven tenses as sensations flow back into his body.

He sits up, or at least tries to, panic gripping his heart. What the fucking fuck fuck fuck has he slept walked into now?

Your arms around him stop him from bolting upright, but he still moves his head a handwidth away. 

“Hey, you alright?” You say soothingly, his actions reminding you of someone jumping awake, “did you fall asleep for a second?” 

Steven looks down at you, eyes wide. You, lovely, lovely you. Who he’d been trying to not so subtly flirt with for the past months. And now he was… oh… his softening cock twitches in your heat… very much closer than he’d realised.

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @pimosworld @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings

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#jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight mcu #jake lockley x reader #x reader #jake lockley x you #x you #jake lockley x female reader #x female reader #jake lockley x f!reader #x f!reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

[bit-dodgy-innit]

The Magic Touch

Summary: Jake likes to take care of his wife who takes such good care of their newborn daughter. Set in THE SHAPE OF YOU verse 

Pairing: Jake x afab!Reader, with some minor Steven x afab!Reader and implied Marc x afab!Reader. Reader is married to the system and all three alters are no longer working for Khonshu

Rating: Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 2.8k 

TW/CW: Heavy breast and nipple play, lactation kink, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, a little mutual masturbation, softdom!Jake, use of the term Papi, a smidge of spanking, mirror sex/exhibitionism between alters (?), cumshot, mentions of smoking and light bickering between a married couple. Also Reader & Jake speak a decent amount of Spanish/Spanglish with each other, translations for everything will be at the bottom of the fic!

A/N:...this fic could also be titled “A Return to Filth”. Honestly y’all some of the stuff in here surprised ME 😳 That being said, THANK SO EFFING MUCH to everyone who asked to be tagged in this and the just constant, unexpected stream of support and praise I’ve received since I posed the Shape of You!! 

“Look who’s up late,” Jake remarked, surprised to see you sitting on the couch with your infant daughter in your arms. 

“Someone does not want to sleep tonight,” you replied wearily. The sight of your husband was a relief for your tired eyes. You had barely gotten in a nap today and Nyla had been giving you trouble since sunrise. “How was the gig?”

“Bueno,” he shrugged, taking off his gloves and flat cap. “You know how those rich, fancy fucks are.”

An ambassador and his wife had hired Jake’s company to chauffeur them to and from a state dinner at Buckingham Palace that evening, the reason why he was now just coming in at 2:36 in the morning. 

As ghastly as the aristocrats were, they had the potential to be big clients. Like a down payment on a bigger place clients, so he’d insisted on doing the job himself, instead of sending a driver from his roster. 

Ever since Nyla was born, Jake had taken on more of a managerial role in his limo company, relying on the network of employees he’d built after he and his alters split ways with Khonshu once and for all. But the ambassador was too valuable a client to lose on the first job, and Jake had always believed “if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

“Mmmm, good,” you replied. “Let’s hope they use you again.”

“Si mami,” Jake agreed. 

Nyla began fussing, and Jake wasted no time crossing over to where you and her were curled on the couch. You grimaced, “She’s been like this all day, Jake.” 

“Princesa,¿por qué le estás haciendo pasar un mal rato a tu madre?” he scooped your daughter out of your arms and looked at the infant as if she could respond. “Hm?”

“You’ll just make her more fussy,” you told him, your tone tinged with irritation.

“No, no lo haré,” he argued, “porque yo tengo el toque mágico con ella.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Oh, how times had changed. In the past, if Jake had come home late and murmured in Spanish to you about having “the magic touch”, you both would be up until sunrise fucking. Now you feared it would just make your overtired baby more grumpy. 

Jake paced around the flat, cooing to Nyla in Spanish, and lo and behold, he did get her to settle down. Perhaps he did have el toque mágico after all. He cocked his head toward Nyla’s nursery, silently communicating that he’d put her in her crib. You nodded, beginning to doze off yourself. 

Jake had been uneasy at first around his newborn. It made sense, so much of his existence had been blood and violence, and Nyla was the most precious, fragile being he’d ever known. Yet the nerves melted into his trademark, indefatigable confidence soon enough, you didn’t even need to have a pep talk with him like you did with Marc for Jake to come around. Nyla was his princesa, and you had no doubt that he’d do anything for his little girl just like her other two dads. Although, you guessed Jake’s “anything” was a lot more gruesome than most. 

Your husband tiptoed out of the nursery back to where you had slumped into the couch. 

“Gracias,” you thanked him, your eyes weighted with exhaustion. He padded over to you. “I forgot how good you looked in uniform.”

Personally, Jake hated the monkey suit high-profile clients required him to wear – that had been one of the perks of working for Khonshu, at least the old bird let him wear street clothes on the job – but if you were into it, he’d make the most of it. “¿Te gusta?” 

“Mmmm, si,” you whispered just before your lips met. Jake kissed you gently, as if he was trying to absorb your tiredness and stress. 

“How can Papi make you feel better?” he murmured into the skin of your neck. “Mi esposita cuida tan bien de nuestro bebé, quiero cuidarla bien.”

“Jake,” you sighed as he dropped his kisses to your clavicle, just above where you both knew you wanted his mouth. 

“You want Papi to suck on your tetas?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Play with ‘em just how you like it?”

You assented with a whine and emphatic nod of your head. Jake reconnected your lips while you unhooked the cups of your nursing bra, your shirt followed moments later. 

Jake’s eyes darkened in the low lamplight of your living room, his dilated pupils turning his irises black and sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed kisses into the tops of each of your full breasts, then drew a line in the valley of your tits with the tip of his nose. His ministrations made your nipples harden. 

“Mmm, nice and ready for me,” he laughed lowly before bringing his mouth to one of your peaks. 

It had been an hour or so since you’d fed Nyla, so it took a few pulls of Jake’s mouth before any liquid landed on his tongue. Even so, his warm, wet touch felt wonderful around your sensitive bud. A little cry of delight escaped you when your milk began to flow, the vibrations of your husband’s satisfied groan only amplifying your pleasure. 

Jake’s hand snaked its way to your other tit. He paused his worship to wet his thumb, then brought the digit to your unoccupied breast and began tracing the circumference of your nipple. Soon you were leaking from that teat as well, an undeniable slickness pooling between your folds while Jake stimulated you exactly how you craved. 

“Jake,” you moaned, twining your fingers into his hair then tugging to angle his head up and get his attention. “Bed.”

Another deep groan resonated from your husband’s chest. “You tired?”

Well, yes, you’d been tired since Nyla took her first breath. Before that actually, maybe month six of your pregnancy when your bump really started to grow? Tired was neither here nor there. You wanted to be taken care of. “Want Papi’s cock.”

Jake flashed you a shark-like grin. “Vamos,” he said before throwing you over his shoulder. 

“Jake!!” you reprimanded him in the harshest whisper you could make without waking Nyla. 

Your husband ignored you, opting to lay you out on the mattress and pull off your incredibly sexy yoga pants. Before you could fidget and try to cover your postpartum body, Jake descended on you. 

“I think this other titty needs some love while I get you ready for Papi’s cock, nena,” he murmured before he dove back into your chest. 

Your breath hitched at the return of his lips on your boob. He didn’t hold back, vigorously suckling at your peak, flooding his mouth with your milk. Jake being so unashamedly into this made you feel better about this unlikely kink of yours. Maybe you and Steven weren’t complete freaks. 

The mix of suction and relief was the most intoxicating combination while Jake lapped at your nipple, alternating his attention between tugs with his lips and drawing stripes with flicks of his tongue. 

Meanwhile, he tucked a hand between your legs and began toying with your pussy. He ran his index finger between your folds to part them, then quickly transitioned to using the digits to draw tights circles into your clit. You mewled and Jake pulled off your breast to swallow your noises with his mouth. You two were having too much fun to be interrupted by Nyla. 

“Silencio, cariño,” he punctuated his reminder by sliding a finger into your cunt. 

“Nnngh,” you grunted, biting your lip to keep the sound from spilling out, “Easy for you to say.” 

He winked at you, a gesture that should’ve been infuriating but instead just made you wetter. Jake worked another digit into your pussy while he returned to your bosom, latching onto a peak once again and greedily drinking down everything you had to offer. 

“¿Estas lista?” he asked you once his fingers were gliding in and out of your core smoothly. 

“Please Papi,” you gasped. Jake stood back up to shed his clothes. You couldn’t help that your own hand snuck down to rub your clit while you watched him undress, he’d worked you up so much. 

The last item of clothing to be discarded were Jake’s boxers. He shucked them off and then stood proudly before you, his hands resting on his wide hips, unabashedly displaying his leaking erection. 

“Look what you do to me, Señora Lockley,” he rasped, gripping and pumping himself a few times at the sight of you touching yourself. 

“Tan grande, amor,” you purred. 

He pounced on you at your words, maneuvering you onto your hands and knees. The position shouldn’t have come as much of a shock, it was Jake’s favorite, but you hadn’t been able to do it since early in your second trimester. An extra spark of desire zinged through you at the thought of returning to it. 

Your husband guided his cock inside of you, taking it mercifully slowly, since he too knew how long it’d been since he’d been able to fuck you from behind. This wasn’t the first time you’d had penetrative sex since having Nyla, but the initial tenderness was still necessary in your postpartum state. The gentle start made you love Jake even more since he was the king of the rough fuck, which normally, you thoroughly enjoyed. 

Once he’d bottomed out and checked on you again, Jake began moving. You’d forgotten how full your husband’s thick dick felt like this. The swaying of your dribbling tits just added another delicious layer of dirtiness to your lovemaking. 

Jake knew he could pick up the pace of his thrusts when he felt you pushing back onto his cock. He angled you juuuust so and then unleashed the full force of his hips, fucking you so hard you were nearly knocked down onto your elbows. 

You pussy tightened around the hot, hard rod inside of you and keened, “Fuuuuck, Jake, that’s so good.” 

“Mmmm yeah,” Jake groaned. “Always take care of you, gonna fuck all the stress out of you.” 

You responded with a yip when your husband took hold of both of your hips to piston his cock into your tight channel even more relentlessly. 

“Ooooh yeah,” Jake continued to ramble in his sex-addled state, “such a pretty picture you’re making for me. I get to see your big, milky titties swing while you make these cheeks clap for me. Joder, sí, mami.”

Your husband’s filthy words made your cheeks burn and bite your lip as you continued to work your cunt back on his cock. He elicited a squeak from you when he smacked his hand across one of your ass cheeks, enjoying the way your flesh jiggled after he spanked you. 

“Steven thinks you look so sexy right now, isn’t that nice?” Jake remarked casually as if he was commenting on the weather and not railing you into next Tuesday. 

Your eyes snapped open, and you craned your neck from where it had been hanging between your shoulders. All of your attention had been consumed by Jake playing your body like a violin that you hadn’t noticed he’d positioned you in front of the mirror in your bedroom, but of course he did.

“Th-thank you, huh-honey,” you stuttered out, hoping Steven could hear while Jake continued to pound into you. 

The two of you made a thoroughly debauched scene. Your hair was mussed, your lips kiss-swollen and your full, engorged breasts moved in time with each drive of Jake’s length into your sopping cunt. 

You could just make out a little pearl of liquid on the tip of your left nipple, both of your puffy peaks still glistening from Jake’s mouth and your milk. Your reflection made you blush more deeply, and you could only imagine that Steven was absolutely losing his shit over the pornographic tableau you and his alter made. You’d have to let Steven try fucking you like this, if you made it out of this round of sex with Jake alive, that was. 

Jake withdrew his cock for a moment and next thing you knew, you were on your back again. He swiftly re-entered you, the hammering of his hips so strong it drove you back a few centimeters towards the pillows. Locking your legs around his torso, he dropped onto his forearms and brought his lips to your ear to entreat you, “Come on, let Papi have his leche dulce.” 

You complied with a whimper and a clench of your core, your hands coming to cup your tits and squeezing them so milk sprayed from your nipples into Jake’s open, eager mouth. A splash missed his tongue, landing on the corner where your husband’s lips met instead. His tongue quickly darted it out to lick it up and you almost came from the sight alone. 

You threw your head back into the blankets, unable to muffle your moans as Jake drove into you. 

“Does mamacita want to come?” he asked huskily. Your answer came in a strangled whine. 

He complied, replacing his cock with two of his fingers again and recaptured a nipple in your mouth. He stroked your walls, finding your g-spot with practiced ease while his thumb pressed into your clit. Your orgasm seized you in an eruption of pleasure, and thankfully you still had the wherewithal to grab a pillow and smash it into your face to muffle your cries of ecstasy as your husband worked through your blinding, white-hot release.

When your climax had crested and you managed to discard the pillow, you were greeted with the sight of Jake straddling your waist frantically jerking his cock over your tits. 

“Ohhh my, shit,” you panted, trying to urge him along, “unnngh, come for me, Papi.” 

Your plea pushed your husband over the edge, spurting his seed onto your tits barely a moment later. He peaked with a choked off gasp, needing to brace a hand on the bed frame so he didn’t collapse on top of you. 

The haze of lust slowly that had blanketed your mind slowly began to evaporate, and you looked down at the cooling cum splattered across your breasts. You glanced at Jake, who’d flopped onto the mattress next to you. “You’re nasty.”

“You love it,” he retorted without opening his eyes.  

“Hmm, I do,” you admitted. “Pero ahora tu esposita necesita una toalla.”

Jake grunted. His legs hadn’t steadied after coming his brains out just yet. 

“Rápido, por favor.” 

“Alright, alright,” Jake pushed himself upright and lumbered to the en-suite. “I worked all night, bien? Go easy on me.”

And you’d been with your baby all day. As much as you appreciated your husband providing for your family, you couldn’t muster the sympathy he’d hoped for. “Right, because none of that time was spent shooting the shit and smoking with the other drivers.”

“I quit,” he called from the loo. 

“I could taste it on you,” you shot back as he walked back into the bedroom. “Be happy I’m tired and you made me come too hard to properly give you shit about it.” 

“Mmm, you did come so hard for me nena, didn’t you?” Jake rasped, passing you a damp towel and climbing back on the bed. “Made me spurt all over your tetas.” 

Just him saying it caused a little aftershock of arousal to ripple through you. “Between you and Steven I have to make sure there's enough milk left for the baby.” 

Jake’s expression turned serious. “Oye, they were our titties first. We’re letting Nyla borrow them.” 

Before you could giggle like you wanted to, he kissed you again, licking into your mouth to prove something. “I had two drags of another driver’s cig. It was a social thing, a networking thing. I told you I’d quit when you got pregnant.”

“Good. Because A, it’s bad for you, and B, I get worried about Nyla and all the–”

“Yo sé, yo sé,” he tried to quell your rising concern. “It was stupid of me to do.”

You should’ve pressed him harder on it, but you were helpless to the way he kissed the top of your head and held you in his arms. Maybe times hadn’t changed as much as you thought, you were still letting Jake off the hook after a particularly toe-curling orgasm and whispered bilingual assurances. Which jogged your memory…

“How did you get her to go down, by the way?” you asked, the two of you slipping between the sheets. “What, did you use some residual Egyptian god magic?”

Jake laughed, an undignified snort. “No magic…aparte de mi toque mágico. Besides we don’t need Khonshu or any of them, we have each other, si?”   

“Si,” you concurred, snuggling into him. Jake may have a big mouth along with his toque mágico, but at least he knew the right thing to say most of the time and how to use those hands of his. 

Read the follow up fic: DROPPING IN

A/N: *clenched teeth emoji* hope everyone enjoyed! I’ll make the next fic softer and fluffier, I promise 🥴 Though I kind of adore the dynamic that emerged between the reader and Jake, they love each other deeply but also give each other shit in the same breath. 

Again, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the encouragement and engagement with this series, my inbox is always open if you have request or thots! 

Taglist: @twwcs @rmoonstoner​ , @hot-mess-express1​ , @murdickdocked, @toracainz​ @saahmi​​, @unspokenmoon​​, @winterbiipp​ @avatarofseshat​​ @ilikeoldermenhelp , @losers-club6​​, @lovely-cryptid​ ​, @stormkobra-5​ @johnny-simpfinger​

Translations:

Bueno - Good

Si mami - Yes mommy

Princesa, ¿por qué le estás haciendo pasar un mal rato a tu madre? - Princess, why are you giving your mother a hard time? 

No, no lo haré...porque yo tengo el toque mágico con ella - No, I will not...because I have the magic touch with her

Gracias - Thank you

Te gusta - You like it? 

Mi esposita cuida tan bien de nuestro bebé, quiero cuidarla bien - My little wife takes such good care of our baby, I want to take good care of her. 

tetas - tits 

Vamos - Let’s go

nena - baby/babe  

Silencio, cariño - Quiet, honey 

¿Estas lista? - Are you ready?

Tan grande, amor - so big, love 

Joder, sí, mami - Fuck yeah, mommy 

leche dulce - sweet milk 

Pero ahora tu esposita necesita una toalla - But now your little wife needs a towel. 

Rápido por favor - Quickly please 

Bien - Okay

Oye - Here 

Yo sé - I know 

aparte de mi toque mágico - other than my magic touch 

#moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockely smut #jake lockely x female reader #jake lockley fanfiction #steven grant #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female reader #steven grant fanfiction #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x you #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac fanfic #Oscar Isaac thirst hours #jake lockley speaking spanish

[moonknightyws]

I'm going feral

(Gifs are not mine)

#marvel #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #scenes of a marriage #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #marc spector imagine #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x reader #marvel smut #steven grant fic #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant smut #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley smut

[jake-g-lockley]

akka i cannot get this idea out of my head and i have to request it because ik only you will be able to do justice to it<3

may i please have a jake lockley x desi!reader where only jake and reader and together and reader is a journalist and knows about marc and steven but they don't know about her or jake ftr. for extra angst let marc and steven and layla be together and one day layla is just walking somewhere snd sees her husband and some ranom girl wearing a kurta and she's laughing and they're having tea, it can't be steven because the man's body language is not like steven and it cannot be marc, marc hates tea. and then she seems him kiss the girls forehead and doesn't know what to do. the rest is up to you akka, thank you so so much<3

The Other Woman (Jake Lockley x desi!reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Tiny bit of physical aggression Word Count: 1.3k words.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request omggg @brekkers-desigirl. Sorry it took so long lol. The reason why I haven’t been writing about Layla is I love her so much, I can’t do this to her haha, but anyway here is my attempt at your very detailed idea <33 And oh yea, it really hurt to write :”)

Your POV

“No, oh gods, I think they are overworking me at this point, I’m so tired of everything.” you say, swirling your chai in the cup and frowning at your boyfriend.

“Muñeca, maybe it's time you take some time off work, you know, just relax, do nothing for a while.” Jake says, rubbing your back.

Your job is how you met Jake. You were on the way back from an interview for the newspaper and your bag got snatched, along with all the important documents that you had not uploaded to the cloud. Jake had swooped down like your Knight in Egyptian armor, got your bag back for you and walked you back to your flat. You kept running into him every other night after that eventually he revealed himself to you.

It took a while for Jake to tell you that he had feelings for you and it had come about in an unexpected burst, along with his other secret, the fact that he had two other identities. You accepted him nevertheless but Jake had never let Marc and Steven front when he was around you, hiding them away from you.

You smile up at Jake who gave you a little wink and took a sip of his chai. The both of you were sitting outside a little Indian cafe that had just opened next to Jake’s flat.

“I think your chai is better, mi amor.” Jake whispers and you laugh, and shush him, shaking your head, your jimmikis twinkling.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Layla’s POV Layla looked at her phone and frowned. Steven and Marc said that their new flat was in this part of the city, but she couldn’t seem to find it. She asked a nearby policeman who kindly pointed her to the right direction. She runs up to the main door and searches for the bell to their flat and rings it.

A loud laugh floated into her ears and she turned to see a happy couple in the distance, laughing over tea and biscuits. The woman had long flowy hair that cascaded down her back, was wearing a kurti and had a big smile on her face as she stared adoringly at…

Huh?

Is that Marc? No that can’t be. Not Steven either, he was sitting too confidently. Suddenly, the man who was wearing her husband’s face leans in and kisses the woman’s forehead, the action causing Layla to start feeling dizzy and confused, heart pounding uncontrollably.

She didn’t know what to do with the situation in front of her. Does she just approach them? Pull the woman aside when her husband steps away to pay the bill? She regained her senses and decided to choose the former, walking over to her husband and the woman, still watching them talk and laugh.

“Marc? Steven?” Layla called out and the man whipped his head to face her, eyes wide. She knew instantly who she was looking at and it wasn’t the two that she knew of.

“Jake? Who’s this?” The woman asked, looking up at Layla.

He stayed silent and Layla raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re the one who took over and slaughtered everyone in Egypt, when Marc blacked out?” Layla said, softly so that only the three of them could hear.

“I’m sorry, what?” the woman beside Jake stared wide-eyed at Layla, standing up from her seat, shawl dropping onto her seat.

“I’m Layla El-Faouly, and I am his wife.”

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your POV Jake didn’t give the beautiful lady with curly hair a chance to continue. He stood up and grabbed onto your hand and you let yourself be dragged away from the woman as you tried to assess the situation but the gears in your brain refused to turn.

You found yourself in Jake's flat and you struggled to breathe. The woman’s voice reverberated through your head, her words playing like a tape recording over and over.

“Jake, was she telling the truth? Is she married to Steven and Marc?” you whisper.

Jake avoided looking into your eyes and clenched his jaw, still holding onto your hand. You scanned his face and realized that he had closed off all his emotions again.

You wrench your hand from his grasp and ask him again. “Was she telling the truth?”

“Yes, yes she is.” Jake says, his voice gruff and low, after a while.

“So, you’re telling me that I was dating a married man.” your voice echoed through the pin drop silence in the flat. Jake’s silence was all the confirmation you needed.

You nod, to no one in particular.

“You lied to me. If you knew everything about Steven and Marc then why didn’t you tell me you were married? Why didn't you tell me before I fell in love with you and started to care about you? I can’t believe you lied to me, Jake.” You felt a panic attack slowly stirring up in you, but you backed into a wall, slid down and sank onto the floor, trying to chase the air that was quickly leaving your lungs.

Jake walks towards his closet, his footsteps heavy against the wooden floor, leaving you speechless on the floor. You watch as he wiped his face with a cloth and started to pull clothes off himself and change, his strong physique flexing and you snap out of your daze when he starts putting on his jacket.

“Oh no, no, no, you are not leaving here without an explanation, Jake. You can’t just run away from this.” you say, getting up and quickly striding towards him. You grab his right wrist, nails digging into his skin, to try and stop him from shrugging the jacket onto his shoulders.

“I don’t take orders from anyone.” he growled, wrenching his arm out of your grasp and took long strides towards the door.

You duck under him and block the door with your body, until you both are face to face, your chin tilting upwards to catch his eye.

“Move,” he says, a deep scowl twisted his beautiful features into a menacing look.

“Not until you give me a proper clarification on this whole situation.” you say again, clutching at his shirt with both of your hands, pulling him closer.

“I said, move.” he says again, gripping your wrists.

“I don’t take orders from you.” you repeat his line, a little louder than you expected, your lips curling into a scowl that mirrored his own.

He lets go of your wrist and grabs your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks and making your lips pout. Your eyes go wide at the sudden change of behavior and you freeze, your breath hitching.

“I’d advise you to shut your mouth before the neighbors come knocking.” he snarled, tilting his head.

Your stare didn’t falter despite the tears that had started running down your face again. Your tears dripped over his hands and the scowl on his face drops slightly at the sight of your tears and he drops his hand but stays silent. You bite your lip as you try to stop the tears from taking over you. You swallow and let go of his shirt.

“You don’t have to leave your own house, I’ll go,” you say, wiping your eyes and nose. “But just so you know, that once I leave, you will never see me ever again, Jake Lockley. I hope you solve whatever shit you’re going through right now.”

With that, you slip out of the flat and slam the door on his face, walking away, never turning back.

Translations:

Chai: Indian Tea

Muñeca: Doll

Mi amor: My love

Jimmikis: Jhumka are a style of earring worn by women of the Indian subcontinent. Under the Mughal Empire, the Kharanpool jhumka evolved into a single jewel, still maintaining its bell shape.

Kurti: A kurta (or sometimes kurti, for women) is a loose collarless shirt worn in many regions of South Asia, and now also worn around the world.

#moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #moon knight fluff #jakeglockley asks #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x desi!reader #jake lockley x desi!reader #marc spector x desi!reader #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #moon knight angst #jake lockley angst #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley imagines #requests

[stuckybarton]

Birds of the Same Feather, Fuck Together

SUMMARY: You had your own demons you needed to deal with on a daily basis. It was a good thing you had Steven, Marc, Jake, and even Khonsu to help you elevate your symptoms from time to time. PROMPT(S): “against the window? are you insane?”; “I thought we’d agreed to share her” CHARACTERS: Steven Grant x Wife!Reader; Marc Spector x Wife!Reader; Jake Lockley x Wife!Readerl; Khonshu x Reader WARNINGS: Smut. Unprotected P in V. Choking. Slight Exhibitionism. Creampie. Violence. Assault. Unhealthy Mental State. Marital Arguments. Shitty Work-Life Balance. Asshole Co-workers. Khonshu being...Khonshu. WORDS: 6,218 REQUESTED BY: @emmy626 A/N: Holy fuck was this long. Thought about separating each one of the boys for this one and a crack! one for Khonshu since I'm still a coward to write monster fucking with that man--but soon. real soon. Hope you guys enjoy~

MASTERLIST || JOIN THE LIBRARY ||

The thing about Steven was how gentle he could be, sassy at times, but oh so gentle when it comes to you. Now that most of the blackouts were resolved and understood, things in your shared apartment were more stable--at least for the most part. When you've met his other alters, you've learned to accept him for who he was, for all of who everyone was. Khonsu on the other hand, it took a while for you to accept him as part of the whole setup up, he might not be an alter, but there were times where the God of the Moon and Time.

You loved Steven, loved every single thing about him.  Loved all his alternates the same way as him. Equally and irrevocably. It was a part of him that you can never leave without just as much as he could never.

"Brought you chocolates."

A smile broke from your lips the moment you stepped out of your office and he was the first person you had come face to face with. A box of chocolate in his grasp. His gentle smile resting on his features. His fluffy hair resting on his forehead and you were already aching to just brush your hands through them. Stepping closer to him, your free hand come to hold onto his own free hand as the both of you made your walk towards his apartment.

"How was work?" He inquired.

"Same old, same old." You sighed, not wanting to tell Steven about how much of an ass your boss was and how every single one of your co-workers were leaving their tasks for you to finish up while they continue on with their daily gossiping. It was getting on your nerves but you didn't have it in you to say anything--the pay was good, but it was getting too much some days. "Just happy I got to be with you for the weekend."

You were actually excited. Not only because you have the entire weekend to spend with your husband, but the fact that this weekend would mark your one year anniversary since you've two gotten married. Being to have him all to yourself was all you could ever need for now. You wrapped your tired arm around his waist, head resting on his shoulder as you both continued on your way back to your apartment. It was quite a long walk, better to have taken the bus, but you just wanted to spend some time with your husband instead of dealing with other cranky workers on their way home.

In the chaos of your shared apartment, you felt most at peace. Placing the box of chocolate your husband had given you on the table. You had made your way towards where your husband was in the kitchen. His focus had been on preparing tea for the both of you while you unwind for the weekend. You slipped your arms around his waist, relishing in his warmth and enjoying just being able to touch him like you did right now.

"You want to talk about it, Love?" He inquired to which had been how you both found yourselves cuddled on the sofa, ignoring the growing cold tea on the coffee table.

You finally spoke about your day, how much of a shitty people you had the misfortune of working with. You continued on with explaining how their constant ridiculing affected you mentally. You both needed the money, with the both of you wanting to save before you finally start a family, quitting was not an option. Not with the things going on with Steve and the rest of his alters.

Your husband listened, never once interrupting you, lips kissing your forehead whenever you felt the most frustrated during the anecdotes of today's work day as well as the nightmare of the past few weeks. His hands rubbed against your back, nails gently scratching against your back. When you no longer spoke, your face nestled against the crook of his neck, you tried to fight of the stress and it was in this moment your husband had pulled you on top of him, arms wrapped around you. The warmth of his touch slowly but surely elevating everything that has happened throughout the day.

In the silence, things turn more heated as you kissed him--hoping to forget the rest of the week and try as you possibly could to just focus on your husband. To act like you were just newly weds all over again. The life that was always been simple, the promises and the plans you had made for each other, the domestic bliss of your every day life with him.

"Come on Stevie, go harder on me. I won't break." You moaned, trying to urge your husband to fuck you harder on the sofa, but the fear in his eyes of hurting you still present in his features. This was your love, the man that would do anything and everything in his life to ensure you wellbeing was prioritized. It made you fall and fall more in love with him--but this moment, all you needed was to be fucked, thoroughly so.

"No." He continue to refuse, his hips more dangerously slow this time. "Please, take it slow and let me love you like you deserve to be loved."

Before you could plead for him, he thrusted inside of you up to the hilt taking the breath right out of you in the process.

His hands cupped your face, pulling you into a kiss. His movement continued on to be slow with an even pace. Ramming you right into the sofa, tears slowly ran down your cheeks at all of this pent up sensation you were feeling. The shitty weeks you had at work, how you never felt you were worth shit because of them--to this, to the look on your husband's eyes as he continuous to fuck you to whisper you praises, about the things you had never seen about yourself that he could see. He appreciates and hopes to God each day that you will never tire of.

"Come for me, Love." He pleaded against your lips, his movement growing faster, the sensation of his cock sliding in and out, exactly where you need him to be. "Let go."

And you did, releasing in time for him to spill himself deep inside you. The sensation and all that the both of you had planned for the weekend finally placed you at ease. Pulling him on top of you, you could only smile, relieved to have this--to have him.

"You'll have your time with her." You heard your husband muttered making you turn to face him, amused with what he was arguing with his other alters this time.

"What is it this time?" You asked, rubbing his back, legs wrapped around his waist, still not prepared to have him pull away from you.

"Jake said, and I quote: 'I thought we’d agreed to share her', needy bunch they are." He muttered making you giggle and pepper your husband's face with kisses.

"Give me a few more minutes and you could share me all you want for the weekend." You assured him already feeling him harden back all over again for you.

"Why don't you say that to my face again instead."

Mid-argument, you wouldn't think Marc would front--but here he stood after you spoke the things you know you didn't even mean. The deep frown rested on his lips as he sat on the single-seat sofa in front of you. Arms crossed against his chest, legs spread wide and with you still standing he intimidated you to a fault. You didn't even know how the argument with your husband started. You were in the last leg of your patience when it comes to your co-workers, Steven wasn't helping as he continued to insist on you quitting. You couldn't not after things with whatever he was dealing with his alters aren't making much of a progress and your work was the only stable things the both of you had for a while.

It was questions about how he could provide for the two of you now, as he was banned from the National Museum after the stunt he pulled and you were certain he was blacklisted everywhere else within a 5-mile radius because of a bird brain for a God that fucked everything up for the both of them. You were angry, rightfully so for the people around you, but Steve didn't deserve it, now that you're facing Marc instead of him, you realized it as well.

You were quiet now, all the outburst you had in you had magically faded away. Embarrassment was quick to replaced all the anger you've felt.

"You got two options, either you calm down and we talk this through or keep talking and I fuck you into submission. Either option works for me and Steve doesn't seem to mind either way with the way you were talking to him."

You blinked, unprepared still for Marc to face you now.

"I'd like to see you make me, Spector." Your brain was yet to filter your stupidity and you found yourself manhandled by the man in one fluid motion.

Clothes torn up, naked and edged for the life out of you, this was the last thing you would have expected Marc to do with you.

"Hands against the window, Y/N." His order held no room for argument, but the fact that you were naked and could barely stand on your two feet after his torturous tongue and finger brought you over and over to the edge without any hope of end once again pulled the filter between your brain and your mouth.

"Against the window? Are you insane?" You questioned and Marc was quick to shove you face first into the glass window. A part of you was thankful your shared apartment was a good few floors up and the only chance either of you would get caught in this situation was if they looked up and focused on your floor's window.

The busy street of people heading home could not be bothered and you hope it would stay that way for whatever your husband has planned for you.

Hands resting against the cool window, you waited with bated breath for what he would do. His rough hands gently nudged you forward until you're practically glued to the floor ceiling window. You shivered at the sensation of the cold window against your nipples. Before you could turn to see what he has planned, the radiating pain against your scalp had your full attention as Marc fisted your hair and maneuvered your head until your cheek was smooshed against the window.

"Are you gonna continue to be difficult, Baby?" He inquired, the head of his cock lined against your entrance but he was yet to make any action of slipping in. "Because I can do this all day and not even break a sweat?"

You refused to say another word, not trusting yourself to say the right thing and stop the torture that was of your own doing. Instead, you shook your head, wanting to stop the never ending torture your husband was willing to throw at you without hesitation.

"Use your damn words, you love to use it to hurt us, remember?"

The first line of sob escaped your lips now. You didn't mean to hurt them, most especially Steven. You were projecting the anger you had from work to him, to everyone of them and it was finally coming to hit you in full force. You didn't mean to hurt any of them, it was never your intention. And you just found yourself crying and but unable to tell all three of them how sorry you were and how you would be compromising when the opportunity to do so finally arises.

Marc had now wrapped his arms around your torso, slipping deep inside you and a whimper was there to replace your sob. Relief of finally being able to feel him inside you. The familiar sting of his cock stretching you to your limit was slowly but surely helping you out of the darkest part of your own mind. Hands holding onto your waist as he continued to shove himself deep inside you.

All the anger and tribulation you had felt for the day had slowly faded away and your mind was brought back to the present. To this man, whose one and only intention in your relationship was to make you safe, happy, and sane to live the day to day as the world might see it fit.

His hips continued on slamming onto you, every intention on splitting you in half for all you were worth.

Your breath continued to fog against the window, no longer did you feel self-conscious with the little fact that there was a possibility someone could see the both of you.

Slowly, you could find yourself creeping into the familiar release, but as you felt your wall begin to tighten his movement begin to slow and you found yourself sobbing for him. Pleading for him for your release but it was left in deaf ears as he slowed his pace. He pulls out and you felt him move away from you, the absence of his warmth brought you further into tears now at this point. But you didn't move, no longer had any fight in you nor did you have any voice of protest to make.

You closed your eyes, listening for anything to give you a clue of your husband's whereabouts, for whatever plan he might have for you. You didn't have the strength to move, to turn and see him and prepare yourself for what he has left for you.

"What does it feel like when you don't have any control of yourself and of the situation that could be easily resolved with the right communication? Fucking hurts doesn't it?" Marc inquired. "Now think what I feel, what Steven feels, hell, even Jake is quiet when you said what you said." he spat.

"I'm sorry." The two words was all you needed to say before you were pulled back into your husband's arms finally pulling you in for the first kiss since the whole argument started. "I didn't mean to…it's just everything and everyone and I don't know what I need to handle first."

You continued to sob in the arms of your husband. He continued on to kiss you, slowly growing faint as he clung to you just as much as you did to him. He had his eyes closed now. A sigh of relief finally escaping his lips as he settled at you.

"We can't keep doing this, you can't keep using Steven as a punching bag when shit happens at work. We're here to listen, you know we are always here for you because we love you, through sickness and health, till death takes me first." He points out.

You found yourself snorting at his words, there was always this never ending joke between all four of you that they were far too certain with the fact that they would die first--may it be from whatever mission or job they might find themselves involved in, or whatever crazy illness or curse Khonshu might throw at them if he doesn't get what he wants. It scares you sometimes when you are alone at home and they are out somewhere, the reality of it actually happening--and yet you continue to choose to be a shitty wife just for the hell of it.

"I promise to communicate more." You whisphered after a moment. Finally having the words to say what you needed to. "I'll try and take less shifts if I can so I don't stress myself out."

"Good." He smirked eyes opening back up before he held you up by your thighs and thrusted into you, back slammed against the window and you feared that his strength could get the better of him.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself as he finally returned to his former steady pace and from the way his brown eyes grow black as he was ready to chase his own release along with your own. Your breast squished against his chest as he practically glued himself to you as he continued to fuck your through the window. His breath grows rugged now, warmth fanning against your cheeks as you whimpered at the brutal pace that was bringing you right back up to the peak.

"Don't you fucking dare stop, Spector." You threatened before you finally stilled, muscles clenched, milking him for all it was worth. Relief washed over you, finally slipping into your much needed release.

"Fuck." He growled spilling deep inside you, before halting all together and resting most of his weight on you. "Promise me you're not gonna make Steven pull away." he whispered.

"Promise." You whispered, nuzzling against the crook of his neck. A promise you were now more than willing to make.

Unlike Steven and Marc, Jake wasn't about to stand around and let everyone step all over you. Nah, if anyone fucks with his girl, he fucked them right back. He didn't know exactly how it happened, but with him fronting and assigned to fetch you from your office, it was the biggest mistake Marc and Steven had ever decided to do for the day.

Unlike Marc or Steven--especially Steven, his eyes was not only focused on you the moment you had stepped out of the doors. He had eyes everywhere. He notices the smallest of details that Marc or Steven might have disregarded because of their focus solely on you. But not him, he loved you, adored you and the only woman he could openly admit he was more than willing to worship for as long as he was alive. He saw the smallest nudge one of your co-workers had done that almost had you missing your step had he not been quick enough to catch you.

He doesn't say much about what had happened, but he knew you didn't want to acknowledge it as much and fearing he might make a scene that would ruin whatever reputation you still had in the office you work in. But he remembers faces, got a few people he knows that might help with putting a name to those faces. He will deal with it later, his attention was solely focus on you at this point.

"How's work, Mi Amor?" He inquired, face softening with how you were quick to wrap your arms around his torso--ignoring the fact that the both of you were still standing in the middle of the reception hall.

"Tiring, but got shorter shifts for the next few months." You explained against his chest, pulling away an inch to crane your head to look right up at him. "Can't say the same for the rest of the colleagues that need to pick up what I'll leave behind." You shrugged.

"Fuck them." Jake spoke without an ounce of hesitation in his words, caring less now at this point if anyone in your office hears you.

"Now we know who she's spreading her legs for and why she's slacking."

Just like lighting, he moved, quick to place his hand around the man's throat. He could deal with you telling how much of a piece of shit your co-workers were. He could deal with how they constantly throw most of their own work right at you because you could and you wanted peace to remain in the office. But this, the filth in the man's words was the last thing he wanted to hear--the last thing he wanted you to hear.

"Jake, don't." You pleaded, holding on to his hand that still held onto the poor sorry ass excuse of a man by the throat, one single squeeze and he could break his neck without much of an effort.

"What's your fucking name?" Jake questioned, eyes solely focused on the man. The man who--from the wet puddle that formed on the floor and the wretched stench after, had pissed and shit himself. "Make me wait another second and I'm gonna make sure no one fucking recognizes your body when I'm done with you."

"Greg." The bastard whimpered. No longer was there the bravado from his initial statement.

"Here's what's gonna fucking happen, Greg. You and everyone that is in the fucking vicinity of my wife will not harm even a single hair on her fucking body, you will not speak shit that you do not even know about her, and the next time my wife comes home with tears in her eyes because you and the rest of your fucking flock of clowns that can't do their work properly--we're gonna have a talk." Jake's threats were what aroused both Marc and Steven out of whatever slumber the might have and what a fucking way to wake up to. Him, in the brink of breaking your co-worker's neck for your honor.

Hearing no verbal confirmation, he cracked his free hand, ready to beat him up just to get a point, but the piece of shit was practically crying and agreeing to whatever condition he might have and apologizing to you for all the shit he has put you through.

"Get out of my face, You puta." He spat finally letting go of the man's neck and watching him make a run for it.

The next thing he knows, he was held by the ear by you. Blushing profusely for the incident.

"Are you fucking serious, Lockley?" You snapped, dragging him out of the reception and into the busy streets of London, by the ear of all places.

"Gotta protect what's mine." He muttered rubbing his ear as soon as you let go.

"Protect me? You were practically pissing at me for your territory." You snapped, hands up in the air in your frustration. "I don't even fucking know if I have anything to go back to in the morning because of your stunt."

What he failed to tell you, and the rest of his alters was the small little fact that he knows your boss. And all the shit he's gotten himself involved with over the years, firing you would be the last of his agenda--especially if he knows who you were married to. He did not need to tell you that, knowing this was the safest job you could be in as of the moment--shitty co-workers, but safe from whoever might use you against him when the time comes.

"I think when they find out the shit he's saying, they're gonna turn a blind eye if you they want you to not report that for harassments." He shrugged as a matter of factly only earning an eye roll from you as you started walking towards the apartment with him following quickly behind. Marc and Steven's voices berating him for his action kept him company all throughout the journey back.

He knew perfectly well you were fuming, but not enough to actually explode on him--which was a surprise for once. He would have thought you would just lose it in the office. But somehow your 'conversation' with Marc a few days back finally got to you. Things around the apartment was getting more easy for everyone involved, less work meant less stress on your end which meant less tension back home when both of you just want to relax and sleep the night away.

He didn't realize the door to your shared apartment was locked until the moment he turned the doorknob.

"Really mature, Mi Amor." He muttered under his breath, pulling out the key from his pocket.

'I don't blame her for being annoyed. Not one bit.' Steven points out to which Jake just continued to ignore for now. It wasn't the time and the place.

He took his time walking inside your shared apartment. Initially it always screamed that of your place as well as Steven, but every since you had found out about him and Marc, you had made it a point to ensure that they were both included in everything in the place. You all had your own coffee cups, with names and all. Everyone had their own towels, toothbrush, hell even their own respective space in the closet and space in the vanity for whatever was in their vanity table. You made this place a home to Steven just as much for him and Marc and that made him fall more and more in love with you. He had his doubts, you know it just as much as everyone else did, but further and further, through all your own faults at times, you made him feel love when all he had known all his life was anger and hatred for the life they had for themselves.

Seeing no sign of you in the living room, he made his way to the bedroom, halting in his step at the sight of you undressing. His eyes glued to your supple skin, your bare ass that he wants nothing more than to mark with his handprint.

"Don't get your hopes up, Lockley. I'm still mad." You muttered slowly unhooking your bra, the last remaining article of clothing you had left.

"I ain't apologizing for keeping you safe, Mi Amor. You know me and you know my ways." He stood his ground and the fuck he would even dare apologize for it. You've dealt with worse without him knowing.

"If I told you to kill someone, you won't hesitate will you?" Your question was rhetorical but his silence was enough of an answer to your question. "Oh my god, that's not how it works in life, Jake."

"You spread your legs to me when I damn well please, but it is no one's business but our own." He snapped. "If you can't earn their respect from working hard and picking up their mess then fear will make sure they know their place in this food chain, Y/N. That is what the real world is like."

You simply rolled your eyes at him and made your way to the bathroom to which Jake was quick to follow, halting by the door frame and you turned on the shower without him, you were still facing him at this point. Defiance still written on your face.

"I'm serious, Jake. I'm not in the mood after your stunt in the office." You muttered but his eyes was focused on your soaking body from more than just the water washing over you. The wetness between your legs was more than that.

"I said nothing, Mi Amor." He smirked, eyes darkening at all of the idea he had for you.

"Jake…"

"I'm a starving man here, Y/N. I can look since I'm not allowed to touch." He smirked knowing it wouldn't take much to break you at this point.

"Just get in the shower, Lockley before I change my mind." You snapped finally turning to face away from him, hiding the evident blush now painting your features.

And that was how Jake found himself in, showering in a far too scalding temperature of the water and consumed by you and your kisses.

"We're gonna get the sheets wet!" You protest, barely dry from the shower you had with your husband as he carried you bridal style straight to bed.

"I'll change it after, don't worry about it."

All that was important in this moment was him and how quick he can have himself balls deep inside of you.

Somehow with you, now laid on the bed, your still wet hair fanned on the bedsheets, all he could ever want was this. The smile on your face, no matter what shitty thing he might find himself having to do for the sake of the agreement, here you were. With your own demons, but helped each and every part of him with his own--of the neglect and abuse he had to endure at the hands of his own mother for something he never intended to happen as a kid.

You didn't need much of a preparation, you were slick and ready for him. He pushed himself until he was balls deep inside you just like what he always wanted. He was rough, he held you by the neck. Not tight to cause you to lose conscience, but tight enough to constrict your airway. His other hand held onto your leg wide, until your knee was touching your shoulder. He pounded over you over and over again. The sound of the bed continued to squeak, the headboard slamming onto the wall over and over again, and your breathy whimper continued to escape your lips.

"I will kill anyone and everyone that would even think of looking at your general direction." He spat jerking himself over and over again deep inside you, the sensation of hitting your cervix brought him close to the edge. "I am Vengeance, for you and for whatever Khonshu would want from me." He snarled.

Letting go of your neck, he lifted your other leg and practically bent you in half as he continued to fuck you even faster, dragging you right towards the much needed release alongside him.

"Come on, Mi Amor." He growl. "Where is the fight in you?" He taunts. "Where is the fucking fight just moments ago when I threatened that sorry excuse of a man."

"I'm close." You sobbed instead, hand rubbing against your core and Jake just found himself watching. The desperation in your eyes as you continuous to chase your orgasm.

His spat all the profanities he could, how he owned you, how you will be painted in the blood of all of his enemies, and how he would make you watch him skin the next person that would even dare try to hurt you. How you tightened at the last two brought him into chaos and satisfaction.

"Fuck!" He groaned as you've finally found your release, how you were now gripping onto his like a vice and he continued on with his movement until he felt the first spurt then lines after lines after.

Your eyes rolled back as you finally stilled.

Silence lingered in your bedroom and only now did he hear the sound of his neighbor knocking to keep it down and something he chose to ignore for now.

He peppered your legs a few kisses before finally bringing them back down and rubbing your side while you come down from your high. You were panting just as much as he was as he finally pulled away with a pop and the sight of his cum pooling between your legs almost brought turned him rock hard all over again.

"You're staying here tonight." You pointed out finally turning to look at him. "If you even think of doing the stunt you've done in the office now, I swear to God I'll be the one to talk to Khonshu to kick your ass."

He rolled his eyes falling onto the bed and pulling you to his naked chest. He wasn't gonna do it.

"Promise me."

"I promise I ain't gonna leave the apartment tonight." he muttered.

"That's not what I want you to promise, Jake."

"I ain't gonna promise something I'm not gonna keep. I'm here tonight, in bed with you for your beck and call, so be happy about that." He grumbled.

"Jake!"

"One more word, Mi Amor and that mouth of yours will be busy with something else instead."

Silence. That's more like it.

"You're an asshole, Lockley."

Always wanting to have the last word.

Since you've learned about your husband's extra curricular activities every night, you've gotten more comfortable with late nights. The array of self-defense lessons you've gotten from both Marc and Jake had also been helpful. Steven was more into helping you talk your way out of numerous trouble you might find yourself getting involved in. Your confidence had been a little better now, no longer did you have your self-doubt about yourself and with how you work. You have your husbands to thank for it. You were trying hard to better yourself and help him with his own day to day trials and being able to be there for them when they need you the most was the first real reason why you needed to take the first step for your own betterment.

"I'm surprised they've let you out all on your own."

Turning from where you were walking, you know perfectly well the owner of the voice.

"Following me is far beneath you, Khonshu." You pointed out, gazing at one of the buildings to see him settled. "Never thought of you as a Voyeur too." You teased watching as the older God had descended down and surprisingly turned into the image of your husband.

"Still a worm, I see." He sneers to which you roll your eyes and continue on your walk to the convenience store for something to eat while your husband was out--well technically he was here, but you really are confused as hell if it's really him or if Khonshu is just fucking with you at this point.

"Still a bird brain I see." You quipped hearing him follow you far too close for you to be comfortable with--even if this was your husband. "Is that really my husband or is this another one of your party tricks?"

"Unfortunately, I have to carry this bag of potatoes back to you." He grunts.

You smiled, holding onto the God (your husband's) hand in appreciation. He might be a little grouchy from time to time, but you appreciate that he still cares for your husband and would rather he be taken home in his own terms than left to fend for himself. It seems the God has a soft spot for them.

You've made your way to the convenience store with your hand still holding on to his own, from an outsider's perspective, all they could see was normal and far too handsome man for his own good. But you saw differently from the reflection. You held onto your husband's rough but gentle hands but the reflection was showing that of Khonshu is his form. You should have been scared by such fact but you didn't. Your husbands trusted you enough with the truth of his line of work, and with all the rhyme and reason when it comes to the God, you know perfectly well he has a soft spot for you--you might just buy him his own set of stuff for the apartment when you have the free time.

"Brought you gummy worms as well." You point out once the both of you headed out of the convenience store with the plastic bag filled with far too many unhealthy snacks.

"Why am I not surprised."

"You'll love it, Birdman." You teased right back as the both of you finally made your way back to the apartment and handing Khonshu the bag of gummies, you had ordered him to strip to his underwear and sit on the bed while you inspect the damage of this night's mission.

"Is this a daily occurance for all of you?" He inquired, trying his best to keep a straight face while chewing the extremely sour gummy worms.

"I need to make sure there's nothing that needs stitches." You pointed out, lifting his arm seeing the bruises starting to form. "I know he's sort of--but not really, invincible at this point, but it helps me to know they're all fine." You explained, trying to feel for his ribs, checking if there was anything broken and you rose a brow at how the God who was still possessing your husband's breath had hitched at your touch.

You continued on with your inspection, the God no longer focused on his gummies, but instead on the way you were touching him. How your hands would be gentle still, fearing something might hurt or if he was sore. You rolled your eyes and pushed him down onto his back without much of a fight from him. He's got it bad.

"Get out of the body Khonshu so I could talk to my husbands." You requested, hand cupping the evidently growing erection confined in his boxers.

"A tease you are, Y/N." He muttered eyes rolling and the familiar scream of Steven was there to replace it as he sat up and ready to fight.

"Where am I?" He questioned looking at his surroundings before easing himself as he caught sight of you. "Love? What happened? I blackedout."

"Khonshu was nice enough to bring you guys home." You assured. "Kicked him out of your body before he gets any funny ideas." You continued.

"A tease!" You and your husband turned to see Khonshu floating by the window watching your conversation.

"I knew you were a voyeur, Birdman." You teased confusing your husband further and Khonshu finally decided he has enough and left you both alone for some much needed privacy for the night.

You'll thank him some other time.

#jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader smut #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley fic #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley one shot #stuckybarton 2k celebration #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader smut #marc spector x y/n #marc spector fic #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector one shot #steven grant x reader #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader smut #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fic #steven grant x female!reader #marc spector oneshot #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #khonshu x y/n #khonshu one shot #khonshu imagine

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Seven: Saturday

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Moon Boys x F!Reader

Summary: You’re a workaholic, but now that you’re on a week’s vacation, your lives are going to take FULL advantage of your presence aka the Moon Boys keep you in bed for a whole week.

Warning: smut - oral (f receiving), squirting

Series Masterlist

You're cooking up dinner while Marc stepped out for errands. You sway your hips to the record playing. You're only in one of Jake's shirts and underwear. You hum along to the music as you add some seasoning to the stir fry.

Unbeknownst to you, Marc arrived back home, only he was no longer fronting. Jake stares at you with dark lustful eyes. He slowly approaches you like a predator with its prey.

His gloved hands rest make their way to your hip, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Shit, honey. You scared me."

Jake hums and kisses your neck, "Always need to be vigilant, amor."

You smile wide, lowering the heat on the stove and turning to face Jake. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, "Well hello there, Mr. Lockley."

"Hello, mi amor," he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding back to grip your ass. He gives you a spank and you yelp, pulling away from him.

"I'm cooking."

"It can wait."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Not for food," he replies with a smirk. He reaches around and turns off the stove. He then picks you up and carries you to the counter.

You hiss, "The counter's cold!"

"I'll warm you up," Jake says as his gloved hands slide up your legs and stop at your underwear. He hooks his fingers and pulls the garment off, tossing it to the floor.

You chuckle as he presses his lips to yours, his fingers sliding in between your legs. He teases your core as he moves his lips against yours. He pulls away to kiss your jaw, lips trailing down your neck to your chest.

His gloved fingers circle around your clit and you throw your head back in a moan.

"That's it, baby. Lemme hear you," he murmurs against your skin. He's rubbing slow circles against you. You grip his shoulders as he continues to pleasure you.

He dips his middle finger into you and then looks down to see your slick shine against his black leather gloves. You watch as he licks your juices off his fingers and, with his teeth, pull the gloves off.

He kneels down and pulls you by your legs so they hang over his shoulders. He delves in and your breath hitches when you feel his tongue tasting you. You weave your fingers through his black girls and give them a tug. He moans into your core.

He licks up your slit and then begins to circle his tongue around your clit. He looks up at you, feeling a sense of pride as you rest your head against the cabinets, eyes closed, and mouth open in pleasure. He just loves to see how you fall apart for him.

He spreads your lips wider to taste more of you. Your slick smearing along his mouth. He doesn't care how much of a mess you make on him. He loves being marked by you.

While he eats you out, he inserts a finger in you for more added pleasure. He slowly pumps it in and out, gaging your reaction to the sensation.

When you moan and tug at Jake's hair, he takes it as a sign that you can take another finger. So he inserts a second one and you hiss in pleasure, "Fuuuuck yes! That's it, Jake! Just like that."

He stares up at you while he fucks you with his fingers and mouth. You're so beautiful while you're falling apart for him. Sweat forming along your hairline, your chest heaving as your breathing grows harder.

With his other hand, Jake reaches up and slides his hand under your shirt or, rather, his shirt. He grips your breast and then tweaks your nipple.

"Holy fuck, Jake. Shit! So good!" you cry out.

He starts pumping his fingers faster now, "Cum, amor, cum for me. Lemme taste you," he mumbles against your core.

His tongue flicking at your clit while he fucks you with his fingers. Your nails dig into him while you arch your back. Your eyes closed shut as you cry out in pleasure. Your legs shaking around Jake's face as he helps you through your orgasm. A burst of wetness coats his face and Jake is smiling with pride.

As your body calms, he slowly pulls his fingers out and leans back. His face and neck coated in your wetness.

You're panting and looking at him with a tired smile, "Sorry, baby."

He chuckles, wiping at his face and then licking his fingers, "Don't be. You know I love it," he gives you a wink and stands. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, "You okay?"

You nod, "Yeah," you sigh and look to the stove on your right, "I should finish dinner."

Jake shakes his head, "No, no. Clean up. I'll finish." He helps you down from the counter top and makes sure you don't collapse at his feet. He silently asks you if you're okay.

You smile, "I'm good. Thank you," you peck his lips.

He hums, "I should be thanking you."

You snort and roll your eyes, "We both got something out of it. You sure you don't need me to-"

"Go take a quick shower. I'll clean up here and finish dinner."

"Okay, okay," you hold your hands up in surrender, "Love you, Jake."

"I love you too, amor," he kisses your head and gives your butt a gentle spank before you head to the shower.

#smut #moon boys x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #f!reader #female!reader #fem!reader

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Hung the Moon (Chapter 8)

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

Summary: Time to be a superhero.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content: Language (cursing, misogyny). Violence. Not too gory, but mentions of blood.

Word count: 2.8K

A/N: It's been so long and I got so antsy about posting this I didn't proofread and revise quite as much as I usually do. If there are typos and such - I'm sorry!

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst @bullet-prooflove @trashboat-the-raccoon @daisies-yellow

~~~

The last remnants of dusk fade from the sky when you and Marc pull up to the fifth and final warehouse belonging to your boss that you know about. You and Marc had been running all over New York City since the moment you landed checking the other four. Each time you had shown up to one, finding no sign of your sister — no sign of anyone, half of them completely empty — your stomach had sunk just a little lower. As Marc puts the car in park outside the last one, with it’s windows pitch dark, the stillness tangible, your stomach falls through the ground.

You can’t look at Marc. If you do you’ll say something you’ll regret. He says something to you that you barely hear. Something about how he’ll find her. That he’s not giving up.

As you did for the others, you get out of the car and check it out. The feeling of dread rises in you, that you’re wasting time you don’t have. But you have to be sure she’s not here. That there’s nothing that might lead you to her.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you walk the perimeter. The warehouse is small in comparison to the ones you searched earlier. The few windows that are at ground level are blacked out. You can’t tell if anyone is in there or if it’s empty.

A gust of wind bites at your cheek, but it’s damn near warm compared to the ice in your veins.

Just as you turn the corner at the back of the warehouse, a door — not ten feet from you — bursts open. You pull yourself back and crash into Marc who was following behind you. He grips your hip to steady the both of you.

Before you have the chance to say anything to Marc, a man starts talking.

“Man, I need a drink,” he says. You peek around the corner and see two men walking away toward a truck parked on the opposite end of the parking lot. “You coming to the bar? Rusty says they’re all down there.”

“I can’t,” the other man says. “I have watch duty for that little bitch tonight.”

“I dunno what you’re complaining about. She’s fucking hot. Especially with that gag in her mouth.”

“'Cept we’re not allowed to touch her. At least for another 24 hours. Kinda hoping that cunt of a sister doesn’t come through so the boss’ll let us do what we want with her.”

Marc lunges forward and you have to restrain him with two hands on his chest. You shake your head at him and motion toward the way you came. You both quietly retreat and then run back to the car.

—

Marc follows expertly behind them. But even so, each time they make a turn and you lose sight of the truck for those few seconds, the panic rises in your throat.

By the time the truck pulls up to its destination: another warehouse farther outside of the city, the moon has made its ascent into the sky. Clouds partially obscure the glow, and the street lamp that surreptitiously flickers on and off lends hardly enough light to see by. The man in the passenger seat climbs down from the truck and is illuminated as he crosses the headlights. He has an ugly sneer to his mouth and you want to rip him apart with your bare hands.

The truck drives on and the man trots up a set of concrete steps up to a door near the loading dock. He raps his fist against the metal, and a minute later another man opens the door for him.

In perfect synchronization, you and Marc get out of the car at the same time.

“You’re staying here.” He says it casually, but it sounds like an order.

“The hell I am.” And you mean it, too. Nothing could stop you from going in there. Not even Marc Spector.

He fixes you with a stare. In it is his own special blend of exasperation and stubbornness.

You try to reason with him anyway. “I can get her out while you deal with the guards.”

He shoots a quick glance at the side mirror — you’d have missed it had you not been watching him so closely. He rolls his eyes at whatever he’s seen.

“Who was that?” you ask. “What did he say?”

He sighs. “He says to let you.”

You consider which “he” that could have been. “Was that Jake?” You cringe at the hopefulness in your voice.

Instead of answering, Marc says, “If something happens to you-”

“My sister’s in there, terrified. She needs to see a familiar face. And I can handle myself.”

“You’re going in there no matter what, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

He rolls his eyes heavenward, but relents. In a stern voice he says, “Alright, but you need to follow my lead, got that? Let’s find a way in.”

—

On the opposite side of the building from the loading dock, you and Marc sneak along the shadows. So far you’ve not encountered anyone guarding the outside, but you have no way of knowing what’s inside. There’s no guarantee that your sister is inside either. You don’t even want to think about what you’d do if she’s not. But neither do you want to think about what it’s going to be like to see her tied up and hurting.

You’re busy torturing yourself with these thoughts when Marc stops short. You realize why when you see the door, partially covered by overgrown weeds, next to you. Marc tries the handle. It’s locked but it’s nearly rusted through. He applies some force and it breaks off. The door swings inward with a soft squeak.

Inside is pitch dark. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You can sort of make out a stairwell to your left, and another door to your right.

With light footsteps, Marc approaches the interior door and slowly pulls on it. It’s nearly off its hinges and it scrapes against the floor. He lifts it from the floor and sets it open enough for you both to slip through it.

The warehouse isn’t huge — it’s one large main room — but only half of it is being used. The overhead lights are off on your end, giving you a convenient cover of darkness. There are rows and rows of metal standalone shelves next to you, long left unused, gathering dust and trash. At the far end, four men sit around a folding game table playing a loud, drunken game of cards. But the center of the room is what captures your attention.

Two men — their backs to you — flank someone seated in a chair. You can’t see her face, but you know it’s her. You found her. You actually found her. Your whole body buzzes, and you almost feel relief if it weren’t for the six heavily armed men in your way. Distantly, you notice she’s dyed her hair since you’d last seen her.

“You stay here,” Marc whispers to you as he scans the room. His eyes flick to the offices on the second level that overlook the warehouse floor.

You almost argue with him when he amends, “Just wait here until I give the signal. Then you can go free her.”

“What’s the signal?”

“You’ll know it. Here.” He pulls out a hefty folding knife from his pocket and hands it over to you. “You’ll need this.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I can’t attack from this side. It’ll draw fire toward your sister. I have to find another angle.” Then he slips back through the door.

You duck down behind a shelf to wait. The men at the table are animated and loud, though you can’t make out what they’re saying with their voices echoing off the high ceilings. The men guarding your sister look bored, constantly shifting their feet and turning their heads to glance around the room. The man on her right finds something to do, however, when he turns toward your sister and leans against her shoulder, crotch first. You recognize him as the man that you followed here. It takes all of your willpower to stay put as Marc instructed and not run at him and sink the knife you’re holding into his neck.

You grit your teeth and wonder what’s taking Marc so long. Every second that ticks by makes you more nervous about Marc’s plan. A feeling that you shouldn’t have trusted him creeps over you. But that could be just your nerves talking.

One moment the card table is bursting with laughter, the next all is chaos as the glass windows from the offices nearly just above shatter and a man — dressed head to toe in a white costume, his cape flared into a crescent — soars down among the shards of glass. During his descent, he uses both hands to fling two blades towards your sister’s guards. They find their marks in the men’s faces just as they were raising their guns. Their bodies teeter for a moment and then fall to the floor.

You watch as Marc lands, one hand on the ground to steady him. When he rises, you get a better look at his costume, the criss-crossing wraps that resemble a mummy, the crescent in the center of his chest and the glowing eyes underneath his hood. It surprises you since you had expected a different costume - the one you’d seen Jake wear. Apparently there was more than one.

The men at the table seem to get over their shock at his arrival. They stand and open fire on Marc who doesn’t even seem to notice the bullets striking his suit as he stalks toward them.

You have to assume that this was the signal. In any case, there’s no one to stop you from approaching your sister. You run to her. She’s thrashing in the chair, her arms and legs tugging on the ropes binding her. As you get closer you faintly hear screams trying to break free from her throat in between blasts of gunfire.

You step around the body of the guard who just moments before you’d wanted to kill. The blade is still lodged into his face and you notice it’s in the shape of a crescent. It’s kind of disturbing - you hadn’t pegged Marc for the type to have coordinating accessories.

Your sister is thrashing so violently that she doesn’t even register when you step in front of her. When you reach out to steady her, she flinches under your touch and then she sees you. She narrows her eyes and as soon as you pull the gag free of her mouth she yells with a hoarse, raspy voice, “YOU BITCH!”

You nearly put the gag back in her mouth. Your hands even lift it about an inch before you discard it to the floor. When you consider what you might have expected her to say, you realize that each time you pictured rescuing her, she was unconscious during it. But you can’t say you’re surprised with her reaction.

You ignore her, since you don’t want to get into it with her. Not here, not now. You kneel and get started cutting the ropes around her ankles. But she’s not done.

“What the hell did you get me into?” Her voice is raw and you can barely hear her over the cacophony happening behind you. She continues ranting but you tune her out and focus on getting her free. Despite the sharpness of the knife, you still really have to saw to clear all the rope.

By the time you get to her wrists, she seems to have mostly tired herself out. She seems to finally become aware of her surroundings because she asks, “Who the fuck is that guy?”

You turn to follow her gaze. Moon Knight, now in the black and white costume you’d first seen, is fighting the one remaining thug — the other three lay lifeless on the ground. Just as Jake is about to strike him down, the costume changes again. It’s all white, except unlike before, this is an actual suit. Like a three piece suit.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you hear him yell. “You can’t just kill everyone!”

It sounds like Steven to you.

The costume morphs into the mummy-looking one. “He’s right. We need to keep someone alive to give Foswell a message.”

The black and white costume resurfaces. “Shit. You’re right,” Jake says.

The costume switches briefly back to the three piece suit as Steven says, “That’s not what I meant.” And then it’s back to Jake.

You turn back to your sister and resume working on the rope. “He’s helping me rescue you,” you tell her. That doesn’t feel like it totally covers it, but it’s the best explanation you can give in the moment.

“God, Greg’s probably freaking. Worried sick about me.”

Your temper flares at the mention of her husband. In a distinctly unkind voice you say, “I love you, but you are the stupidest person I know.”

You cut the last of the rope free and reach to help her stand but she recoils from you. Her mouth is hanging open in indignation. “Excuse me?” she demands.

“Greg isn’t worried sick. He knows exactly where you are. He doesn’t give a fuck.”

“You’ve always been so jealous of me, you can’t stand it, can you? Why do you always say these bad things about Greg?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now. Do you want to get out of here, or should I leave you here?”

You’d never really leave her, but you need to get her moving. She scoffs and tries to stand up on her own, but her legs are weak and she grasps at your arms as she sinks back into the chair. You help her up and she leans heavily on you.

You check in with the boys to see Jake holding a knife to the neck of the lone survivor. In a chilling tone you’d never heard him use before he’s speaking to him. You catch the last part. “-never see you again. She’s done. You got that?”

Jake flings him to the floor and bends down to slash at one of his ankles, slicing through his Achilles tendon. The man screams, and Jake turns and sees you and your sister watching him. The mask over his face disappears and he looks as though he’s about to say something. But the man on the ground, holding his ankle as blood pours out of the gash, shouts at your sister. “It’s no great loss, you know. You were getting a little old for your husband anyway.”

Jake balls his hand into a fist. He’s mid-swing when you stop him. “Jake!” He freezes. “Let’s just go.”

He lingers for a moment, and then relents. He comes to you as you struggle to walk with your sister. He offers to carry her, but she responds with, “Who the fuck are you?”

You head to the door by the loading docks as it’s closer to where you parked. It’s slow going, and you curse her stubbornness, but you allow her this autonomy of body. You’ll help her with every step.

You emerge out into the cool night air. You struggle getting your sister down the steps but somehow you manage without accepting Jake’s offers of help.

As you’re walking to the car, Marc suddenly fronts and the costume changes to his. “Does this mean…?” He gestures at his outfit.

You’re confused until you realize he’s not talking to you.

Jake fronts again. “No, it’s just a temporary loan. I’m still the only one on the hook with Khonshu.”

Steven fronts. “We’re going to fix that though, right? Although,” he tugs on the sleeves of his jacket with gloved hands, “I still look fit, don’t I?” You run an appreciative eye up and down his form.

It’s as your eyes are coming back up that Jake fronts again and you get a good look at just how tight his costume is. You bump your shoulder against him. “I didn’t know you all came with outfits.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he tells you, but he’s smiling.

“Too late.”

It’s a nice moment. You’ve really missed Jake, and you want nothing more than to talk with him about everything that’s happened. You want to believe that there’s still a chance for you two.

Then your sister opens her big mouth, cranes her neck to look at Jake, and says, “Are you fucking my sister?”

~~~

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley x you #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x you

[heartthrobin]

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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[pimosworld]

Read it again- part I

I wanted to start a list of recs that I find myself going back to when I’m happy or sad or just in need of something to distract me from the crazy world we live in. This will be multiple parts so consider this the first installment. These will be old/new/current wips and fics.

Please head the warnings in each fic or series.

Triple Frontier

The devils backbone- @ezrasbirdie

Feed your ego- @whatthefishh

War makes thieves and peace hangs them- @brandyllyn

Messy Pile of Affection Series- @flightlessangelwings

The homecoming series- @astroboots

Awakening Series- @romanarose

Switch to channel 2- @autumnleaves1991-blog

My best friends girl- @tropes-and-tales

Moon Knight

Prized possession- @melodygatesauthor

Third ones the charm-(part I, part II) @missdictatorme

Egg Fried Rice- @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The Jake problem- (part I, part II) @bensolosbluesaber

For science- @projectionistwrites

Joel Miller

Pink- @netherfeildren

The checklist- @thetriumphantpanda

Trick or Treat- @morallyinept

Meet me in the back- @atticrissfinch

Honey do- @kiwisbell

Take care of you- @theidiotwhowritesthings

Javier Peña

It’s never too late- @javierpena-inatacvest

Paranoid heart- @goodwithcheese

Late night texts- @undercoverpena

D.I.Y.- @swiftispunk

Please comment and reblog the authors works that they pour their time, heart and soul into.

Feel free to leave a comment with your favorite re-read or message me directly to include in future installments.

#pimosrecs #triple frontier #joel miller fanfiction #javier pena #moon knight fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #joel miller smut #javier peña smut #moon knight series #pedro pascal characters #oscar isaac characters #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #steven grant x female reader #marc spector x fem!reader #jake lockley fanfiction #benny miller x frankie morales #will miller x female reader #javier pena x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel smut