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mrs-lockley · 1 year ago

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Reach for the Moon | I. The Breaking

PAIRINGS: (Slow Burn, Romantic) Jake Lockley x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, (Platonic) Steven Grant x Southeast Asian!Fem Reader, (Unrequited) Marc Spector x Southeast Asian Fem!Reader, no use of Y/N, no physical description of the reader

WARNINGS: Unrequited love (Reader is in love with Marc, Marc is oblivious but means well), first love and heartbreak, Reader knows limited Spanish, italics in dialogue indicates Reader and her parents speaking a foreign language (unspecified), mentions of divorce and a brief mention of the military

WORD COUNT: 7.5k

SERIES SUMMARY: Inspired by the 1954 film & 1995 remake of Sabrina, No Moon Knight AU.

To heal your broken heart from your unrequited crush on Marc Spector, your family sends you to Singapore to help establish your cousin’s bakery. You return to New York two years later as a more confident woman, but you find yourself picking up the pieces of your broken heart (again) after seeing Marc still holding onto his first love. Sensing the pain and heartbreak between you and Marc, Jake steps in as a white knight to create distance to help both of you heal, but he was never supposed to fall in love with you.

Author's Note: Many thanks to @soft-girl-musings, @v4mpires0ap, @callingmrsbarnes for supporting me with this fic. It's been a long time coming 🤍 Special thanks to @flightlessangelwings for your guidance and advice on making writing more inclusive! Today is my birthday, and I wanted to share this to my dear friends who never gave up on me when I gave up on writing.

Tagging (but no pressure to read!): @writefightandflightclub @venting402 @musing-magpie @themarcusmoreno

THE BREAKING

You remembered your last night in New York— it was near the end of summer when you were set to leave to help your cousin establish her bakery in Singapore. While your friends and family were excited for your new adventure abroad, you had run away, letting your feet guide you to an all too familiar apartment building before you collapsed on the steps. Your heart was filled with dread, splintering into two like an old tree bending to the howling winds of sorrow and heartbreak.

How foolish you were, you thought to yourself as you sobbed on the steps, your face buried in your hands as the tears continued to pour out of you. Your heart held no contempt for your cousin or the beautiful country of Singapore; you loved your cousin dearly and always wanted to visit her there, but living in Singapore for two years would mean leaving him behind.

Marc Spector, the man you loved for so many years. The man who didn’t even know you existed, the man who didn’t love you back.

He was beautiful, handsome. Dark brown eyes and curly black hair, strong brows and the whisper of a five o’clock shadow kissing his jaw and cheeks. A smooth voice with a bit of a drawl that you found comforting and uniquely Marc. Broad, wide shoulders and sun-kissed tan skin, it did not take long for you to fall in love with him.

Like scenes from an old film, you replayed your cherished memories of him in your mind. His nose scrunching when laughing at one of your jokes, his proud smile when you showed him your college degree, his gentle lips on your forehead as he comforted you after a rough night.

As much as you love him, shards of guilt tore through you. Deep down, you knew he was still reeling from his divorce, and that he still harbored feelings for his ex-wife. A few nights after the two of you had too much to drink, Marc would recount the memories he shared with her that were near and dear to his heart. Each time he mentioned her name, daggers were impaled through you. How could you let yourself fall for someone who only saw you as a friend and still had feelings for their first love?

You had set yourself for heartbreak, and you had no one to blame but yourself as you tried to pick up the pieces and forget your feelings for him. Perhaps living in Singapore for two years would be for the best. You would make yourself forget about him and the distance would ease the pain and remedy the inevitable heartbreak that was soon to follow.

Before you could draft a plan, a pair of dark boots appeared in front of you, followed by the sound of a familiar voice calling your name in concern.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What are you doing out here so late? What’s wrong?”

You pulled the sleeves of your shirt over your wrists as you hastily wiped your tears, using your sleeves as a makeshift tissue. “I’m fine, Jake. I just got lost in my head, please do not worry about me.”

Your lips quivered and your voice trembled as soon as you spoke, a sob threatening to escape from your throat as another wave of tears pricked the corners of your eyes. How silly of you to fall apart on the steps outside of his apartment building- have you no shame?

To your surprise, a thin cloth was offered to you, pulling you out of your thoughts before you could spiral into self-degradation and pity. Hesitantly, you looked up at him to find his brown eyes softening in empathy. When you didn’t accept the kerchief right away, he gently gestured it towards you again, urging you to take it.

With a quiet thank you, you accepted it, dabbing your eyes and steadying your breathing as you heard him take a seat on the steps beside you.

“Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head, but kept your gaze fixed on the cloth in your hands. Even though Marc and Jake shared the same face, Jake was different. You couldn’t bear to look at him— one look, and he would see right through you.

Instead of answering him, you observed the scene in front of you. Across the street, two lovers exchanged sweet words and loving promises. Down the sidewalk, children screamed as they chased each other down the block. Cars, buses, and taxis drove by in a blur with only their flickering tail lights indicating their passing presence. You thought back to the nights you spent with Marc, your arm linked with his as he walked you home after you finished your night classes at the university. He would listen as you vented about the assignments your professors piled on you in the middle of midterms and other projects with similar deadlines.

“We’re proud of you, you know,” Marc said once you finished crossing the street. “Going to school to get your degree. I went straight into the Marines after high school and was discharged after …”

His voice trailed off, but you caught the stony expression on his face and the darkness that clouded his eyes. Your heart began to ache.

“I’m proud of you, too,” you nudged him lightly. “You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here. I think that’s something worthy and important to celebrate.”

You grinned as you watched a smile form on his lips. How rare it was to see Marc smile, but how sweet it was to be the reason behind it.

After a moment, you answered him.

“I’m just sensitive, that’s all.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute as you both listened to the bustling sounds of the city. That was the thing about Jake Lockley– his actions spoke louder than words, and him sitting here with you, letting you cry and stain his handkerchief with your eyeliner and mascara was enough to pull you out of your downward spiral.

“That may be true,” Jake hummed from beside you, “but it’s okay to be sensitive. It means that you care and feel things deeply.”

Perhaps a little too deeply, you mused as you folded his handkerchief. It was your parents’ idea for you to live in the Lion City for two years as a way for you to not only apply what you learned in college to the real world, but to keep you away from Marc.

“You need to forget about him. Pining after him will do you no good,” your father lectured one evening after Marc dropped you off at home. “He does nothing but bring you heartache.”

“He is a good man, Papa,” you reasoned.

Your mother sighed as she pulled you onto the couch to sit between her and your father. “We never said he was a bad person, my child. But we don’t want to see you heartbroken over him. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you to fall in love with someone else.”

Suppose they have a point, you reckoned. All your life, you fantasized about falling hopelessly in love with someone and that they would reciprocate your feelings in return, but life is not as colorful and sweet as the romantic novels you read.

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you weren’t supposed to have feelings for?” You asked quietly.

Jake smiled softly, but you caught the pain in his voice as he spoke. “A long time ago, yes.”

You were not close friends with Jake, not to the same level as you were with Marc and Steven. With Jake, he was more private. Much like the cabbie that he was, it often felt like there was a window between the two of you. He was in the front seat, but you were in the back seat, only seeing rare glimpses of him through the window in between.

His brown eyes fell on yours, and he raised a curious, but amused, eyebrow at you. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, your cheeks growing warm. “I don’t know you as well as I know Marc and Steven, so it’s a little strange for me to picture you as a man who was madly in love. You are always so quiet.”

To your surprise, Jake laughed, and you could not help but laugh along with him as you noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. It was not often you heard him laugh, but it was a delightful sound that you wanted to hear again.

“You’re a funny girl,” he chuckled, but you were not offended by his words. “But you do have a point. How about this? I’ll promise to show more of myself when you return from Singapore?”

You smiled at him as he extended his gloved hand to you. “I’d like that very much.”

His smile was kind in return as he shook your hand. Then, he stood, gently helping you up from where you were seated on the dusty steps.

“It’s getting late, conejita (little bunny), let me drive you home before your parents worry about you.”

You could not help but chuckle at the nickname he had given you as you followed him, barely catching the fond smile on his face as he helped you down the steps. Your tears had dried by then, your heart a little bit lighter while he guided you to his car.

Like a true gentleman, he opened the door for you, making sure you had your seatbelt on before heading to the other side. Inside, everything was uniquely Jake with the smell of leather and his cologne, the seats spacious and free of clutter. As he turned on the engine, the comforting melody of a Spanish love ballad played from the speakers, and you slowly closed your eyes.

The first few nights in Singapore were rough. You were miserable and heartbroken as you absentmindedly helped your aunt, uncle, and cousin clean up the new shop. Concerned as they were, they insisted that you rest, convinced you were exhausted from the jet lag and adjustment to the new time change. Of course, you should have known better that they would contact your parents. Not wanting to keep secrets, they told them about your unrequited crush on “a handsome boy back home,” and that you were heartbroken that he could not tell you goodbye.

The first few months, you wrote various letters to Steven. From tourist postcards to long handwritten letters, you poured your thoughts, feelings, and emotions into the letters, hoping that your best friend would offer you some solace and healing to your heartache.

I have never fallen in love so deeply, not even when I was a teenager. Isn’t it childish? My parents were worried, and now my aunt, uncle, and cousin fear I may not be helpful in establishing their bakery because of my “broken heart.” Growing up, I wanted to fall in love like in the movies, but I never expected it to be this painful and tragic. You would think that a smart girl like me would have fallen in love with someone else. Instead, I fell for a man who is still in love with his first love. I might as well be reaching for the moon.

It would take weeks, sometimes a couple months before your letter would reach him. You would anxiously check the mail each day, hoping for comfort from him. When you finally received his letter, you excused yourself to the kitchen where you sat with your face covered in flour, your apron already painted in various colors from testing different icings as you unfolded his letter.

You are still young, and you will find love again. The first love is always so painful, but do not fret, love. Have you forgotten? We already built rockets to reach the moon. It is a matter of finding the one that gravity pulls you to.

You cherished each letter you wrote him. Even in today’s digital age, you and Steven preferred pen, wrinkled papers, and postage stamps. You would collect the most colorful and vibrant postcards to send to Steven so he could add it to his collection, and you could not help but smile when he sent a picture of all your postcards taped to Gus’ fish tank. It felt a bit old-fashioned to wait months for a letter overseas, but more intimate as you shared stories and memories with each other.

The first few months were a bit painful, but as it turned into a year, your heart did not ache as much as when you left New York. Your cousin’s bakery took off during the first year, and soared to higher heights in the second with lines trailing out the door, but you were quick on your feet to bring out all the delectable treats and desserts that the city loved. One eventful night, your cousin brought you with her college friends to the local bar to celebrate, and you forgot that Marc broke your heart as you both sang to your favorite songs until your lungs ached and your throat ran dry.

You stumbled into the kitchen that night with your cousin, the two of you giggling as your aunt and uncle merely laughed at how affectionate the two of you were with each other. You quickly ran to your room to pull out a pen, your body filled with warmth as you sat at your bedroom window with your cousin’s cat curled at your feet.

Oh Steven, I haven’t felt this happy since leaving New York. I just got back from the karaoke bar with my cousin, and although I might be a little tipsy, I’ve learnt so many things here in Singapore. The night is young, but rich with dreams, wishes, and hope as I write underneath a full moon. Come what may, my heart will be open to new possibilities and adventures, for I am not the same person as I was yesterday. And before I forget, don’t tell my parents that I will be coming home a few weeks early; I want to surprise them, and I want to surprise you with how much I have grown. I would like to think I am not the same college girl who left with a broken heart, because I will return as a hopeful young woman who still dares to dream.

Before you knew it, you were packing your things and ready to return home. Your aunt, uncle, and cousin embraced you tightly with tearful smiles as they dropped you off at the airport, and soon, you were flying through the clouds. Your heart fluttered in excitement at seeing your family and friends again, and for once, you were not too worried about facing him again. You remained hopeful as you reminded yourself of how far you’ve come as you carried your dreams with you.

But perhaps you spoke too soon.

You called Steven a few nights before to plan for your arrival. Steven promised that he would pick you up at the JFK airport, but as you made it down the escalator, your heart nearly stopped. Waiting at the bottom was Marc Spector, holding up a sign with your name and a bouquet of flowers. His face is partially hidden by the shadow of his cap, but you could see the growing smile on his face as you approached.

“I know you were expecting Steven,” he explains as you stop in front of him, “but he remembered he can’t drive, so I offered to step in-”

Your heart swells as you take him in. It has been two years since you saw him last. You did not keep in touch with Marc as closely as you did with Steven, but seeing him hold a sign with flowers for you, you suddenly feel like that college girl again.

Before he could finish his sentence, you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly.

“Thank you for coming for me,” you whisper. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Your heart skips a beat as he returns your embrace. With your head on his shoulder, you close your eyes. His arms are as strong as you remembered him, and the scent of his cologne brings you back to those nights he would pick you up after class to walk you home.

“It’s good to see you. We missed you.”

You ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as he pulls away. He looks down at you, and you could not help but smile at the warmth and softness in his brown eyes.

“I almost didn’t recognize you. You look different.”

“Different?”

Marc smiles softly. He smoothes a loose strand of your hair, and you pray in that moment that he did not feel the sudden heat rising to your cheeks from the contact.

“A good kind of different,” he answers, “you’re glowing.”

Butterflies flutter in your tummy at his words. It was true- you were a different woman now, and you were not the same college girl with an unrequited crush on her friend.

But in that moment, it seems all you could think about is his gentle smile. If you weren’t careful enough, you would slowly turn back into that lovesick girl.

Before you delve too deep into your thoughts, Marc smiles fondly at you again as he hands you the bouquet.

“Let me get your things, and then I can take you home.”

You smile at him as he gathers your belongings. As you follow him out of the terminal, your fingers absentmindedly trace the soft petals of the daffodils. They are a soft white and delicate between your fingertips, and you are already thinking about what vase to use and where to put it in your bedroom once you get home.

The ride home was quiet, and as much as you wanted to ask him about everything that you missed in the past two years, you were exhausted from your trip. It took some time, but Marc was able to persuade you to sleep, only lightly tapping your shoulder to wake you when he pulled up to your parents’ driveway. It was after dinner when you saw their silhouettes moving across the kitchen, and you could not wait to surprise them with your early arrival.

And surprised they were. Screams of joy and laughter echoed throughout the neighborhood as your family embraced you with overjoyed tears streaming down their cheeks. Much to your surprise, they were civil with Marc as he and your father helped bring your suitcases in, even offering that he could stay for some coffee before he politely declined. Whether he knew that your parents did not favor him as much compared to Steven, you didn’t know, but you were happy that he brought you home.

As he walks out the front door, you excuse yourself and call his name as you quickly follow after him.

“Thank you again for picking me up and taking me home,” you tell him as he turns around. “I wouldn’t have gotten here without you.”

He smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. “Anytime, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

You smile shyly. This wasn’t the first time he brought you home, and it reminded you of the nights he would pick you up or walk you home after class. Just like old times.

Your mind was reeling, your heart soaring as you placed the bouquet of daffodils on your desk. Despite your parent’s disapproval (and much to your dismay, too), all the feelings you thought you moved on from Marc quickly resurfaced after seeing him again. You did your best to not think about him too much while you were in Singapore, but seeing him smile at you and having him take you home, you could feel yourself falling for him all over again.

It took a couple weeks to adjust to being back in New York, but it was wonderful to be home. You told your parents everything about your time in Singapore and the success of your cousin’s business. Every now and then, you would call her, your aunt, and uncle to see how popular their bakery became since you left. In the background of your video calls, you would see your uncle tending to a customer in the front, or your aunt reloading a tray of green tea mochi in their display case. You missed the hustle and bustle of Singapore, but you were glad to be in the familiarity of the Big Apple with your friends and family again.

Steven met with you first after you settled back into your routine. It was a Thursday afternoon as the two of you sat in your living room and exchanged gifts. You beamed at all the stories and anecdotes he shared with you.

“That’s amazing!” You told him. The two of you were cross-legged on the floor as you poured him another cup of tea. “I just know the kids are going to love having you as a tour guide in the King Tut exhibit at the Smithsonian.”

Your best friend grinned, a soft red dusting his smiling cheeks. “You think so? I start on Monday. I’m so nervous! I don’t want to mess it up or bore them with all the details, but you know how much I love Ancient Egypt.”

“You’re going to do great. You make history sound so fascinating and entertaining.” You smiled reassuringly at him. “I missed hearing all your stories while I was in Singapore.”

“Well, that just means I have to do some more research for you to get you up to speed,” Steven countered, and the two of you laughed. “I’m so happy that you’re back and that I get to meet with you again. We missed you so much.”

Once again, your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Marc missing you. But you quickly dismissed the thought as soon as it came— you and Marc were friends beforehand, after all. You already spent two years away from him, surely you should have gotten a grip over your unrequited crush on a man who had no romantic feelings for you whatsoever.

Your face must have fallen. Before you caught yourself, you found Steven’s brown eyes washing over you with concern. “You know, love, Marc told me he missed you too. I know you didn’t keep in touch with him frequently like you did with me. Are you doing okay?”

You swallowed hard as the other shoe dropped. As much as you hated to admit, it was true. Compared to the handwritten letters and postcards you sent Steven, your communication with Marc paled in comparison. You reasoned with yourself that the distance would do you good, and the only times you shared any correspondence with him were through some texts and pictures you sent via email. Like Marc, you did not have much social media, and you preferred to keep your private life private. But in the texts you both shared, they were straight-forward. You knew Marc was not fond of communicating through texts, and it was difficult to keep track of when he fronted with the time differences between New York and Singapore. Naturally, he fell through the cracks.

It’s been a few weeks since you saw Marc, and the last time you spoke with him was when he took you home after picking you up at the airport. You weren’t avoiding him, but you also did not trust yourself around him. One look at him, and all the feelings you tried to repress would suddenly rush to the surface.

“Does he know?” You asked, your voice quiet and hesitant. “About my feelings for him?”

You watched as Steven’s eyes softened. Whether your best friend was telling the truth, or telling you what you needed to hear to avoid hurting you, you did not know.

“No, he doesn’t.”

You nodded, but kept your gaze on your mournful expression looking up at you through your reflection on the glossy surface. The mug grew cold in your hands, and you no longer felt the warmth and comfort of your favorite tea.

Sensing the change in demeanor, you heard Steven clear his throat and set his mug on the table. Pulling you out of your thoughts, you glanced over at him to see a sheepish smile on his lips, his curls slightly askew.

“If you don’t mind, can I practice my first tour with you? I have my speeches ready, and I think I need to get you caught up on what you missed.”

You vaguely felt the sting in your cheeks as you smiled at him and nodded. “I would love to hear it. Tell me everything.”

As Steven practiced his first speech and tour with you, thoughts of Marc began to fade away. All you could do was smile as you listened to your friend recite the great history of ancient civilizations over your favorite cup of tea. Your heart ached as the afternoon bled into the evening, but it was not as painful as it was before. Things were different now— you were different— as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, reminding yourself that you had to move on, for your sake.

The days went by slowly, and soon it was summer. You smiled as the sun shined longer and the nights grew shorter, painting the sky vibrant hues of golds, oranges, and reds like a sparkling fire. You did not see Steven as often once he started his museum tours, but you always smiled at his texts.

It was a Thursday morning when you were at home when you heard your phone chime from across the room. Expecting it to be Steven gushing about his latest tour to elementary school children, you picked up your phone without a second thought, only for your heart to stop. Marc.

You did not mean to ignore him, but your communication with him was limited in the months you returned. It was for the best, you reasoned with yourself. The distance would do you good, and for a while, you truly believed that you moved on from your unrequited crush on your friend. But just a simple text and call of his name brought you back to the sleepless nights of staining your pillow with tears.

The rushing sound of your beating heart echoed in your ears as your fingers over the text. You couldn’t ignore him forever. He was your friend first, your heartbreak second.

Which led you to wearing your favorite dress with your arm linked through his as the two of you walked through the busy town square of a night market. Much to your parents (and Steven’s) concern, you agreed to meet with him.

“I haven’t talked to him since I left for Singapore,” you argued with your parents over dinner. “He was my friend first. I can’t ignore him forever.”

And honestly, you couldn’t, even if you tried. Marc was too observant, and the last thing you wanted was for him to think he hurt you. Even if your heart was breaking.

“I’m sure the food was better back in Singapore, but I thought that I could bring a part of it to you.”

You laugh softly as Marc turns to you. Seeing there was an Asian street food market in town that weekend, Marc invited you to come along. It was a way for you two to catch up since you had yet to have a full and proper conversation with him since you returned home. It was casual enough, and surely, no harm could be done.

“It’s still home,” you assure him, and your heart swells as he smiles at you.

How could you hate him when he still brought you joy?

“I researched what I could, but I’ll need your opinion since you’re the expert,” he teases, and you laugh again. “There’s so many choices, it’s almost overwhelming. Where do I start?”

You look around at the different vendors, booths, and trucks around the square. Even at this hour, there are so many people trying new things and enjoying the night. There really is no place like home.

“I’ll show you one of my favorites,” you tell him. “Have you had mochi donuts before?”

“It will be my first time,” Marc smiles at you, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as he extends his arm to you. “Show me.”

With a pounding heart, you link your arm through his as you guide him to the booth. Thankfully the line was not long, and you had food to temporarily distract you from the emotions rising to the surface.

The conversation began to flow into a steady rhythm as the night continued on. Two years have passed since you last stood by his side, but tonight, the memories gathered in your mind as if it were only yesterday. You found yourself laughing over the shenanigans that Marc and Steven found themselves in while you were gone, and in return, you shared stories of creating recipes and painting the town red with your cousin and her friends on sleepless nights.

For a little while, you fooled yourself into thinking it was the two of you, just like old times.

You sit on a bench as the night draws to a close. With his jacket around your shoulders, it takes everything in you to not pull it closer towards yourself. It may not mean nothing to him, but it means everything to you.

Across the promenade, a local college band begins to play as the strings of their guitar tunes out the noise of your beating heart. If you listen long enough, you would not have to hear your heart ache.

After a moment, Marc takes a shaky breath beside you, his dark brows furrowed. “Can I ask you something?”

You turn to face him. “Anything.”

You watch as a soft smile spreads across his lips, but you know him long enough to know that it did not reach his eyes.

“You’ve been different since Singapore,” he begins, and you swallow hard, fearing his next words. “You’ve been distant. Things just aren’t the same or what it used to be. I need to know—”

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns to look at you. His brown eyes were dark, filled with emotion that he seldom showed.

“Was it something I did?” He asks, his voice shaking. “Have I hurt you?”

Marc Spector was many things— observant, perceptive— but a heartbreaker? A heartbreaker was not one of them, even if he held your broken one in the palm of his hands.

“No, Marc—” you swallow the growing ache in your chest as you reach for him. “Please don’t ever think that. You did nothing wrong.” Gently, you squeeze his hands to comfort him.

You could not lie to him. You could not hurt him, not when he was like this.

“Things may be different, but I haven’t changed. Not really.”

But you have, in your own way. You would like to believe you have changed and grown into a young woman, but as you smiled at him, you wondered how much you really changed when your heart fluttered at his smile.

“You seem more grown up,” he whispers softly as he smoothes a strand of your hair. “Don’t grow up so fast that you don’t need me, kid.”

You blink, ignoring the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes at his words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a comforting smile, he stretches his arm and places it around your shoulders to pull you close as his lips gently place a soft kiss on your forehead. Your heart skips a beat from his touch as the scent of his cologne envelopes you. It is so tempting to close your eyes and fall deeper into his embrace, but you fight against the heartstrings being tugged at your heart.

In the promenade, the band transitions to a softer, romantic song with a few slow strokes of an acoustic guitar. One by one, couples gather with their partners to sway and dance along. A soft smile graces your lips as you recognize the tune.

“This is one of my favorite Hozier songs,” you remark fondly as you remembered discovering his music for the first time. “Do you like his music—”

You look over at your friend, but stop. It was as if he was frozen in time, eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost.

“Marc?”

He did not answer. He remains frozen, paralyzed and rooted to the spot as if he was ensnared by invisible hands. You call out to him again as you grasp his hands in yours, trying to bring him back to reality.

Finally, his eyes meet yours, filled with nothing but pain and sorrow.

“This song—” he stammers, his voice hoarse. His gaze flickers between you and the band as the couples in the courtyard embrace one another to the lyrics. “This song was played at my wedding.”

Your heart sinks as you realize the significance. Layla.

“It was your song,” you breathe as the pain in your heart begins to splinter deep inside, tearing it in two. How insensitive of you to think that he was over his first love.

As if he was burned, Marc pulls away from you. He turns his head away, his voice low and trembling as he speaks.

“I’m sorry, kid, but please excuse me—”

Before you could say a word, he was already walking away, leaving you alone at the bench with his jacket around your shoulders.

Slowly, you pull your hands toward yourself. The tears that threatened you from before finally had the chance to fall, staining your cheeks with heartbreak and woe. Your heart twists as you watch the couples cradle each other as if they would fall apart without their touch. You were foolish to think that could be you and Marc one day. How could you fault him for still being in love with his first love when you still had feelings for him?

You should have said no, you scold yourself as you pull his jacket tighter around you, trying to comfort yourself with the lingering scent of his cologne and imagining that he was holding you in his arms. Tonight was a mistake, and you should have kept your distance from him. You should have listened to your parents and Steven’s words of caution, but here you were, crying alone on a bench.

Marc saw you as nothing more than a younger sister. He was never yours.

As you wipe the stray tears on your cheeks, you are pulled from your thoughts by a familiar handkerchief crossing your line of vision.

Stunned, you look up and find a pair of deep brown eyes washing over you in concern. He shares the same face, but you know the difference.

“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t spend her evening shedding tears, conejita.”

A dry laugh escapes your lips as you accept the handkerchief. As you brush away your tears, he takes a seat beside you and whistles a low tune.

“Marc,” you clear your throat, trying to control the wave of tears that threatened to spill over. “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be fine, he just needs some time,” Jake answers. He looks over at you with a sympathetic gaze. “I’m sorry he walked away.”

You shrug as you look down, your fingers twisting the ends of his handkerchief to numb the heartache. Even when it hurt, you could not find it in yourself to be upset with him.

You echo his words. “I’ll be fine.”

He clicks his tongue with a shake of his head.

“We can’t have that,” he reasons as he stands and offers his hand to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s end the night on a good note.”

You ponder his words as you look up at him. Jake shares the same face as your best friends, but is different in his own way. Steven’s eyes were bright and doe-eyed while Marc’s were darker with a storm of emotion, but Jake was different.

Looking at him now, they are deeper, but filled with a sense of warmth and familiarity that you could not explain. It bewilders you, but at the same time, it was as if you were greeting an old friend.

Yet, there is so much about Jake that you did not know. You try not to let your worries get the best of you, but you remain hesitant and guarded at his intentions. You prefer not to know, and you would rather delude yourself into hoping he was not aware of your unrequited feelings for Marc, too. It seems everyone knows how you feel about him except the man himself.

As if he read your mind, he reaches forward to caress your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that falls from your eyes.

“I promise I have no ill intentions, conejita,” he comforts you with a gentle smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “I don’t know you very well.”

He chuckles softly at you. “I promised I would show more of myself to you when you returned. Let me fulfill that promise.”

You remembered that night when he found you crying on the steps outside of his apartment before you left for Singapore. It felt so long ago, but it also felt as if it were yesterday.

With a sheepish smile, you accept his hand. “Lead the way.”

You allow him to guide you to the promenade with your hand in his. After a moment, he pulls you close with one of his hands settling on your back, the other holding yours as he begins to sway to the music. You follow his movements with one hand on his shoulder as the other was laced with his, keeping you connected to him.

You were not much of a dancer. For most of high school, you opted out of homecoming and only attended prom during your senior year, but even then, you were with friends. You never slow danced with anyone except your father whenever he played the old romantic love songs from his homeland in the kitchen on Saturday mornings.

An apology immediately falls from your lips as you accidentally step on his feet. “I’m so sorry—”

He tucks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look at him.

“Eyes on me,” he whispers. “Follow my movements. Pretend it’s just the two of us.”

Slowly, you nod, keeping your eyes on him as you follow his steps. Your cheeks feel warm from the contact, but you elect to ignore it. You could only imagine how you looked.

“When did you learn how to dance?” You ask him curiously. You did not want to say it, but you were surprised to see that he was a natural dancer.

“I’m a man of many hidden talents, and I am not one to reveal my secrets.”

You could not help but laugh at his answer as he grins playfully at you. He was always an enigma.

“Well, whoever taught you must have been a wonderful teacher,” you compliment him with a small and shy smile. “And whoever you danced with had a lucky partner.”

Jake laughs softly as he twirled you. Once you face him again, he smiles.

For the first time, you feel something foreign tug at your heartstrings. In the glimpses you have seen of Jake Lockley, you knew very little about him, but you knew enough to know he only revealed his true self to a select few.

Perhaps this time, you would finally meet the man in the front seat through the window in-between.

The ride home was quiet, but the silence was not suffocating. The city lights blurred past you as Jake hummed and whistled along to the Spanish melodies that played on the radio. Some songs you were familiar with from the playlists that Steven and Marc would often share with you. There were times when you asked them to teach you the language so you could better understand the songs they would sing, and in return, you shared the music from your family’s homeland. You did not recognize the songs that Jake played on the radio, but even in your limited understanding of the language, you found comfort in the harmonies.

Like a true gentleman, Jake walked you to your front door once he dropped you off at home. The lights were still on in the kitchen when you arrived, and you knew your parents were still awake and waiting for your return.

“Thank you for tonight,” you turn to him as you stop at your front door. “I had a good time with you and Marc.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Marc. There was so little he shared about his divorce with Layla, and from the little you knew about it, you knew he loved her deeply. The wound in his heart had yet to close and heal, much similar to yours.

Sensing your worry, Jake offers a reassuring smile.

“He’ll be alright,” he reassures you. “He just needs some time to himself, but I promise you he’ll be okay. Steven and I will look after him.”

You nod. You’ve seen Marc withdraw at times, but not like this. You could still see the fear on his face— he looked as if he had seen a ghost, and you wonder if he will be able to come back.

“Did you want to come inside? I made some mochi earlier that you could take home.”

He shakes his head, but still offers that comforting smile at you. “I’ll be alright, but thank you. Can you tell your parents I said hello?”

You smile weakly at him, feeling a bit comforted by his reassurance. “I will.”

As you watch him walk back to his car, your heart begins to ache, a dagger digging into your chest and you could barely breathe.

For a moment, he looked just like Marc. Slicked back dark hair, olive green jacket over his shoulders, and that soft, gentle smile.

There was a time when Marc would bring you home like this, right after your night classes. He would walk you to the front door, his jacket over your shoulders, a protective arm around you as it was already dark once the sun had set.

“Whenever you need me, you can call me,” he comforted you the first night you completed your night class. It was already fall with the days growing shorter and the nights growing darker, and you often called him to take you home since you felt unsafe walking across campus and waiting at the bus stop by yourself.

“You don’t need to take me home every Thursday because I’m scared of walking alone to the bus stop at night. I can call campus police for an escort,” you told him as he opened the car door for you.

Marc shook his head and took your bag from your shoulders as you stepped in. “The buses aren’t always reliable, and I need to make sure you’re home safe.”

You began to protest, but he smiled at you as he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“No one can hurt you when I’m around,” he whispered. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easy, kid.”

But you did not have to do anything for Marc to leave you. How could you lose someone you loved if they were never yours?

You ignore the ache in your heart as Jake drives away, disappearing into the darkness like a dying star in the night sky. With a deep breath, you force a smile and step inside to find your parents waiting for you in the living room, eager to hear everything about your date.

It went well, you lie. We are just friends, and my feelings for him have faded. I am no longer in love with him.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector, you repeat to yourself as you sit in your room, your fingers tracing the daffodil petals that you saved from the bouquet he had given you. You cherished the flowers he gifted you, but they have withered and died, their petals pressed into thin pieces you would have saved and kept near to your heart.

You remembered sitting in the field as a schoolgirl with flowers in your hand and giggling with your friends as you sang, he loves me, he loves me not.

You loved him, but he loves you not.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector, you whisper, dropping the petals into the wastebasket.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector.

Another petal falls, followed by the other.

I am no longer in love with Marc Spector.

A tear falls from your eyes as you drop the last petal, your hand empty without any trace of him.

It was time to let him go.

PART 2: THE FALLING

#jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #steven grant x fem!reader #moon knight x fem!reader #moon knight imagine #jake lockley imagine #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #jake lockley x you #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #moon knight imagines #jake lockley imagines #steven grant imagines #marc spector imagines

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endofthelinegang · 20 days ago

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guys wait don’t kill me

I promise I’m not done writing for everyone I’ve been writing for

but I’m on vacation and we’ve been rewatching moonknight

IM SO BACK PLZ SEND ME SOME STUFF

I SWEAR ILL MIX IT IN WITH MY REGULAR CONTENT

#marc spector imagine #marvel moon knight #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #jake lockley imagines #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #jake lockley #marc spector #marc spector smut #steven grant drabble #steven grant imagine

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moonyflesh · 1 year ago

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a collection of my favorite Steven Grant moments because i related to him more than i think is deemed healthy.

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urdreamydoodles · 7 months ago

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MCU Characters x Reader (Part.2)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.2)

Characters: Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock & Frank Castle

Loki Laufeyson

- When Loki senses your anger, his reaction is one of mild panic hidden behind a mask of indifference. He’s not used to dealing with his emotions head-on, so he may initially act dismissive, trying to pretend it doesn’t bother him. But as the tension lingers, he realizes he can’t stand the thought of you being upset with him, and he knows he’ll have to address it.

- Loki’s first attempt to make amends is usually manipulative charm. He’ll try to win you over with clever words, even playing the victim a little if he thinks it might work. But when he sees that you’re genuinely hurt, he drops the act. His apology, when it finally comes, is quiet and almost vulnerable, a rare moment of honesty where he admits he hates the thought of you being unhappy with him.

- To make it up to you, Loki does something truly meaningful and personal. Maybe it’s a gift tied to a private memory you share, or a show of his magic in a way that’s tender rather than grand. He wants you to know he’s put thought into it, going out of his way to make you feel special. It’s his way of showing that he’s willing to try for you, even if vulnerability isn’t his strong suit.

- As you begin to soften, Loki opens up more than he usually would. He lets down his walls a little, talking about the parts of himself he usually keeps hidden. He’ll even joke about how “you must be the real trickster” if you’ve managed to make him care this much. Beneath the teasing, he’s genuinely grateful that you’re willing to give him another chance.

- When you forgive him, Loki’s relief is palpable. He gives you a soft smile, leaning in to kiss your forehead, his hands lingering as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He might joke that you’re too good for him, but there’s something uncharacteristically sincere in his voice. Loki knows he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s grateful all the same, and he silently vows to make sure he never drives you away again.

T’Challa

- When T’Challa realizes you’re upset with him, he immediately takes it to heart. He’s a leader, used to taking responsibility, and seeing you angry makes him instantly reflective. He approaches the situation with calmness, his face serious but soft, wanting to understand what went wrong. He respects you deeply and is ready to listen without judgment.

- T’Challa’s apology is direct and sincere. He’s never one to evade responsibility, and he owns up to his mistakes without hesitation. He’ll look you in the eyes, telling you how much he values your feelings and that he’s truly sorry for any hurt he’s caused. His words are heartfelt, and there’s a quiet strength in his voice as he assures you that he’ll work to make things right.

- To make amends, T’Challa chooses something deeply meaningful, likely a private moment where he can focus solely on you. Maybe it’s a walk through a quiet part of Wakanda’s gardens or a peaceful night under the stars, giving you his undivided attention. He’s regal yet humble, and he makes sure you feel appreciated and respected, knowing that actions speak louder than words.

- Throughout the time he spends making it up to you, T’Challa is gentle and attentive, his presence a calming force. He’s careful to show you through his actions that he cares about your happiness, making sure you feel seen and valued. He might open up about the challenges he faces as a leader and how much he relies on your support, wanting you to know that you are his anchor.

- When you finally forgive him, T’Challa’s relief is warm and heartfelt. He pulls you into a close embrace, holding you tightly, his hand lingering on your back as if grounding himself. He thanks you for your patience and promises to always consider your feelings. T’Challa values loyalty and love, and he’s deeply committed to making sure your relationship is built on trust and understanding.

Marc Spector

- When Marc realizes you’re angry with him, he’s immediately defensive, his body language tensing up as he prepares for confrontation. He’s used to keeping his guard up, even with those he cares about, so he doesn’t respond well to criticism at first. His instinct is to pull away, maybe even avoiding you for a bit as he tries to process what’s happening.

- After he’s had time to cool off, Marc comes back, his expression serious and his tone softer. He hates apologizing, but he hates the thought of losing you even more, so he does his best to be open. His words are a bit clumsy, and he struggles to be vulnerable, but his honesty is evident. He tells you he’s not great at this kind of thing, but he values you enough to try.

- Marc’s way of making it up to you is practical and thoughtful. He might surprise you with something you mentioned in passing, or he’ll fix something around the house that’s been bothering you. Marc doesn’t do big romantic gestures, but he shows his care through small, meaningful actions, hoping you’ll see the effort he’s putting in to make things right.

- When you start to soften, Marc’s demeanor becomes gentler, more comfortable. He opens up a bit more, talking about how hard it is for him to trust people and how much it means to him that you’re still here. He’s careful with his words, but his sincerity shines through. You can tell he’s genuinely trying to let his guard down for you.

- When you forgive him, Marc pulls you into a tight hug, holding on longer than usual, as if grounding himself in your presence. He doesn’t say much, but his embrace is warm and reassuring. For Marc, actions speak louder than words, and his quiet, steady affection is his way of showing that he’s grateful for your forgiveness and that he’s committed to you.

Steven Grant

- When Steven realizes you’re angry with him, he’s immediately flustered, his expression filled with concern and confusion. He’s not used to upsetting people, and it bothers him deeply that he’s somehow hurt you. He’ll ask, in a soft and anxious voice, “Did I do something wrong?” his eyes wide with worry as he desperately tries to understand what went wrong.

- Steven listens carefully as you explain why you’re upset, nodding along and taking in every word. He’s genuinely apologetic, his voice soft and sincere as he says he’s sorry. Steven is open about his feelings, admitting that he sometimes makes mistakes without realizing it, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make things right.

- To make amends, Steven will put together a thoughtful, heartfelt gift for you. It might be something personal, like a handwritten note explaining how much he values you, or he might buy you a small trinket that reminded him of you. He’s sentimental, and his effort to make it up to you is sincere, filled with little details that show how much he cares.

- Steven is extra attentive after the apology, going out of his way to be thoughtful and supportive. He’s always asking if there’s anything he can do for you, maybe even cooking your favorite meal or suggesting a quiet night in to relax together. Steven’s kindness and warmth make it hard to stay upset, and he does everything he can to show you that he’s there for you.

- When you finally forgive him, Steven’s relief is immediate and obvious. He beams at you, pulling you into a gentle hug, his touch soft and affectionate. He’ll murmur about how lucky he feels to have you in his life, and he’s grateful for your patience. Steven’s love is earnest and wholehearted, and he promises himself that he’ll try even harder to make you happy.

Jake Lockley

- Jake’s reaction to your anger is a bit unconventional; he’s not one to openly apologize or make a big deal out of things. When he first realizes you’re mad at him, he keeps his cool, almost acting indifferent. But beneath the calm facade, he’s carefully observing, figuring out exactly how to approach the situation without making things worse.

- Jake may not be the most verbal with apologies, but he’ll pull you aside and, in a quiet, serious tone, tell you that he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s direct and to the point, admitting that he’s not the best at this “feelings” stuff but that he does care about you. His words are simple yet genuine, and you can tell he’s making an effort in his own way.

- To make things up to you, Jake does something unexpected and a little daring, like taking you out on a thrilling adventure or a drive to a scenic spot he knows you’ll love. Jake isn’t one for flowers and love notes; he expresses his affection through bold, memorable experiences that bring you closer. He hopes the thrill and excitement will help mend things between you.

- Once things start to ease, Jake becomes more attentive and protective. He’s the type to keep an eye on you, making sure you’re safe and happy, even if he doesn’t say much about it. His subtle actions, like putting his arm around you or keeping you close, show that he’s invested in you and wants to keep you by his side.

- When you finally forgive him, Jake’s reaction is understated but genuine. He’ll give you a small, satisfied smirk, pulling you into a brief yet affectionate hug. He might whisper something like, “Knew you couldn’t stay mad at me,” with a playful glint in his eyes. Jake’s love is quiet but intense, and he’s grateful to have you in his life, even if he doesn’t always show it with words.

Scott Lang

- When Scott realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a bit panicked, his eyes widening as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. He’s naturally lighthearted and doesn’t like conflict, so he immediately tries to lighten the mood, maybe cracking a joke or two to ease the tension. When he realizes you’re not laughing, though, he knows he has to be serious.

- Scott’s apology is genuine and a little rambling. He’s awkward, tripping over his words as he tries to explain himself, but his sincerity is obvious. Scott doesn’t try to deflect blame or make excuses; instead, he’s honest about his mistakes, even poking fun at himself a bit to show he’s willing to take responsibility. He’ll say something like, “I’m a bit of a mess, but I’m your mess… if you’ll still have me.”

- To make it up to you, Scott goes all out in his own quirky way. He might plan a fun, silly date that’s just the two of you, or he’ll do something offbeat and heartfelt, like creating a mini scavenger hunt with little notes and clues he’s hidden around. Scott’s got a big heart, and his way of apologizing is playful, thoughtful, and just a little over-the-top.

- As you start to soften, Scott becomes even more attentive, peppering you with sweet gestures and affectionate touches. He’s incredibly open with his feelings, constantly reminding you how much you mean to him and how lucky he feels to have you. Scott’s love is enthusiastic, warm, and reassuring, and he’ll do everything he can to make you feel appreciated.

- When you forgive him, Scott’s relief is immediate and heartwarming. He breaks into a huge smile, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in a big, exuberant hug. He’s incredibly grateful, telling you over and over how much he loves you and how he’ll try harder not to mess things up again. Scott’s love is vibrant and genuine, and he makes sure you know just how much you mean to him.

Wade Wilson

- When Wade realizes you’re angry with him, he’s quick to act dramatically hurt, clutching his chest like he’s been shot and whispering, “Betrayal… by my one true love!” He’ll follow you around, trying to make you laugh with exaggerated groans and over-the-top pleas for mercy. But when he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he dials back the antics (well, a little) and asks what he did wrong, his voice a bit softer.

- Wade’s apology is both heartfelt and a complete mess. He stumbles through it, alternating between cracking inappropriate jokes and telling you he’s sorry in his own awkward, sincere way. His mouth runs a mile a minute as he promises he didn’t mean to mess things up and insists he’d do anything to make you smile again. It’s clear he’s trying, even if he’s not great at keeping it serious.

- Wade’s attempt to make it up to you is pure, chaotic Wade. He might surprise you with a random gift, like a stuffed unicorn, or even write you a (terrible) poem in crayon that’s equal parts hilarious and surprisingly sweet. He’s not big on traditional romance, but he knows how to keep things memorable. His efforts are ridiculous, but his heart’s in the right place, and he’s hoping you’ll find his weirdness endearing enough to forgive him.

- As you begin to soften, Wade becomes more openly affectionate, toning down the jokes just enough to let his softer side show. He’ll look at you with wide, hopeful eyes, holding your hand tightly and telling you he’s genuinely sorry. He’ll even admit he’s scared of losing you, which, for Wade, is about as vulnerable as he gets.

- When you finally forgive him, Wade’s relief is palpable. He breaks into a huge grin, shouting, “Yes! I knew you couldn’t resist all this!” He’ll probably tackle you in a playful hug, peppering you with sloppy kisses and laughing as he holds you close. Wade’s love is chaotic, messy, and intense, and he makes sure you know that he’s beyond grateful to have you back.

Logan Howlett

- When Logan realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is to clam up. He doesn’t handle emotions well and tends to avoid confrontation, so he might retreat to brood alone for a while, hoping you’ll cool off. But as he stews over things, he realizes he can’t stand the thought of you being upset with him, and he knows he has to make things right.

- Logan’s apology, when it finally comes, is quiet but heartfelt. He doesn’t waste words, simply telling you he messed up and that he’s sorry. There’s a rough sincerity in his voice, a hint of vulnerability that he rarely lets show. He might even mutter something like, “I don’t know how to do this… but I care about you,” his gaze steady as he waits to see if you’ll give him another chance.

- To make it up to you, Logan’s approach is practical but meaningful. He might cook a quiet dinner for the two of you or take you somewhere peaceful where you can talk things through. Logan doesn’t do grand gestures, but his actions are thoughtful, showing that he’s listening and genuinely wants to make amends. His way of caring is subtle, but it’s filled with raw sincerity.

- As you begin to soften, Logan grows more relaxed and open, reaching for your hand or placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. He may not say much, but his quiet presence is grounding, and he lets you know through small, affectionate gestures that he’s there for you. Logan’s touch is gentle, steady, and reassuring, making it hard to stay mad at him.

- When you forgive him, Logan’s response is understated but warm. He gives you a slight smile, a rare softness in his gaze as he pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly. He murmurs something like, “Don’t know what I’d do without you,” his voice gruff but sincere. Logan’s love is steady and intense, and he makes sure you know he’s committed to you.

Matthew Murdock

- When Matt realizes you’re angry with him, he’s immediately worried, his heightened senses picking up on your every movement and sigh. He tries to talk to you, asking gently, “Are you upset?” as he tilts his head in concern. Matt’s naturally empathetic, and it bothers him deeply that he’s hurt you, so he’ll listen closely as you explain what went wrong, taking in every word.

- Matt’s apology is calm and sincere. He admits that he makes mistakes, especially when he’s caught up in his own battles, and he apologizes for any hurt he’s caused you. He’s not one to hide from his flaws, so his apology is straightforward and honest. He tells you how much he values your presence in his life and that he wants to make things right, his voice soft and genuine.

- To make amends, Matt goes out of his way to plan a thoughtful evening for you. Maybe it’s a quiet dinner at home where he can give you his undivided attention, or a peaceful walk through a spot you both love. Matt’s incredibly attentive, always picking up on what makes you feel special, and he uses these details to make his apology feel personal and meaningful.

- As you begin to soften, Matt’s relief is visible, and he becomes even more attentive. He holds your hand, brushes a gentle thumb over your knuckles, and speaks in a soft, affectionate tone. Matt’s world can be dark and filled with pain, but he finds comfort in you, and he makes sure you know how much he appreciates your patience and love.

- When you finally forgive him, Matt smiles, his expression soft and full of warmth. He pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and tells you how grateful he is to have you in his life. Matt’s love is calm and steady, and he promises that he’ll try his best to balance his own battles with making you feel loved and appreciated.

Frank Castle

- When Frank realizes you’re angry with him, his reaction is a mix of confusion and frustration. He’s not used to dealing with feelings in a healthy way, and his instinct is to shut down or brush it off. But when he sees that you’re genuinely upset, his defenses start to waver, and he realizes he needs to do something to make it right.

- Frank’s apology is rough around the edges. He’s not great with words, but he’ll mutter a gruff “I’m sorry” and look at you with a steady, serious gaze. He’ll admit he doesn’t always handle things well, but he’s trying to be better for you. His apology is raw, straightforward, and filled with the kind of honesty that only Frank can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Frank’s approach is quiet and thoughtful. He might bring you something meaningful, like a small trinket he thought you’d like, or he’ll simply spend time with you in a way that shows he’s committed. Frank’s gestures aren’t grand, but they’re heartfelt, and he makes sure you know he cares in his own reserved way.

- As you begin to soften, Frank’s demeanor becomes more gentle and open. He’s careful with his touch, maybe placing a comforting hand on your shoulder or pulling you close, his presence solid and reassuring. Frank may not say much, but his actions speak volumes, and he lets you know through quiet moments of affection that he’s grateful for your forgiveness.

- When you finally forgive him, Frank’s relief is visible in his softened gaze and the way he holds you a little closer. He’ll wrap his arms around you, his embrace protective and strong, as if silently vowing to never let you go. Frank’s love is intense, raw, and unwavering, and he’s deeply grateful to have someone like you willing to stay by his side.

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unlikelykidpost · 4 months ago

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This is my first time posting here, but I really want to hear from my fellow POC. Is anyone else tired of reading stories where it’s all about the main character x reader? You dive in, expecting a really inclusive narrative, but then it hits you: “Their cheeks glowed pink!” Seriously? Where am I getting that rosy hue? Or when the character casually puts their hair into an easy ponytail—come on, it takes me forever just to get my hair in a ponytail! You know what I mean, right..??

It's frustrating when the story drops hints that suggest the 'reader' is white. It really grinds my gears, and I wish writers would stop doing that, or at least include a warning that the reader character is going to be white. I want stories to be genuinely inclusive and for writers to be more flexible in how they describe characters. It’s disappointing when you can tell that a writer based their characters on white experiences and WHITE PEOPLE. but thats all, thanks for listening to my ted talk!!

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jks1uv · 3 months ago

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𝑌𝑜𝑢 & 𝐼 (𝑝𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 & 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑗𝑎𝑘𝑒) ; the moon boys | one-shot |

summary: marc notices steven’s lingering gaze on you when he thinks he’s hidden away.

pairing: fem!wife!reader x husband!marc spector.

trope: established relationship + husband who doesn’t play about his wife.

genre: fluff + some comedic relief + mild angst.

warnings‼️: jealous!marc + mean!marc (he’s a bit of a bully to steven) + jake makes his first appearance!

word count: 2,454.

random disclaimerrr: reader’s last name is l/n-spector. i was inspired by an edit that had the clip of marc saying “you’re in love with my wife?!” & steven was like “if i need, like, for a recipe for a protein shake or something, i’ll call ya.” 😭 ts was funny. the last line is inspired by this post! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Marc Spector has a natural talent in terms of observation. He’s perceptive, sharp.

You never know when he’s there simply because he chooses not to make his presence known.

It’s kind of scary, actually. You’ve had your fair share of panicked frights that almost brought you a heart attack.

He’s toned it down a lot ever since you’ve settled down and made a place in his heart.

You know him, truly see him for who he is.

You know his rough and calloused hands are in that image because of the hard work he puts in. You know his tired eyes harbor an ache that paints his soul a deep blue. You know there are some things he won’t tell you despite marrying you but you don’t mind.

You’ve been nothing but patient with him so you’ll wait as long as you need to.

Currently, you can’t wait for too long because you need something from the bathroom but it’s occupied.

He and the man in the mirror are having a heated discussion of which you’re the topic of.

“I’ve been in control this whole time-”

“Exactly! You’ve been in control of the body this whole time! When will it be my turn?!”

Marc shuts his eyes and rubs the sides of his forehead.

Steven has a point, he knows that.

However, he also knows the way the British man looks at you. His gaze is filled with longing, something Marc has familiarized himself with.

He wants to speak to you so badly but is shoved away inside like a haphazardly packed suitcase.

Steven has developed a romantic fondness for you and it grows stronger every time Marc intervenes.

“Why won’t you let me talk to her?”

It’s pitiful, how dejected Steven sounds.

Pathetic is really the word Marc wants to use but it’s not about the words. It’s about Marc’s jealousy.

“It’s not that.”

Your husband denies it like he’s been doing but Steven knows better.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Marc. I know why you won’t give me the body.”

If looks can kill, the ex-mercenary would’ve been the world’s most wanted serial killer.

“This conversation is over.” His tone is grave and cold.

“Finally.” Your muffled voice sounds.

Marc can see Steven’s face visibly brighten and there’s a hint of hope sparkling in his eyes. It almost makes Marc break his possessive streak.

Almost.

He sighs as he twists the knob revealing you standing in the doorway.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” You pry with your weight shifted on one hip and your arms crossed.

Marc stares at you and takes you in like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Your red and black plaid pajama pants grown soft over the years from the laundry machines, the faded logo of a graphic tee hanging off your shoulder.

Your hair is damp from your shower earlier and he can still smell the products you’ve incorporated into your shower and skincare routine.

He subconsciously stops himself and allows Steven to really see you as well. Or maybe it’s the effect your love has on your husband that makes him stop dead in his tracks.

Either way, it’s you.

“Marc? Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows furrow a bit in concern and your hands reach out to him.

Marc doesn’t respond. He just stares at you with his deer-like eyes, like widening them would encompass your image.

His body shifts slightly but you clock it immediately.

His feet shuffle as he closes in on himself, his posture isn’t as upright as Marc’s and his face. His face is the biggest giveaway.

Those eyes that you’ve stared into for the longest seem like a different pair. They are foreign yet seem familiar.

You have an idea of who this newfound man is.

“Steven?” You murmur hesitantly.

Steven ignores you and goes to sit down on your shared kingsize bed.

You note his shaky hands and wandering eyes, he’s clearly lost and doesn’t know what to do.

“I dunno how this happened.” He blurts out.

You nod, though you’re as confused as he is because you don’t know what he’s talking about.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Steven watches you carefully as you sit down next to him, deliberately putting space between you two.

He admires your face and is deep in thought when you speak up again.

“So.”

“Pardon?”

You blink and can’t help the smile that paints your face. He’s endearing you think.

“What were you and Marc gossiping about in there?”

You would never pry like this, in fact it’s the first time you’re putting pressure on the man— well, in this case; men.

But you’ve never formally met Steven before. You saw glimpses of him when he’d be reading a book on a sleepless night or making tea for comfort.

Fragments of himself would be left behind like pieces of a puzzle you were meant to solve.

You talked about it with Marc but he always seemed uncomfortable with the idea of letting you meet them.

You never forced Marc to show Steven or Jake but it was taking a bit of a toll on your marriage.

Steven saw it from the inside and wished so desperately to front himself but Marc was stronger.

Apparently not this time.

“You.” He whispers.

“Me?”

He nods slightly, his soft eyes filled with adoration for you.

You chuckle lightly in surprise.

“All good things I hope?”

Steven’s gaze shifts down to the carpet, visibly faltering in his movement.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no, no! You could never make me uncomfortable.”

There’s a warmth that spreads across the apples of your cheeks and it seeps into the skin. It makes you smile and Steven swears he can see the sun.

“Oh, bollocks. Marc’s gonna chew me out later for that.”

“And why is that?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Before Steven can take another breath in his name, Marc comes out and banishes him back inside.

“Marc! You missed it! Steven and I were having a wonderful conversation.” You exclaim with excitement.

Marc is not impressed nor interested.

“Yeah, I bet.” He grumbles.

He stands up and walks out of the bedroom, not necessarily having a set destination in mind.

“What’s wrong?” You follow him outside and into the living room.

Marc heaves out an exasperated sigh, his hands rub at his face and you can feel the tension rising from his body.

You gulp in fear of doing something wrong but is it wrong to speak of the elephant in the room? Literally.

Is it really wrong to address the man who’s technically the third man in y’all’s relationship?

“Did I do something?”

Marc looks at your nervous form.

It’s quiet for a few moments and the way his eyes dart from and to you seems as though there’s something you’re missing.

“No.” He softly sighs. “You didn’t.”

You take that as a sign to step close and he lets his body fall back on the couch behind him.

You follow in pursuit.

“It’s… complicated.”

He finally gives you something.

“More complicated than you being the vessel of an Egyptian God?”

The soft lilt of your voice gives away your teasing and he huffs out a laugh.

“No. No I suppose not.” The corners of his lips turn upward slightly.

He holds your hand in his and rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

“Steven has a crush on you.”

He confesses this with such seriousness that you can’t help but giggle a little.

“Wait, what?” You tilt your head a bit.

“Don’t.” He groans.

Your eyebrows jump a bit and your eyes widen with realization.

“Oh wow.” You gasp.

He doesn’t say anything but you know he’s thinking.

“Are you jealous?” You muse.

He snaps his head at you mid-conversation with Steven.

“What.”

The baritone in his voice has become even deeper if possible and it lowkey sends shivers down your spine.

But you don’t back down. “You heard me.”

He scoffs indignantly but you know it’s not towards you.

“I’m not… jealous.”

He says it like it’s a disease. (it is! get well soon marc!)

You roll your eyes at his poor display of a stern disagreement.

“You literally sound like you don’t believe it yourself.”

“Okay, whatever. I’m not jealous.”

You shrug and prop your head on your hand, your elbow resting on a pillow nearby.

The look on your face is that of a shit-eating grin and eyes that narrow when you know you’ve caught him in a lie.

Marc shakes his head and rolls his tongue over his teeth.

You take it upon yourself and shift to being on your knees. You lean over and take his face in your hands and squish his cheeks to make his lips protrude.

“Let me talk to him.”

You’re gentle yet firm and he can’t resist it when you take charge.

He’d call it unfair but you’d say it how it is: strategic.

He reluctantly rolls his eyes back and you let go of his face, leaning back to rest on your knees.

You know it’s Steven when his eyes are doe-like and he looks at you with uncertainty.

“Welcome back.” You greet cheerily.

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

His tone makes you feel bad, like it’s an inconvenience for you to speak to him.

His hands are in his lap and his eyes land on the coffee table in his line of sight.

“Well, I’ve never met you in all my time of being Mrs. L/n-Spector.”

He nods but still refuses to make eye contact.

“Steven?” You murmur.

Said man tentatively meets your eyes and you offer a sympathetic smile.

“Look, I don’t mean to overstep and make you upset but I don’t believe Marc means to be so…”

You don’t want to call him jealous and risk never seeing this delightful man again.

“Possessive?” He tries.

You give him a pointed look and smile, letting him know that you feel the same.

“You said it, not me.” You chuckle.

A smile of his own grows and he feels himself growing fond of you by the second.

“It’s embarrassing.” He says.

“What is?”

He gulps. “Well, I think you’re quite lovely but saying I ‘have a crush’ on you seems a bit childish.”

Steven fiddles with the hem of his shirt and you nod.

“I don’t know, I think it’s cute.”

You’re not entertaining him and you’re not saying you’re in love with him.

You’ve thought about it before and even brought it up to Marc.

Being married to him is a commitment you’re making to him.

What about the other two men he hides inside?

It’s not like you and him can ignore them, they’re a part of his life and were there way before you.

Marc thought you were joking but he also thought about introducing you to them. Well, until Steven showed interest. Then it became all too real.

Steven looks at you with hope and you can’t help but find him adorable.

“Marc says to stop flirting or he’ll banish me forever.”

You guffaw at that, not believing he’d go against your wishes. “No, I don’t think so.”

Steven’s eyebrows jump up slightly, truly questioning how much influence you have over a man like Marc Spector.

Then again, you are his wife.

The next morning is quiet. Too quiet.

Your arm stretches over to feel Marc’s body but you don’t. The sheets are cold and serve as a stark contrast to the warmth you felt prior.

Maybe he has some urgent work.

You freshen up and pad to the kitchen when you see a kettle and smell an aroma that excites you.

There’s a yellow sticky note on the side of the kettle that reads, It’s my favorite as well with a smiley face drawn on the bottom.

You look inside and aren’t disappointed to find your favorite tea inside.

“Ugh. He’s so sweet.” You gush quietly to yourself.

Later that night, you’re waiting up on Marc to come to bed.

You’ve done your nighttime routine and are snug in bed when you hear the door creak open.

“Babe?” You call out.

You don’t get an answer and so, you stand up to turn the light off and are alert with a metal bat.

You hear the footsteps pad to your direction and are met with a familiar silhouette.

“You scared me, you asshole.”

Annoyed, you put the bat up and turn on the lamp light on your bedside but pause when you see the partially illuminated figure.

Your breath is caught in your throat at the sight of his eyes.

The eyes, you notice, are the one part of his body that will always betray him.

His body language and facial expressions are calculated, along with his mind. But the eyes show what he’s really thinking inside.

“You’re not Marc.” You observe.

You hear the man before you sigh and he slides his cap off.

His knuckles turn white from how tight he’s gripping it but it doesn’t reveal what he’s thinking.

It’s the first time you don’t know.

“Go to sleep.” His gruff voice sounds.

You’re taken aback by the roughness in it but by using context clues, you know this is Jake.

Your lips part from surprise at how you so easily follow his instructions.

Is this how Marc feels?

You have your eye on him as you lift up the blanket and step inside, letting the bat rest against the wall and bed frame.

He’s scarily still, you’d think he’s a standing corpse if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He’s stiff yet swift in his movements, ready to leave you be.

“Jake?”

He stops with his feet outside the door, turning his head to where you can see his side profile.

You take his silence and side profile as a sign to continue.

“Good night.”

He tips his head down once as a silent nod to your farewell.

He mutedly says it back, you almost don’t hear it.

He shuts the door and you take the silence to yourself to let this experience settle down.

You just met Jake. Without any begging, without any coaxing. He allowed himself to be shown to you and even bid you good night.

You giggle to yourself unbeknownst to the fact that Jake is listening.

A ghost of a smile is on the tip of his lips and he holds the amusement in as he walks to the couch, preparing to rest for the night.

He dreams of you and it’s slow, lasting and blue.

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taisiabelle · 2 years ago

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My mom: So, who are you texting?

Me, who spends unhealthy amount of time on Character.Ai : No one....

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the-offside-rule · 9 months ago

Text

S.G, M.S, J.L (Moonknight) - The Three of You & Me

Requested: gotta love the moonknight ppl

Warnings: not really no

Steven Grant fumbled with his keys at the door of the flat, the heavy thunk of the lock finally giving way as the door creaked open. His face showed a mixture of exhaustion and that unmistakable, endearing Steven charm; hair a bit tousled and his shirt wrinkled from a long day at the museum. He stepped inside with a weary sigh, tossing his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes, not caring where they landed. “Ridiculously tired doesn’t even cover it.” He muttered as he spotted his girlfriend, Y/n, sat on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs. He trudged over and collapsed next to her with a gentle thud, head immediately falling onto her lap. Y/n chuckled, her fingers tussling through his hair as his eyes shuttered shut, his body relaxing into the comfort of her presence.

“Love, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” Steven groaned, his voice tired yet animated as he began to recount the day’s events. His hand traced absentminded patterns on her arm, seeking comfort as much as he was giving it. “So, yeah, Donna’s been on me all day. She goes, ‘Steven, I need you to catalog all these artifacts before lunch,’ right? And I’m thinking, that’s impossible. She’s giving me-" He paused dramatically, lifting his head slightly to make his point. "Mummified cats! Actual ancient felines, Y/n. Who just tosses that at someone before lunch?” He shook his head in disbelief before lowering it back against her shoulder. “And the tourists, don’t get me started. Asking me questions like I run the whole museum. I’ve had to tell people ‘I'm not a bloody tour guide’ at least six times today, because Donna like, freaks out when I go about 'nattering' on about Egypt.”

Y/n smiled softly, letting him rant, knowing he needed this space to unwind. She ran her fingers through his hair as he spoke, his voice growing softer with each complaint, the day clearly catching up with him. His eyelids drooped, his words becoming slower and less coherent. “I don’t know how you put up with me.” He mumbled sleepily, already half-asleep in her arms. She kissed the top of his head gently. “Because I love you, Steven.” He muttered something unintelligible, trailing off as sleep finally claimed him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing becoming slow and steady.

But after a minute, Y/n felt the subtle shift she had come to recognize. Steven’s body tensed slightly, his muscles twitching in a way that was different from the usual sleep movements. His breathing changed, becoming deeper, more controlled. When his eyes fluttered open again, they no longer carried the soft, dreamy expression she knew from Steven.

Marc Spector was awake now.

Y/n smiled knowingly as his gaze met hers, his expression focused and alert. Marc gave her a small, almost apologetic smile as he stretched, cracking his neck with a quiet sigh. “Hello, Marc.” She greeted him softly. Marc’s lips tugged into a brief smile. “Hey.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Steven was exhausted.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell.” Y/n said with a chuckle, watching him stand up from the couch and head to the kitchen. “You hungry?” Marc asked, already rummaging through the fridge, pulling out ingredients without much thought. “I can make something.”

“Sure, I could eat.” She replied, leaning back into the couch, content to watch him move around the kitchen with the ease of someone used to taking over when needed. In a matter of minutes, Marc had whipped up a plate of grilled cheese. He sighed as he plopped down beside her, handing her the plate and grabbing the control for the TV. "I expected some alfredo or something." Y/n joked. "You said you were starved, pasta takes too long to make." Marc replied, the quiet hum of the television filling the space. "How righteous. You sure it's not because you can't cook?" He scoffed. "Steven can't cook, I made our food before you came along." He said, putting the control down and grabbing a half.

After dinner, Marc flipped through the channels yet again, landing on something mindless, and sat back down, pulling Y/n close as they watched TV. But even Marc couldn’t stave off sleep forever. He yawned, stretching as he set the remote down and leaned back into the couch. “Guess it’s my turn to knock out.” He murmured, his voice rough with fatigue. Y/n smiled, brushing her hand through his hair. “Goodnight, Marc.” He mumbled something in response, already slipping into sleep. But it didn’t last long before that familiar shift happened again—his body changing, his posture becoming more relaxed yet somehow more confident. When his eyes opened this time, they held a sharp, mischievous gleam.

Jake Lockley was awake.

Y/n couldn’t help but smirk at the sudden change in his demeanor. “Buenos días, Jake.” she said with a teasing smile, despite the fact that it was still very much night-time. “Buenos días.” Jake replied with a chuckle, heading straight for the coffee machine. He moved with a smooth, confident ease that was completely distinct from either Steven or Marc. “Coffee? At this hour?” Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow as he poured himself a cup, the rich aroma filling the room. “I’ve got a job to do.” Jake said, taking a sip and leaning casually against the counter, his dark eyes focused on her. "Cab driving or cab driving." He chuckled. “Don't worry about it, cariño. Won’t be long.” He said finishing the cup of coffee and placing it in the sink. "Marc will clean this later, right?" She chuckled. "He won't like it but probably." He nodded along, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "Vale, hasta luego, cariño." He was about to reach for the door handle when he felt a delicate hand on his arm. “Be careful, okay?” Jake’s grin softened just a bit, his rough exterior giving way as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her temple. “Siempre tengo cuidado. No te preocupes por esa carita bonita.” He murmured, his voice low and full of quiet reassurance. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, watching as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He gave her one last glance, his expression full of unspoken promises, before slipping out into the night. The flat felt a little quieter with him gone, but Y/n knew better than to worry. Jake always came back, and she’d be waiting for him.

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gatorbites-imagines · 4 months ago

Note

Hey Gator can you write for Moon Knight with reader thats also an avatar but for Ra? Cuz duality

Moonboys x avatar of Ra male reader

Headcanons

“Kill them with kindness. WRONG, CURSE OF RA” my dream of a moon knight season 2 seems further and further away, and I fear it will never happen. How’s everyone doin? Viktor nation, how are we feeling?

I'm trying out a new writing tool, so if there's spelling mistakes, that's why. It has been a while since I watched Moon Knight, so some of my canon might be off.

If this was an oc, I would have to make the reader a Pharaoh, since they are seen as manifestations of Ra or so-called Sons of Ra. But this isn't an oc, so the reader won't be.

Maybe you are a solar physicist instead, since that whole job is about studying the sun. Or you could be a writer who writes travel books, or history books, which allows you to travel the world.

I'm not sure if you would be a shadow of the night like the moonboys. Ra is a god and has his worshippers, but I don't actually know if he's the one who punishes people or not.

And since Ra is the god of the sun, you would act during the day for the most part. You can still move around during the night obviously, but you prefer the sun and so does your patron.

I don't think Ra would be cruel in the way Khonshu is, but he is still a god with expectations and things he wants you to do. Instead of just hunting criminals, he might have you healing people or using the abilities of creation to do things.

Don't get me wrong, I still think Ra would have you blast somebody with the power of the literal sun, but he might think about it first. Sometimes.

I like to think you get to shoot sun lasers out of your eyes, and mouth. And like, anywhere you want. Who is gonna stop the sun of all things? You can kick major ass, and with a god that's mostly nicer than Khonshu, you have an easier time doing it too.

Being the avatar of Ra doesn't mean you are all sunshine and rainbows obviously. That role goes to Steven. But you aren't as tense and ready for violence at all times, like Marc and Jake are.

I like to think you are always warm to the touch, so depending on whose fronting, you find yourself getting cuddled.

I like to think, even though they share a body, the boys have differences. Like, I think Steven struggles with always feeling cold, at least his fingers and toes. So, he slips his hands into your pockets, or stuffs his feet under you.

Marc wouldn't struggle with feeling cold, but I think he would find a lot of comfort in how warm you are. You never get uncomfortably warm, like sure, it gets really hot, but he never feels clammy or sweaty.

Marc would saddle up beside you when he's having rough days and just needs to... exist. Expect him to end up under your shirt somehow. It's not anything wild, he just shuffles up under it so he can lay his head on your chest and dissociate, using your warmth to ground himself.

Jake wouldn't have much of an opinion about you always running hot, except for maybe grumbling a few comments about how you always wear shorts and tank tops, even when it's snowing outside.

Jake will end up nuzzling against you when you guys are sleeping, though he doesn't like this admit it. This is just in general, as Jake struggles with showing affection or emotions that aren't negative.

Controlling the sun also lets you give them the most comfortable massages they have ever experienced, since you can warm up your hands and then warm their aching muscles.

It's a sure way to knock all three of them out, even if Marc and Jake try to act tough. They just become puddy in your hands. This might also be because they just know on a deep level, that they are safe with you, so they can relax.

Going out and doing avatar work together is a must. Theres some differences on who's fronting there too.

Steven, being Mr. knight, isn't as quick to murder and violence as Marc and Jake, so i imagine you guys spend a good chunk of time talking, ignoring your patrons since they like to argue.

Marc is similar in his own way, he's not as violent or snappy when you come along. He might even jokingly call it a date, even if you guys are hunting someone who needs to be punished.

Jake is the most quiet and deadly one, since he's used to hurting and hurting others. He would never hurt you though, and if you have a softer personality and like to crack jokes, you might even get him to laugh.

Post missions are always for cuddling and checking up on each other. Gotta make sure your boys aren't hurt and all. Yeah, you guys might both have god given healing factors, but you still check them over, no matter who is fronting.

This also means you end up getting checked over too, since all three of them are worrywarts in their own ways. Blame it on trauma, but they just need to physically see that you are okay.

If it's been a hard patrol or target, you might have to work on getting them present and aware. I could see all three of them dissociating every now and then, leaving no one able to front, so as their boyfriend, you have to help them resurface.

Heating your hands up, not enough to burn but enough to be felt, and placing them on their wrist, thigh, or face, depending on the situation, will help ground them. Sometimes they cling to you too, if you got really badly hurt.

Your guy's patrons obviously also aren't welcome in the apartment when you guys take care of bruises and hurts after missions. Ra accepts it and just tells you to heal, and Khonshu will grumble about it, but the guys leaves you alone for the most part

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deceasedream69 · 8 months ago

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Kidnapped

Summary: right at the tip of his nose, after an argument he leaves you unprotected for a few seconds, and he's going to regret that decision, specially when he's supposed to be the most protective personality.

Warnings: violence, angst to fluff, mentions of blood and gun shots, mentions of SA (NOT FROM JAKE THO)

- I don't know

- what do you mean you don't know? - I didn't particularly liked being yelled at, but fighting with Jake was way worse. He is supposed to be the toughest personality, so that turns him into the most stubborn. So stubborn it's complicated sometimes with him - we are a couple, you can't just disappear and appear in my life and I'll just accept it like I'm some decoration girlfriend or something.

- then don't

- don't what?

- don't be, I'm a free guy and I don't have time for this bullshit

He got off the cab and started to walk away, I saw him lighting up a cig and adjusting his hat before disappearing into the fog of the cold night.

I just stood there in awe. Mouth partially open and tears forming in my eyes.

Was he breaking up with me?

He couldn't, he wasn't in any decision to drag me away from the other two, but he definitely could kick me out of HIS life, which I totally respected but... It also hurted, after everything I did for him, after all the support I tried to be, into my own limitations.

I just sat there in silence.

Was he going to come back?

He had to, right? It was his cab after all, he could just get another but it sounded impossible. What if he kicks you out after coming back...? No, He's not like that... Do I even know him anymore at this point?

I ran my fingers through my hair and leaned against the board. My forehead touching the cold plastic and the tears just started to drop to the car floor.

I hugged myself as I remembered the scene over and over and over again. Remembering every little detail from his face, his body movements, his words... A knot formed in my chest.

I was there for maybe 5 minutes, but it felt like an hour.

Until the door opened. I was scared to look. Scared of what his next move was going to be. I'm not going to lie, I was scared of anything he was about to do or say, I was convinced it wasn't going to be something good.

- I need you to stay calm, and if you don't obey, I'll put a bullet through your face.

I didn't recognize that voice. I just froze.

Lifting my hands before lifting my head from the board I turned around slowly and looked at the figure now sitting in the driver's seat pointing a gun at me.

- aww - he said pretending a sad face - rough night? It's just starting for you. Hand me the keys.

- I don't have them.

He hit me with the bottom of the gun.

- I'm not playing games, so you better not lie to me or you'll suffer until you get me what I want.

I didn't know what to do, he probably took them and if he didn't I wasn't paying attention to where he left them.

- I really... I don't know! - my hands shaking in front of my face trying to protect me from another punch.

He smiled and ran his hand through his hair, pointing his gun harder at me.

He moved a lot, licking his teeth or lips very so often, looking around and getting his hair back.

That made me even more nervous.

I turned to look at the ignition switch... Of course he left the key there. He didn't like to carry many, it was just the key there.

He noticed where I was looking, so he turned, realized and smile.

- if it ain't my lucky day - he said igniting the car - if you try anything while driving, I still have the gun, and I don't care about crashing this mother fucking car against a tree and getting you killed, do you understand?

I just nodded shakily.

I can't believe my head was just thinking about where was Jake at the moment, just made me feel even more pathetic.

He started to drive. I couldn't tell what time it was, everything was dark but it also didn't feel like it was going to be morning anytime soon.

I just looked through the window. Not even trying anymore, I was just so fucking tired.

Jake and I fought many times for the same thing. He will always disappear and then appear telling me it was for a very important mission, and that Konshu needed him so often because it was a plan they were developing from smaller attacks till they got to the big head of it all.

But he didn't tell me anything, I understand it's not really my business but he didn't even let me know "hey, I'm going to be missing for a few days, see you later", he would just disappear in a day we planned a date at a restaurant, or at the park, or even in the middle of the night when I stayed over at his house. And I would just wake up, not in my house, alone.

The path was bumpy, the vision wasn't very clear with all that fog.

We got to a place where there was only highway and a tree.

- get off the car.

I opened the door, if I tried running anywhere... There was nothing here. I just hope that if I did it in an impulsive moment he won't have good aim.

I pressed my hands against my jeans, trying to dry the sweat.

- pull your pants down and lean against the front of the car.

I just stared at him. He was going to...

He grabbed my face, which hurted a lot because of the punch I received earlier. I just let out a scream and tried to take a step back but he grabbed me harder and pushed me against the car.

He put his weight over me.

- now, princess, you're going to do as I say, or have very clear I don't mind at all putting a bullet through your head before getting what I want, and then driving off to just leave your body out here for the animals to eat off it.

He laughed and got my hands behind my back.

- now, you're to pretty to be killed so soon - he placed his gun in the back of his jeans and flipped me over - I won't let that pretty face be ruined, so please just - he grabbed me from my throat - cooperate.

I kicked him but it didn't seem to do anything more than upset him.

- that's enough! - he punched me twice. I fell to the ground and turned myself to look up.

- see, you're doing this hard, you'll get punished, those are the rules baby! - he screamed as he clapped and started to walk around, laughing and warming his hands.

He quickly got over me again, undoing my jeans button and putting his hands under my blouse. I tried to push him away but couldn't really achieve anything.

- no, please... - I kept pushing and he kept touching.

- what's the matter, sweetheart? Smile a little more - he laughed and just as he lifted his face, laughing, it exploded. Blood falling all over me.

The body fell on top of me, I tried to slide away from it, sitting up in the process.

I couldn't breath, I couldn't see properly, what is going on? I can't- I don't- I just-

I just wanted-

I felt a touch on my shoulder and jumped.

- shhh, it's okay, cariño, soy yo, Jake. Está bien.

I just turned to look at him scared and shaking, and that fear turned quickly into anger.

- you...! - I couldn't even speak properly, I was missing air.

- it's ok, princess, come here. Respira - he walked towards me, until he took my hands into his hands - respira, respira hondo amor, todo estará bien - he started to breath for me to follow him.

He tried lifting me but I pushed him away. Tears just falling non stopping.

- get away...! I don't... I don't want, I just want...

- shhh, it's okay, look, he kneeled in front of me - it's going to be fine, you know I'm not going to hurt you, you're hurt right now, amor, you need help, I want to help you.

- you already hurt me.

He looked at me, I couldn't stand to look at him.

- there's nothing I can do to justify what I did or say. Lo siento - he took his hat off and made a reverence. Taking my hand - you're my woman and I'm supposed to be your man, and give your the amount of love and respect you deserve, and I treated you like nothing, which made me a fool who didn't deserve your love. I don't expect you to just give it back to me, cause I need to work for it, earn it. So, amada mía - he kissed my hand - please forgive what I've done tonight and give me a second chance to amend everything I owe you.

I smiled weakly. My blinks slow and my breathing a little better, but still, everything hurted.

He got the cue and lifted me bridal style, I just placed my head against his chest and closed my eyes.

- lo siento tanto, mi corazón - he kissed my forehead.

He placed me carefully in the co pilot's seat. He got into the other side of the car. He made sure to drive slow enough so I wouldn't move too much. After around 10 minutes I just fell asleep.

- buenos días, princesa.

I opened my eyes, adjusting to the light, I smiled.

- buenos días, amor.

- made breakfast, tell me when you're ready to eat, or if you just want to stay here.

- I want...

He caressed my cheek.

- I know you're trying to not fully give in just for me to disappoint you again, but trust me when I say - he planted a kiss on my knuckles- te amo, and I'll try my best to be the better person you want me to be, I wasn't there for you last night, I wasn't a good boyfriend after such a wonderful girlfriend you've been, it can't be easy to fall in love with someone like me, in any aspect, so gracias, for staying for so long and loving me so hard.

- I would prefer to just cuddle, if that's ok

- claro, princesa mía

#moon knight #jake lockley #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley imagines #jake lockely x reader #moon knight fic #moon knight suit #moon knight imagine #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x reader #moon knight system #marc spector #steven grant

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dusterbishop · 2 months ago

Text

i mistakenly called them by your name.

summary. || you're the avatar of anubis and the biggest secret you harbor is your relationship with jake lockley and the daughter you share. when the scarab falls into the hands of a cult, you delve into the fray and hope you can balance saving the world with protecting your secrets.

pairing. || moon knight system x f!reader (established relationship with jake, marc and steven join in later)

count. || 6.2k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. my annual moon knight obsession has taken over my brain and it's currently missing jake lockley hours </3

part one. || part two.

Despite being the Avatar of an ancient Egyptian deity, you don’t necessarily believe in fate. There is no such connection between the world and an individual such as destiny, such as there is no connection between one person and another that classifies as a soulmate bond. People exist in a state of utter abandon, and they are nothing but reactive to the state of the world around them.

Yet, as you turn around to show Eliana another exhibit on Ancient Egypt, dutifully reading aloud the brass-plated plaque she points at, you wonder how much of a coincidence it is that you see your husband standing there, just behind the gift-shop counter. The sight of him plunges your every nerve into a tumultuous sea of arctic water, the waves crashing through your body in a rush of panic. If he knows you followed him back to London, with Eliana no less…

Until you see his gaze meander your way, then slide right over the two of you as if you are nothing but ordinary museum attendees. There’s a slouch to his shoulders, his presence curled up in itself, but you have to tear your attention away before he catches you staring. Or, more likely, before you break and stride over there to demand answers. You have had enough time to sketch out and fine-tune your list of questions for him, and when you booked the flight to London you thought you were composed enough to be able to propose your tidy list to him without wanting to grab him by the lapels of his coat and shake some sense into his stupid fractured brain.

You let out a slow, controlled breath. You’re composed, of course you are. Nothing can shake you.

“Mama,” Eliana says, tugging at your hand impatiently, and you feel a jolt of awareness at the back of your mind that signals the creeping presence of a god nearby. This one isn’t yours.

“Yes, habibti?” You say, casually scanning the museum lobby. It’s a public, brightly-lit institution with sparkling glass cases displaying relics far older than you. There are groups of people sparsely scattering around the room, milling idly from one display to the next, unaware of the oversized jackal trotting through people and the display cases as a spectral entity.

The black-tipped tip of its tail wags in gentle greeting when it catches you looking, and you manage a pointed glance at Eliana before turning your attention back to the exhibit she dragged you to.

“It’s you,” she announces cheerily, grinning up at you. She is a dead-ringer for her father; same loose black curls and dark eyes that glimmer with a mischievous streak of satisfaction in teasing you. You look closer at the replicated statue of a jackal-headed god and huff out a laugh. It’s a statue of Anubis, of course, and you don’t have to look behind you to know that the jackal lingering in your shadow has an open-muzzle grin at the acknowledgment.

“Your flail is better,” she adds, pointing to the replicated flail dangling in the statue’s hand. The museum’s version is plated with imitation gold and striped blue, the metal sparkling beneath the fluorescent lights. The length of its handle fits flush to the statue’s forearm in the traditional symbol of a shepherd’s tool.

“Mine does look different,” you agree, idly swinging your joined hands between you. She stares up at the statue of Anubis with an intent solemnity, and you feel that familiar pitch of guilt in the pit of your stomach. Your service as a god’s Avatar is absolute; as his hands and his faith, you have had to adjust to a life of constant change. What began as a simple career at a local mortuary has transformed into a globe-trotting itinerary with a rapidly-expanding catalog of adversaries.

You resist the urge to glance over at the gift-shop counter and instead tuck a stray curl from Eliana’s eyes, smiling at the way she twists to look over her shoulder and scrunch her nose up at you. “I think we should take a break for lunch, habibti.”

“I wanna see the Ennead,” she frowns. Well, it’s bordering closer to a pout, but you can tell she’s getting hungry and her temper is on a shorter fuse than normal. She points to the banners on the wall, naming off the gods she sees, then pauses. “Where are the other gods, Mama?”

You study the display. There are only seven of the Ennead displayed, Anubis included, unlike the nine traditionally depicted. It’s clear who is missing immediately, and some strange emotion flutters in your gut at the realization.

“Khonshu and Ammit are gone,” Eliana announces. She twists around, peering for any sign of their presence, and she goes tense in your grip when she spots the man at the gift shop counter. “Oh! Daddy’s here.”

“He’s not himself today, habibti,” you tell her. She squints at him, studying the curve of his posture and the polite smile he gives the old woman buying a glass paperweight in the shape of a pyramid. There’s an earnest sheen to the clumsy way he gestures towards the display of fridge magnets that makes his customer smile, polite yet uninterested. He looks like he’s spouting off a laundry list of information, and the old woman nods kindly as she collects her change and receipt before retreating. He manages a wave in goodbye then moves onto his next customer.

“He’s nice,” Eliana decrees. “Can we say ‘hi’, Mama?”

Yeah, Jake is going to kill you for this.

“Sure, habibti. Let’s get a souvenir and we can see him when we checkout.”

In the very least, it’s an easy redirect towards getting her out of the museum to get lunch. She practically drags you over to the gift shop, her eyes taking in the inventory with ravenous longing, and you notice the display of plushies with a resigned sigh.

“Taweret!” She shouts. You let go of her hand before she yanks you off-balance to follow behind at a slower distance, smiling as she gazes reverently at the tower of plush hippos. The black bead eyes shine kindly under the display lights, perfectly reminiscent of the goddess herself. She would be utterly delighted to see the merchandise in her likelihood.

“Oh, we just got those in,” an accented voice says, coming around the checkout counter to edge closer to the two of you. The relentless buzz of worry and stress that you have been harboring since Jake went missing in the dead of a Cairo night eases as his body comes into view. Of course, you assure yourself, his body is fine. With the Moon Knight suit to accelerate his healing instantly in battle and Anubis’s blessing to keep him whole, he was never in danger of death.

Still, your shoulders loosen from the relief, and you turn to smile at him. The name tag fastened to the lapel of his jacket says ‘Steven’, though you figured as much based on the British accent and the seemingly exemplary customer service skills he has displayed. Marc, during the plentiful amount of life-threatening occasions you’ve clashed with him in, is not as patient as his alter, and you know Jake prefers limited contact with strangers when necessary.

“She’s a bit of an Egyptology enthusiast,” you tell him, gesturing to Eliana. A sensation of warmth spreads through your chest as you watch Steven turn to your daughter, his face lighting up in delight. Jake liked to lament the fact that she was just as Egypt-obsessed as Steven was, though you knew he was secretly pleased that she shared that trait with his fellow alter. Steven is a soft-hearted history nerd, he had told you, and he never shuts up about it.

And you love him for it, you had translated, and Jake had expertly changed the subject by changing the channel on the television to put on the game show you both liked. There was something to be said about the way he complained about Steven’s constant stream of history trivia facts only to religiously tune in to Jeopardy with you during his time in the body. Not to mention how damned good he was at it.

“Hello, there,” he says to her, crouching to get closer to her level. He points to the display of stuffed hippos. “I reckon you know who that is, yeah?”

“Taweret,” Eliana beams. She looks to Steven with that smile, and he returns it just as brilliantly. “She’s the goddess of women and children, an’ she helps steer the boat in the Duat.”

Steven raises his eyebrows at that, but his voice doesn’t falter from that kind, attentive tone. “Wow, you’re an expert! She helps guide the souls through the afterlife, yeah?”

“She weighs hearts,” Eliana agrees.

“Oi,” Steven says, sounding a little put-out by the declaration. “Well, that’s more of Osiris’s thing, innit? Weighing the heart, comparing it with the feather?”

Uh-oh. You know that her furrowed brow mean she’s gearing up to properly educate Steven on the true nature of the Duat, so you edge your way back into the conversation, crouching down to be level with her and Steven.

“Do you want to tell Steven what we noticed, Eliana?” You prompt, and her face turns solemn as she stares down Steven.

“You’re missing two,” she tells him. At his startled look, she points over his shoulder to the Ennead banners displayed on the far wall. “Khonshu gets cranky when you don’t talk about him.”

You barely manage to tilt your head down to hide your grin from Steven. She clearly picked that observation up from Jake, who often translated his disdain for Khonshu’s regular self-righteous rants into kid-appropriate terminology when he noticed her paying attention.

“Right,” Steven says, frowning. For a beat, you think it’s from the way Eliana talked about the Egyptian god of the moon with familiarity, but no, he looks justified as he points to the banners. “I told my boss the same thing, yeah? There are nine members of the Ennead and only seven banners. In a museum!”

Uh-oh. Now you got Steven all worked up.

“Stevie!” A voice shouts, startling the three of you. Eliana reaches out to clasp Steven’s hand, eyes wide, and some unspeakable emotion clogs your throat when you see his grip on her hand tighten reflexively, a silent comfort.

“Uh, here!” he calls. To Eliana, he says, “Donna, my boss.”

He dares a glance your way, and you blink at the flush of red creeping over the crest of his cheekbones. You aren’t used to your husband’s body looking so… soft and shy. Not in public, anyway. “I’m real sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him, soft, and he seems to blush harder only to yelp in surprise when Donna turns the corner. He straightens up to his feet fast enough to shake the display rack of Taweret plushies in a dangerously tedious wobble, which makes Eliana giggle and in turn draws Donna's attention to the way he’s still gripping onto your daughter’s hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asks him, her voice edged in exasperated annoyance, and you rise up from your crouch, eyes narrowed. Donna gestures to their clasped hands. “Let go of that child, Stevie, what’s the matter with you?”

Steven releases Eliana’s hand as if her touch burns, and she stares up at him with wide eyes, hurt twisting her bottom lip into a wavering pout. You reach out and draw her closer to your side, smoothing a hand over her dark curls as she buries her face against the hem of your coat to hide her tears.

You look at Steven, and the gutted expression that flashes across his face nearly rends you in half. Jake. You would know him by sight alone, even if he only takes control of the body’s expression just long enough for you to see his hurt before he shutters himself away again. Got you, you think, relief unraveling the pit of worry trapped beneath your ribs. The body is alive, yes, but so is Jake. He’s there, even if he masks himself behind the presence of his fellow alter.

Part of you had thought… you had worried that…

“Steven is a real scholar,” you interrupt, forcing a smile to your face, hard-lined with polite disdain for her tone. Donna pulls her glare from Steven and looks at you as if just noticing your presence for the first time. “He was just telling Eliana about the Ennead. She loves Egyptology, I’m so glad she could talk to someone who loves it just as much as she does.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, really,” Steven scrambles to add, flushing darker, his gaze darting from you to Donna with a wariness that reminds you so much of Jake you wonder if he’s still at the surface of the body’s consciousness, prepared to strike.

“I appreciate his help,” you add over Steven’s stuttering apology to Donna. She gives him a flat, annoyed look then turns to you with a fake smile.

“Well, at least he’s good for something,” she says, pointedly staring at Steven, and the defensive curl of his shoulders makes you want to throttle her. The blaze of fury that curls up the length of your spine is not only your own; a jackal’s rumbling growl echoes in the space above you.

“He is amazing,” you blurt out. She turns to stare at you, but you only have eyes for Steven. His posture is slumped, but those dark eyes are glittering with surprise as you stare at one another, a rising tide of unsaid words swelling in the back of your throat. You want to tell Donna of the incredible knowledge he has, the kindness of his heart, and the mirrored facets of his body that she could never fully understand. She cannot understand that when she disparages Steven Grant, she is also targeting Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, and Moon Knight.

Instead, you say, finally, “I really appreciate it, Steven. We would love to hear more when we come back.”

“Of course,” Steven says immediately, then blanches at the glare Donna gives him. “Right, uh, you’re welcome back anytime, yeah? Eliana, too.”

At the sound of her name, Eliana twists her head to look shyly up at Steven, her fingers easing their death grip on your coat when you gently tug at the curl falling into her eyes. The smile she gives him shines bright enough to make him grin back. “Thanks, Steven!”

“Thanks, Steven,” you repeat, and part of you wonders what Jake sees when you lean down and haul Eliana up onto your hip, carefully maneuvering your way out of the gift shop without bumping into the few patrons staring openly at the strange display between you, Steven, and Donna. He had told you that he stays aware during the day, giving his nights to Marc unless he felt a spike of adrenaline that signaled the start of a fight for the body.

You hope he sees your message loud and clear as you make your way to the museum’s exit, glancing over your shoulder just once to find Steven watching you, his face morphing into guilt and embarrassment when he sees you catch him staring.

You offer him a fleeting smile. You hope Jake sees your silent meaning: come and find me.

***

You get lunch at a cafe across the street from the museum, and you don’t argue when Eliana begs to sit at one of the bistro tables outside despite the clouds rolling in and muddling the sky. London is a dreary change of pace from your last apartment in Tunis, though you silently admire the way Eliana watches with open amazement at the crowded sidewalk and idling cars passing you on the street, enraptured by the bustle of pedestrians and flow of afternoon traffic.

You are no stranger to the world, but you forget how novel the entire experience is for your daughter. For a five year old, she’s been to more countries than you had been to at her age, but she still chews on her sandwich with an absent-minded instinct as she watches. Like the exhibits in the museum, she is utterly taken with the foreign display of another life.

The french fries you ordered taste like ash in your mouth, but you manage to chew and swallow without feeling too nauseous. It helps when you have a spectral jackal curled up at your feet under the table, its weightless head resting on your shoes in silent support. Its head is pointedly aimed to the front doors of the museum, acting as a sentinel. You don’t expect Steven to lose control of the body any time soon, especially not to Jake. Last you heard from him, he was intent on keeping his role in the system as a secret.

There’s enough going on in their head without me, querida.

Fair enough, you think, though you give up on picking at your fries in favor of scrawling another entry in your travel journal. It was a simple way to keep track of Jake’s memories during your former glory days as traveling Avatars, but you keep the habit without him there to add his own observations or opinions.

Noon: Visited the National Art Gallery with Eliana. She took us around the Egyptian exhibits for an hour. Saw Steven in the gift shop. Saw you briefly in the front. Got lunch at the cafe across the street.

Staring down at the entry only furthers that jolt of longing in your heart, so you snap the journal closed and slip it back into your tote bag, far out of sight.

“Oh,” Eliana says, breathless, and you barely have time to look up before you see her get swept up out of her seat by a pair of hands.

Your choked gasp of shock catches the attention of a nearby table, but the older couple looks away when Jake glares back at them, hoisting Eliana up onto his shoulders. He carries the body with the same lithe grace as a panther, you think. Where Steven is huddled and wary, Jake burns as bright as the sun, his shoulders squared, every step graceful and sure.

Even his smile to you is near-predatory. Unhappy.

“Fancy to see you here, querida,” he says. Not unkindly, though you know it’s more for Eliana’s benefit. There’s an edge lining the corner of his mouth that is reserved only for you to see now that she’s stashed safely atop his shoulders.

“I saw Steven!” She tells him, burying her hands in his dark curls. She leans down to press her temple to his, only to squeal in delight when he turns to kiss the tip of her nose.

“You told him he was missing the gods on that poster, princesita?” He hitches his shoulders to make her bounce, and she curls up to steady herself in his grip, giggling riotously against the crown of his curled hair. “I think you forgot something when you left.”

“Not-uh,” she declares. “I got my jacket!”

“Hmm,” Jake muses. “What about your shoes?”

“One, two,” she shows him one foot then the other. Jake’s smile softens at the sight of the untied laces, and you know he’s thinking of the same daily rituals you are. So many mornings he has spent muttering over her sneakers, constantly re-tying the laces, failing to convince her to get velcro shoes because she likes Jake to tie them for her and he cannot resist making her smile, even in that small way.

A morning ritual the two of you have tried to remedy together since he left. You’ve shown her how to tie her own shoes many times since then, but both of you can feel the gaping emptiness that he has left since Cairo.

“¿Estas segura?” He teases, and when she lets out an offended squawk of annoyance, he releases his grip on one of her ankles and pulls out a fuzzy dark-fur plush from his pocket.

You laugh despite yourself. A plush jackal, colored just like the god tucked in at your feet.

“Anubis!” Eliana gasps. She takes the plush from Jake with reverent joy, tucking it securely into the crook of her arm as her other hand curls gently into his dark hair. The exhaustion and annoyance that lined his face earlier is long gone, and a gentle adoration softens his eyes as she leans in to whisper in his ear, “Gracias, Daddy.”

“De nada, princesita,” he whispers back. For a moment, they stay just like that, her face ducked low to lean against his, his hands clasping her ankles to steady her perch on his shoulders. She has the same sort of smile that he does, too, as if it’s a secret split open and divided just for the two of them to share.

You’re loath to interrupt their first moment of peacefulness in nearly two months, so you merely catch Jake’s gaze and hold it, silently conveying every thought rattling in your head.

Cairo. The apartment abandoned in Tunis. The journey to London through international flights, hauling around a cranky kid that missed her dad and didn’t understand why it was important to pretend she wasn’t Eliana Lockley Spector when the boarding agents checked them in. Seeing Jake’s body being piloted by a near-stranger in the gift shop, knowing he was close enough for you to touch but you had no right to ask for the privilege.

“Join us?” You ask softly. He swallows thickly, and for a beat, he lets you see the emotions filtering through his mind in his subdued expression: exhaustion, stress, panic, relief, love, love, love.

“I have an hour for lunch,” he says. He doesn’t say that it’s Steven’s lunch, though you know that based on the tension ticking in his jaw, he’s already wondering how he will cover the blank spot in Steven’s memory when he comes back to front.

You push your plate across the table, and he eyes the untouched sandwich and half-eaten fries with a knowing look.

“No mayo,” he assumes. It’s endearing, you think, watching him scrutinize the lunch date you arranged while Eliana pets his curls with gentle fingers, tangling up the sleep-mussed locks even further. If Steven looked tired and rumpled, then Jake seems exhaustively spent. There’s a firm tilt to the corner of his mouth that reminds you of the way Marc always frowns when he’s in the front, but as Eliana carefully combs through his hair with her little fingers, you can see his expression smooth out and soften.

“You should finish lunch,” he finally says. He’s looking directly at you, but he lifts Eliana up and over his head to settle her in his lap, claiming the chair he swept her up from. She wiggles to lean her head against his collar, her posture loose and sated. He pulls her plate closer to the edge of the table so she can reach, and one of her hands dart out to snatch a french fry.

“Ay, have more than just the fritas,” he admonishes, but he takes a fry off of your plate with a wink only you can see. Eliana giggles but obediently reaches for her half-gnawed sandwich next, and so Jake doesn’t complain when she curls up in his lap to nibble on it, watching the passing traffic with a bright smile that makes your heart ache.

The three of you will never have your little life in Tunis again. You know it, even if you want nothing more than to take Jake by the hand and drag the both of them back home. It eases the sting to know that Jake would go with you and he wouldn’t fight it. His willingness to settle down was never the obstacle in your relationship.

“How was the shiva?” You ask. It’s easier to switch to Spanish; you can feel the sidelong stares from the old couple at the table next to yours, still uneasy at Jake’s sudden appearance. They are likely harmless, but you don’t have enough energy to sidestep the actual topic you need to discuss by using petty code-speak.

Jake takes the offering without stumbling. “Didn’t go in. Had to nudge them through the city streets before one of them got run over.”

“The museum is just his day job, then?” You ask, nodding to the name tag still fastened to Jake’s coat. Or it was technically Steven’s coat, you supposed. The three of them have their own preferences, and you know Jake would have preferred something softer and warmer for the tepid English weather.

“Gallivanting at night,” Jake agrees. He takes another fry off of your plate and eats it slowly, chewing as if he can delay the conversation entirely. Eliana eats just as slow, you notice, and you wonder if it isn’t just Jake who feels the tension brewing between the two of you.

It isn’t fair for her, you think, and that gives you the courage to speak first.

“I’ve been talking to my sister,” you start, and the next sentence dies in your throat when you see Jake stiffen, panic flashing through his eyes before his gaze settles in wary distrust. The slope of his shoulders tense into a straight, drawn-back posture. A soldier’s stance.

“You,” Marc says flatly. Eliana straightens up at the sound of his voice, looking at you with wide eyes, and you can only offer her a smile in what you hope conveys comfort. Either that, or you just might expose some of the frustration welling up in your chest.

“Just having lunch,” you tell Marc. His brows draw together, unsure, and you quickly jump back into English. “We invited Steven to lunch.”

Wrong thing to say. The tension stiffens into protectiveness, his dark eyes slowly taking in the plates on the table, the half-eaten vegetarian sandwich pushed between you and him. Then his attention trails down to Eliana, and his expression smooths out when he realizes that she’s watching him with rapt attention.

“Hi, Eliana,” Marc says, soft. When he looks at you, that wariness turns the softness of his black eyes back to stone. “Steven isn’t involved in any of this, Lockley.”

You nod. The sound of his voice sends that shiver down your back. God, you missed this so much. Jake may be the alter you married, but Marc is still the reason you have him and Eliana. He was your partner in a way Jake didn’t quite equate to.

“I know.” You offer your best apologetic look, but he doesn’t seem swayed until you nod to Eliana. “We came to the city for my sister. I got a lead and I needed the babysitter.”

“Lockley,” he warns. He glances around the cafe, and you follow his gaze. The old couple that sat next to you have gone while you were distracted, and you supposed it was good they left before they noticed Jake switch into a brooding American from Chicago that looked like he was holding a pipe bomb rather than your daughter in his lap. The faces around you are different but unassuming, and none seem interested in your suddenly tense conversation. It’s only the three of you, and the jackal curled languidly at your feet, unbothered by the display.

Good. That must mean Khonshu isn’t here yet. When Marc looks back to you, you smile at him.

“I know,” you say, soft enough to sound less like a defense mechanism and more like an olive branch. It doesn’t loosen the slope of his shoulders, though there’s less wrinkles across his brow. “I just needed time before meeting with Sophia. Eliana wanted to see the exhibits.”

“I saw a mummy,” Eliana adds, patting Marc’s shoulder to get his attention. The anger clears from his face when he tilts his head down to offer his full attention. His eyes linger on the plush jackal clutched in the crook of her arm, but he merely offers her a kind, gentle smile.

“Oh, yeah?” He says. He pokes her side, supporting her weight when she jolts away at the ticklish touch with a giggle, then pokes at the plush on her other side. “You picked up a souvenir, too?”

“Anubis,” Eliana affirms. She pulls it out to offer it to Marc, and his hand is gentle as he pets the top of its furry head, his smile tugging ruefully at the corners of his mouth. You take a brief, gracious moment to silently thank Jake for his thoughtfulness. Not only did Eliana have a souvenir, but it was a good cover story for when this exact scenario happened: they saw Steven at the gift shop counter during checkout, and they got lunch together.

From what you knew of Steven, you gathered that he was an earnest, kind-hearted, and well-mannered man. He wouldn’t refuse an offer for lunch, and he was just as likely to strike up a friendship with Eliana through a few conversations about their shared love for Egyptology.

Like you choosing the vegan-friendly restaurant, Jake chose a prop for a lunch date. For all of the complaints he had about Marc’s love for strategy, he could be a formidable opponent in the game of chess you all played with the system. Hiding Steven from the world of Avatars, hiding Jake from Marc and Steven, hiding who you and Eliana truly are from Marc.

It was all a delicate circus act of balance and lies, and you wondered just how far you could let it go before it all came crashing down. Marc would be gutted if he knew the girl cradled in his lap was his daughter just as much as she was Jake’s and Steven’s. He would be furious if he knew his marriage to Layla was null and void just because he was married to you, instead, long before he started to even date her.

Yeah, some chess game you all played. Some days you wondered if it would be easier simply to set the board on fire and let it all go.

“I’m sorry,” you say suddenly.

Marc and Eliana both look to you, an eerie mirror to the life you pose for. She has his striking dark eyes and soft curls, and thanks to you, she has his name, too. One of the contacts you worked with beyond the scope of Marc and Layla’s influences forged her birth certificate and passport, sympathetic when you explained to her that Eliana was a surprise and her father had no interest in being involved. She needed identification papers, and you couldn’t go to the local embassy to register her birth with her father, and so you made them up.

You couldn’t blame Jake for lying about his role in the system. You were just as complicit in the deceit of your daughter’s life. By extension, for better and for worse, that meant Marc’s life, too.

“For showing up so suddenly,” you explain. “I didn’t expect to get so caught up in a museum today. We just had to kill some time.”

In emphasis, you check your watch, and you don’t have to fake the tired sigh that overcomes you at the acknowledgment of the time. Steven’s lunch was about over, and you had to catch the next bus to your sister’s house before she started to worry about you.

Marc, ever attentive, takes the hint.

“I understand,” he says, though he doesn’t sound happy. “Just… leave him out of this. We can talk about the scarab later.”

“Didn’t tell you that was my lead,” you point out, a little sly, and he levels you with an unamused look. You relent, “I’ll share my sources and we can make a plan. You don’t have to rush in alone.”

The smile he gives you is bitter. “Am I ever alone, Lockley?”

With that, you watch as his posture softens, Marc stepping back from control. For a moment, you wonder if he intends to have Steven step in, in which case explaining the lunch arrangement again will get much more confusing. But no, you can see Jake’s mouth twitch with a muted frown before he gives you a wide, uncharacteristically bright smile.

“Right, look at the time,” Jake says, and you can’t help but smile at the British accent. “I best get a move on, right, love?”

He presses a kiss to the top of Eliana’s head, and only you can see the way he closes his eyes for a heartbeat, a wave of longing sweeping across his face before it settles back to an imitation of Steven’s soft look and he leans back. When he looks at you, his face betrays nothing of his true nature, and you wonder what he would say if Marc wasn’t hovering so close to the front, watching your interaction.

He would probably be pissed. He didn’t like to be left out of the loop, and you coming to London was so far out of left field that you came from another stadium. Bringing Eliana only complicated things, but were you supposed to leave her with your neighbors in Tunis? As much as you liked and trusted the al-Karims that lived next door, they were vastly unprepared to take care of Eliana if you never came back. Next of kin was the best opportunity you had, at least for now.

“It was nice to see you,” you say to your husband. You hold his eyes for a long moment, a silent conversation held delicately between the two of you. Years of working side-by-side as Avatars and the aspect of parenthood where being aware of what Eliana shouldn’t have to hear finely tuned your silent communication skills, and you are more than fluent in the language of Jake Lockley.

He is beyond pissed. He is utterly fucking terrified. He wants you to leave just as much as he wants to pull you in and keep you close. He wants to settle in and rest, even for just a little while, and he does not want to let the two of you out of his sight.

I will be back for you, you tell him silently. We are not doing anything alone. We are going to fix this and go back to normal.

Jake says, with the slightest furrow of his brow: I want you to be right, querida.

Yeah, you want to be right, too. It’s a work in progress.

“You ready to go, habibti?” You say to Eliana, gathering up your tote bag and her small pink backpack. Before leaving Tunis, you packed it with her clothes, along with some of her favorite books and a few toys. How strange your life was that you had a go-bag for your five year old. It had been even worse that she recognized her backpack and had gotten ready for your flight before you even explained the trip to see your sister.

She heaves a world-weary sigh and shuffles around to face Jake, lifting up her Anubis plush to kiss his cheek with a soft peck of its nose.

“Anubis likes you,” she tells him, solemn. The jackal at your feet, nothing more than a shimmering mass of sand and shadows, gives Jake a bared-teeth grin of acknowledgement that no one but you can see. She isn’t far off, though you would rather not have Khonshu overhear that his Avatar has a soft spot in a rival god’s heart.

Marc must still be close to the waking consciousness of the body, because Jake nods enthusiastically and generously pats the plush’s head.

“Right, thanks, mate.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to muffle a laugh. His impression is openly expressive and earnest, though not entirely overdramatic. The accent is a dead ringer for Steven’s stereotypical posh English. It makes sense; he has spent many years posing as flashes of Steven to keep Marc unsuspecting of certain blank spots in his memory. Typically, it’s softer errands, such as grocery shopping or doing laundry, but you have heard Jake’s impression of Steven and Marc enough to know when it’s him putting on an act, even if it happens to be a very accurate act.

Jake keeps up his front as Steven, and you wonder if you’re the only one that notices the way he reluctantly passes off Eliana to you, his hands lingering just a moment on her untied shoes before they drop back in his lap, empty.

Eliana nuzzles her face in the crook of your shoulder, her arms wrapping around your neck in loose comfort. She’s exhausted after your morning of travel to London by bus, followed immediately by your museum visit and the impromptu lunch date. When you reach your sister’s house, you know she’ll be grumpy until you can convince her to nap.

Then, you will have to leave her there, and meet up with Marc.

“Thank you,” you say to Jake, though it’s half meant for Marc, too. The two of you can manage to find the scarab and keep it out of the cult’s hands, surely. The quicker you locate the artifact, the quicker you can arrange a real routine for Eliana while you adjust to London life. Or maybe you’ll get lucky and you can go back to Tunis, the three of you, to go back to enjoying the sunshine and frequenting the food stalls in the Medina.

“Pleasure’s all mine, love,” Jake grins, and this time, it’s his own flirtatious smile that makes you grin back.

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

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mrs-lockley · 1 year ago

Text

Reach for the Moon | II. The Falling

WARNINGS: Unrequited love (Reader is in love with Marc, Marc is oblivious but means well), mentions and discussions of food (cooking and baking), italics in dialogue indicates Reader and her parents speaking a foreign language (unspecified), brief mention of middle school and high school, so much yearning and fluff that you might get a toothache

WORD COUNT: 7.3k

Inspired by the 1954 film & 1995 remake of Sabrina, No Moon Knight AU.

SERIES MASTERLIST | PART I. THE BREAKING

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The wall begins to crumble, revealing the White Knight waiting on the other side. You soon learn there is more to the man beneath the armor, and see the heart that lies within.

TAGLIST: @soft-girl-musings, @venting402, @musing-magpie, @writefightandflightclub, @kezibear, @silverklaus, @badbishsblog, @marc-spectorr, @myhohastuff, @grumpyahjumma, @h4untedsp3ctor, @harv3sting

See end for author's notes

THE FALLING

The next couple of weeks were quiet, but eventful as the days grew shorter into the start of autumn. As the leaves changed from green to red and the air grew colder, you found solace in the change of seasons. A new season brought new beginnings, and life had a way of bringing you into unexpected places.

Since the success of your cousin’s bakery (the Mochi Flower Bakery and Café, as you and your cousin affectionately named it) in Singapore, your family considered expanding the business to New York. You exchanged ideas and recipes over video calls with your cousin, aunt, and uncle as your parents researched possible places to open up shop. It was all new and exciting, and in hindsight, distracted you from the heartache of being left at the market that summer night. There was no better distraction than trying to perfect the recipe for the most delicious lemon ricotta cake.

Marc texted you a few days later with an apology. He left you a voicemail as well (you were running errands when he called), and as you listened to his apology, you still could not find it in yourself to be upset with him for leaving you. How could you be angry with him when you still harbored an unrequited crush on him almost three years later?

When he offered to meet with you to make amends, you politely declined with an excuse that you were visiting an old college friend from out of town, but in reality, you did not know if you could face him again.

After that night, you carefully discarded the daffodils he had given you when he picked you up from the airport. Your heart was numb as you stared at the dried petals in the wastebasket, your eyes puffy and swollen for the next few nights. Could you truly mourn a loss if he was never yours?

You never told your parents or Steven the truth of the date, and you wondered if they knew. If they did, your parents never said anything, but your best friend —ever the perceptive man— seemed to know the truth, even when you tried to hide it from him.

It was a Sunday night when Steven was with you in the kitchen. While your parents were watching a drama in the living room, you and Steven wore matching aprons as he helped you bake a vegan blueberry cake.

“In the middle of my tour, I was talking about the Egyptian mummification process when one of the girls interrupted me and asked if I knew what it was like to be rejected from the Field of Reeds,” Steven told you as you frosted the cake. “Honestly, middle school girls can be vicious, especially when some of her friends laughed with her.”

You looked over at him, your eyes soft as you placed a gentle hand over his. “Kids can be brutal, but they’re just kids. I was a middle school girl once, and we aren’t all bad. People change.”

Steven smiled softly with a sigh as you finished frosting the cake. You wanted to replicate a vintage cake with different shades of blue and ivory cream, and you hoped that you were not putting too much buttercream. As pretty as vintage cakes looked, you did not like wasting the cream when you knew most people do not eat all of it. You were more accustomed to your desserts being on the lighter side of the sweetness scale, and ever since your return from Singapore, you had a hard time stomaching American pastries.

“You’re right about that love,” Steven agreed. Once you set the piping bag aside, he moved to start decorating the top with blueberries. “They’re just kids, but they’ll change and grow. But I admit, I was feeling a little sassy too.”

You lowered your hands and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” You narrowed your eyes at him, lightly swatting his hand as he sneakily tried to eat a few blueberries. “I just told her that the souls in the duat would try to claim anyone who fell in the sand, and that she better hope that if I was rejected, I wouldn’t be the first one to eat her.”

“Steven Grant!”

Your best friend chuckled as you scolded him, narrowly dodging your wooden spoon. “She was being rather nasty throughout the tour, so I had to give her a reality check.”

You let out a dejected sigh as he grabbed another handful of blueberries from the basket. You did not have the heart to tell him to stop since you already finished decorating the cake.

For as long as you have known Steven, he was quite a character. Smart and quick-witted, he always fired back in the most eloquent manner.

“Okay, maybe she deserved it,” you told him, trying not to roll your eyes as he grinned mischievously beside you. “But I’m not condoning it.”

You moved over to the stove to pour yourself, Steven, and your parents a cup of tea. Throughout your life, your parents always liked a cup of tea with their dessert, and through the years, you got Steven into that habit as well.

Your best friend hummed quietly as he helped set the cups on the counter, his fingers lightly tracing the small teacup. It was one of your favorite sets, white with a dark blue floral design painted across the ceramic with a matching saucer and golden teaspoon.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this set before,” Steven mused as you placed the kettle back onto the stove. “When did you get this?”

Heat licked at your cheeks, your heart pounding as you looked down at the cup. The warmth of the tea burned your fingers slightly as you held the teacup in your hands, and if you pulled away, you wondered if the flowers burned onto your skin like a brand that would never heal.

“Marc got it for me for my birthday before I went to Singapore,” you answered quietly, your voice low. “I don’t remember where he got it, but he said he knew someone who knew where to find tea sets.”

A dull ache grew in the depths of your chest as you remembered your last birthday before you left for Singapore. Your parents took you out of town to celebrate the Friday before your birthday, and that weekend, your mother cooked your favorite noodles (“for long life,” she would always say) and your father commissioned one of his coworkers to bake a special cake for you. You celebrated one day with your family, and another with your old childhood and college friends. It was a wonderful sendoff before your departure, but you could not help but feel nostalgic at the memory.

One day, you lamented to Marc how much you wanted a matching tea set. A few times you traveled with your parents as a teenager to the Lion City where you admired your aunt’s tea sets that she displayed in their china cabinet. You remembered how much your mother pestered your father to buy any matching dinnerware whenever there was a sale at her favorite department store, especially when there were tea sets. While your family did not have much when they immigrated to the United States, your mother would tell you that her parents collected china and other sets as family heirlooms. She wished she could have taken it with her to New York, and you wanted to help her create a collection here.

A few days before your birthday, Marc dropped by your place with a gift box wrapped beautifully with a navy blue bow on top. Your parents were in the kitchen eavesdropping as you opened the gift on the living room floor with Marc at your side.

“Marc, it’s beautiful,” you told him. You held the ceramic delicately in your hands, sighing in awe as you turned it over. The dark blue floral design was nostalgic and intricate. “They look just like the ones that my aunt and uncle have back home.”

He smiled gently at you, his arms warm as you hugged him. “I’m glad you liked it. Happy birthday, kid.”

You placed your teacup down on the saucer and sighed. Out of all the tea sets you owned, you rarely used the blue one that Marc had given you. It was your favorite, and as much as your mother wanted to take it down from the china cabinet to use, you always told her that you wanted to save it for special occasions.

But since that night, you brought it down from the cabinet. Your mother didn’t say anything when she watched you wash the set in the sink, and you wondered if she knew the real reason you brought it down.

He was quiet as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did Marc hurt you?”

You felt his eyes on you as you rolled the golden teaspoon between your fingers. You did not know if you had the courage to look at him.

Instead of answering, you shook your head. Steven sighed beside you, and you knew he did not believe you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you quickly brushed them away with the back of your hand.

“There’s nothing to talk about. He still loves her, and I have to move on,” you answered as you turned to him with a weak smile. “I have to grow up and be a big girl now.”

His brown eyes softened, but full of worry as he looked at you.

“Don’t blame yourself, love,” he comforted you. “He still cares about you.”

You knew that Marc still cared for you as a friend, but deep down, you knew he would never love you the way you loved him.

“I know,” you whispered. You wiped at your eyes again and sighed, trying to get your mind off it. “Let’s cut the cake and bring the tea in the living room for my parents. They’re too engrossed in their drama to get off the couch.”

He chuckled softly, and you were grateful he did not bring it up again for the rest of the night. For the rest of the evening, you and Steven sat with your parents in the living room drinking tea and eating cake as they explained the romantic drama they were watching. It was a show that you remembered watching with your cousin in Singapore, and you could not help but smile as you saw how engrossed Steve became with the plot and characters.

At the end of the night, you packed a few slices of the cake (with extra blueberries, per Steven’s request) for Steven to take home for Marc and Jake. As you walked him to the bus stop at the end of your street, he turned to you and pulled you into his arms, his voice soft and gentle.

“I am always here for you, love,” he whispered, “whenever you need me.”

Your heart ached as he comforted you, and you pulled him tighter into your embrace.

“Thank you.”

You sit in the kitchen with ink stained on your fingers as you look over the drawings of cakes, cupcakes, and different pastries in your sketchbook. Jake texted you earlier that afternoon if you wanted to join him in surprising his neighbor for her birthday. Taweret lived alone with the rest of her family back in Cairo, and she only had a couple friends with her in New York. There were a few times you encountered her whenever you visited his apartment (mainly to cook and exchange recipes with Steven), you became acquainted with the elderly lady. Whenever she saw you, she always requested to try whatever baked goods that you brought with you. Because of her, you always packed extra sweets, knowing how much she adored you and you, her.

Your parents were not too familiar with Jake, but they knew enough that he was quite old-fashioned and polite (and “reminiscent of the gentlemen of my youth,” your mother remarked to your father’s chagrin). You wondered if they were relieved that it was not Marc at the door when Jake dropped you off after your “date.”

True to his word, he was around much more than before and met with you often. In the times that you two met, they were casual outings where you would grab a bite to eat or a drink at the local coffee shop. Other times, you asked him to tag along with you as you ran a few errands around town. It was during those times he offered to drive you, especially when you were grocery shopping for ingredients to try new recipes to add to a possible menu. He never accepted gas money from you (despite all the sneaky ways you tried to bribe him), but you compromised and treated him —and Steven and Marc— to any baked goods you created.

Once you are satisfied with your revisions, you tuck your journal into your bag and take a seat at the kitchen island, your eyes locked on the oven window. While you are in charge of the cake, Jake is in charge of dinner, explaining he was going to try to make a traditional Egyptian dish. As he was already at the supermarket to pick up some groceries, he told you that he would pick you up since he would pass by your place on the way back.

Different ingredients scatter the counter between the two of you as you organize your supplies. While you have your powdered sugar and tray on one side, Jake has his supplies and containers on the other, including a tupperware of cooked elbow macaroni, tomato sauce, and a bag of store-bought fried onions.

Jake stands at the stove with his back turned to you. Even on a casual Thursday night, he is dressed in his usual white button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing his warm tan skin. The only difference between his house clothes and outside clothes was the lack of his flat cap and tie, and his dress pants swapped with jeans and a plain apron to cover himself.

Curiously, you stand beside him and watch as he stirs the lentils and rice together in a pot. The smell of coriander and pepper welcomes you, and your tummy grumbles at the smell and sight.

“What are you making?”

“Koshari, I remember Taweret mentioning how much she misses eating it from back home. I watched a few tutorials and researched the recipe, and I hope I got it down,” he answers with a small smile.

Then, he leans over to the side and pulls out a spoon from the drawer to hand to you.

“Give it a try and let me know how it is, or if I’m missing anything. Once this is done, I just need to combine everything together.”

You grin as you dip the spoon into the pot. The tangy and spicy flavor fills your mouth in heat, but not too much that it would burn your tongue. It was enough spice to give the kick it needed.

“It’s a little spicy, but not too spicy. It’s delicious,” you tell him with an encouraging smile. “I’ve always been curious to try your cooking. Steven says you’re the best cook between the three of you.”

He pauses slightly as he turns to you. His face is slightly flushed, his brown eyes wide in surprise at your words. “He said that?”

You smile with a nod of your head. “He did. When I visited him at the Smithsonian last week for lunch, he told me you made vegan shakshuka for him and he loved it. He said it was better than the shakshuka he normally makes.”

You remember sitting on the steps outside of the museum last week when you stopped by to see him during his lunch break. It was a beautiful autumn day where the museum was not too busy on a Tuesday afternoon, and his boss was kind enough to give him an extended break after doing several grade school tours that week.

“I experimented and made some bagels last night, and I made a couple vegan ones for you,” you told him as you unwrapped the bagels on your lap. Your best friend smiled and thanked you as you handed it over to him. “I hope you like it, it’s my first time making bagels.”

“I know it’ll be great. Jake made a batch of vegan shakshuka for me and I think this would be a good match.” Steven opened his lunch and dipped the bread in his tupperware, even offering you a piece as you followed his instructions to dip your piece into the stew. “I don’t know how he did it, but he mastered it. I’ve been trying to make a decent version for months, and his version tastes better than all of my previous attempts. He’s the best cook out of all of us.”

As you look over at Jake, you are stunned to see his surprise. While you met Steven first and became friends with Marc second, it seemed that there were more layers to Jake than you realize. You knew that he was a private person who kept to himself, and you once believed he was an aloof individual who often kept people at arm’s length in the backseat of his car to keep his privacy. In the past, you only conversed with him from time to time, but over the past few months, you see that he is more sentimental than he appears to be.

A knowing smile kisses your lips as he tries to hide his smile from you. You give him the privacy to cherish the moment as you turn back to the oven to watch the cake slowly rise.

“Can I say something?” You ask.

He hums slightly and nods as he turns off the stove.

Wanting to help him, you reach for the bowl of chickpeas and heat them in the microwave. “You remind me of a tiramisu.”

He pauses for a moment with a soft chuckle, amused. “A tiramisu?”

You nod with a small smile. “Yes, a tiramisu. Before I got to know you, I used to think you were a bit detached with how private you are. I didn’t know much about you except from what Steven and Marc told me, and we only met a few times before I left for Singapore.”

At the beep of the microwave, Jake hands you the oven mitts to take the chickpeas out. You move closer to him as the two of you prepare to mix the lentils, rice, tomato sauce, pasta, and chickpeas together.

“What changed your mind?” He asks quietly.

You think about his words as you plate the rice and lentils. “Spending time with you,” you answer. “The more time I spend with you, whether it’s you taking me to the bodega or the Asian supermarket, or even moments like these, you’ve shown me there’s more to you than people think. You’re private, but you’re also very kind.”

Jake steps closer to you to place the pasta and chickpeas on top. You could not read his expression. Did he find you weird and strange? Was he upset or offended?

As you move to hand him the tomato sauce, his hands reach for yours, helping you and quietly telling you to be careful since the bowl was still warm from when he cooked it earlier.

His brown eyes flicker with amusement and curiosity as he glances up at you.

“I still do not see how this pertains to me reminding you of tiramisu, conejita.”

You laugh softly as you look down at the koshari on the plate.

“Tiramisu is like this dish,” you explain as he mixes everything together. “You may look a bit off-putting at first with how reserved and quiet you are, but that’s not a bad thing. The closer you look, there are different layers. They seem strange when they are all separated, but once you dig through the layers, you are very sweet like a tiramisu.”

Your eyes glance over at him, and you notice how his movements seem to slow as he waits for your next words.

“You made Steven shakshuka and you cooked Taweret’s favorite dish to surprise her for her birthday so she won’t be alone. You take care of people in a quiet way,” your voice grows softer as you speak, your heart aching slightly at the memories. “Twice, you found me crying and alone, and you were the one to bring me back home.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, and for a moment, you are brought back to that summer evening when Marc left you at the night market. You still remembered the heartbroken look on his face, the pain in his eyes, and the fear in his voice when he left. He was in so much pain, and even with your heart breaking in front of him, you wished you could take his pain away from him.

Since that night, Marc left you a voicemail with his apology and wished to meet with you again, and as much as it hurt you, you kept your distance. It pained you how quick you were able to think of another reason why you could not see him. Perhaps with each text, you could finally cut those heartstrings, be a big girl, and move on.

Yet, the ache remained. It splintered deep inside of you like a tree taking deep roots in your chest, leaving a scar that you feared would never heal.

“How is he doing, by the way?” You ask quietly as your lips begin to quiver. “Is he alright?”

He does not say anything for a moment as his gaze washes over you, and you wonder if he knew about your feelings for Marc. If he did, he never showed it.

His voice is gentle as he speaks, his eyes soft.

“Marc is doing just fine,” he answers. “Steven and I are looking after him.”

You want to believe him, but a part of you hesitates. While you did not know the relationship between the three men, you did know one thing. Marc was perceptive, and he would worry. The last thing you wanted him to think was that he hurt you— you knew he would never forgive himself if he believed it.

To your surprise, Jake leans forward and moves closer to you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. You blink in surprise and take a step back at his sudden movement.

“You have flour on your face,” he whispers. “Hold on.”

Suddenly, you feel the world stop around you as his hand softly caresses your face. You hold still, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as his thumb brushes the flour off your cheek. His touch is gentle and light, and he holds you as if you are a delicate thing. This was the first time Jake touched you like this and for a reason you could not explain, it was electrifying. It is as if he lit a flame and you are melting like candle wax under his touch.

Your head is still spinning when he pulls away. Your throat constricts as he looks at you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

You do not know what has come over you. As his gaze meets yours, the two of you are quiet with the only sound of your flustered breath filling the silence. While he shared the same face as Marc and Steven, it is the first time you see him up close.

His eyes are just as brown, but there is a different softness to them in the kitchen light. A certain warmth fills his gaze—although intense—there is a sense of safety and familiarity as the corners of his eyes crinkle into a whisper of a comforting smile. A dark stray curl rests on his forehead, and if you look close enough, you catch slivers of starlight dusting at his temples.

You always believed Jake to be a handsome man, and in the past couple of months that you have gotten to know him, you see him differently. He is the kind of handsome that you read in your romance novels, the quiet gentleman who was always by the heroine’s side, and in that moment, you understand why people have always gravitated towards him.

You have looked at him many times before, but your heart begins to ache in your chest. He wiped away your tears before and has comforted you in your most heartbroken and vulnerable moments, so why would brushing flour away cause you to feel like you are sixteen again?

The sound of the timer interrupts your thoughts. You gasp softly and quickly turn away to grab the oven mitts, welcoming the distraction from your heated cheeks and your beating heart.

As you pull the cake out of the oven, you hear Jake pull away from you and the sound of a utensil scraping against the bottom of the pan. You set the cake onto the counter and are grateful for this moment—you are not sure if you had the courage to look at him yet.

With a deep breath, you glance down at the cake. The cake baked into a beautiful summer yellow with the edges a golden brown. It was perfect and exactly how you envisioned it.

His voice breaks your thoughts, and it takes everything in you to not look at him.

“What kind of cake did you make?”

“Lemon ricotta,” you answer softly. Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the strainer and powdered sugar from across the counter. You feel his eyes on you, and as much as you try to hide it, you still feel nervous in front of him. “I made a lemon ricotta cake once a few months ago and Taweret said she loved it, so I wanted to make it for her again.”

Taking a deep breath, you ignore the way your hands tremble and begin to sift the flour and powder the cake with a light dusting of sugar for decoration. The two of you quietly work on completing your dishes with only the sound of a soft ballad playing from his vinyl record player in the living room.

Once you are finished, you set your tools aside and look down at the cake. Lemon ricotta was not your specialty as you only baked it a couple times, and you worried about how it looked. Would she even like the cake with how simple and plain it looked?

“I want it to be perfect for her,” you whisper softly. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

His footsteps echo behind you. As he stands beside you, your head begins to spin. The warmth of his body radiates off him, and even as he stands a few inches beside you, the heat of his touch lingers on your skin.

“That woman loves everything about you and adores you,” Jake assures you. “She’ll love it. I know she will.”

Warmth kisses your cheeks at his encouraging words. You never doubted your skills as a pastry chef, but hearing such praise from Jake strikes a chord in you. There were no words to describe your feelings at the moment. A foreign feeling tugged at your heart, reminiscent of butterflies that once fluttered in your tummy.

“Go ahead and set the table,” he instructs as he gathers your supplies. “I’ll clean up. I already texted Taweret and she’ll be here in a few minutes.”

He smiles encouragingly at you, and you move to set the table. As you arrange the plates and utensils, you spare another look at Jake and watch him set the pots and pans in the dishwasher. You have spent countless days and afternoons in the kitchen with Steven and Marc in the past, but this is your first time to be in the kitchen with Jake.

A few months ago when you returned from Singapore, you never would have thought that you would be baking by his side in the kitchen where you shared so many memories with his brothers. It was strange since you were not used to seeing Jake in such a domestic way, but it brings an odd comfort and warmth to you as he whistles in the kitchen.

You smile to yourself as you look down at the golden cake sitting at the edge of the table. In the past, you baked mochi for your family, lemon ricotta cake for Taweret, blueberry cake for Steven, and rocky road for Marc. There were so many layers to who he is, and you hope one day, you could bake Jake a sweet tiramisu.

The moon was high in the sky by the time Jake opened the passenger door for you to take you home. Not a single cloud was in sight, and the stars twinkled like pearls of light above you.

It truly was a beautiful evening. When Taweret arrived, her face lit up like the rising dawn. Without a second thought, she pulled you and Jake into her embrace. Your eyes began to mist when you felt a few drops of her tears fall onto your blouse, but you smiled warmly at her as Jake kissed her forehead and told her how much he loved her. You have only known Taweret for a short amount of time, but you were already fond of her and looked up to her as a mother figure.

Smiles, laughter, and memories were shared over dinner. As the three of you finished his koshari, Taweret spoke about her favorite childhood memories. You listened intently as she recalled not only her childhood, but her “wild youth” from running around with her girlfriends in Cairo and arguing with the university boys and rival sorority sisters. The three of you laughed until your ribs ached, your cheeks sore from smiling, and your tummy full from the warmth and love poured into the food that was shared.

And to your surprise, Taweret loved the lemon ricotta birthday cake. She patted your cheek affectionately as you served her the first slice with a gentle and warm smile on her face.

“Thank you, darling,” she beamed, “you always make the sweetest cakes.”

As you are about to thank her, Jake leaned in beside her, a knowing smile and wink as he sung the highest praises for you.

“She baked everything with love,” he told her, and your cheeks instantly heated at his kind words. “That’s her secret ingredient.”

Jake only smiled at you as you looked down at the yellow cake on your plate, hoping to find some solace on the finely dusted sugar sitting on top of your masterpiece. You barely heard them speak over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears and the warmth kissing at your soft cheeks. This was not the first time Jake complimented your strengths, so why are you suddenly shy and bashful like a schoolgirl?

You vaguely recalled the last time you felt like this. Before you left for Singapore, you remembered sitting at a picnic bench with Marc as his way of bidding you bon voyage. He carried the picnic basket over to the bench and helped you arrange the pieces on the table.

“Since I’m also helping out with their social media and marketing, I might as well start practicing how to take the best pictures and videos for advertising,” you remarked as you finished taking pictures of the set-up. You had a blanket draped over the table with minimal cutlery and accessories. “Don’t you think?”

Marc chuckled beside you as you put your phone in your bag. You would edit the photos when you get home and send them to your cousin later for her to critique. “I thought your generation was tech savvy and grew up on the internet?”

“I’m on the cusp and was fortunate that the internet was still starting out. It wasn’t as crazy as it is now. Besides, I don’t have many social media handles for a reason,” you answered, “I don’t want people from high school finding me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Why not?”

“I closed that chapter in my life. When I go to my high school reunion years from now, I want everyone to be surprised to see how much I’ve matured and grown up,” you sighed wistfully, imagining a romantic moment in your future reunion. “If they have any difficulty in recognizing their classmate, then I shall be the most sophisticated woman in the high school gymnasium.”

Your high school days were not the worst, but they were not the greatest, either. Your teenage days were not that far behind you, but you still had so much to look forward to in the years to come.

An amused smile shined on your friend’s face as he leaned forward and patted a piece of your hair.

“You are already a beautiful, intelligent, and sophisticated young woman,” he complimented you with a playful tap on your nose. “You will be the belle of the ball.”

But the days and nights you spent with Marc were long gone. Deep down, you grieved the chapter of your life where you were by his side. You convinced yourself into thinking the two of you were fated to be together for the rest of your lives, but life had its own way of cutting that invisible string you deluded yourself was tied between your fingers. The dried daffodils in your wastebasket was the evidence to the end of your fantasies.

Yet, the universe had a strange way of bringing things full circle. As you bury the thoughts of Marc aside, a sense of déjà vu washes over you with your heart feeling as hopeful as that night when Jake first found you on the steps outside of his apartment. It was odd to think that in the two years you spent away from home, Jake rarely passed your mind.

Now, your thoughts gravitated towards him. The ghost of his touch lingered from when he brushed away the flour on your cheek, and his praise echoed in your ears like a distant lullaby. It was as if your heart would burst from your chest with each moment you replayed in your mind and you wondered if you could trust yourself to open up again.

Before you could entertain that thought, the sound of his voice breaks the silence.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Jake glances over at you with a small smile, one gloved hand on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the rear view mirror. “I know it was a short notice.”

You smile reassuringly at him from the passenger side. “It was no problem, thank you for inviting me. I’m happy that we were able to celebrate her special day.”

You do not see Taweret often, but after tonight, you promise yourself that you would reach out to her more. She was such a character, and you make a note to give her extra delicacies you create in the future, especially if it involves lemon ricotta.

Jake grins at you as he stops at the stoplight, his voice light and airy.

“She adores you and talks about you like you hung the moon.” He spares you a glance with a gentle smile. “And she loved every bit of your cake.”

“Oh—” your cheeks grow warm at his words. The thought of Taweret talking about you so sweetly made your heart swell, especially when you were so worried that her birthday cake was plain.

He chuckles softly. “If it’s okay to ask, when did you start baking?”

You think for a moment as the two of you watch a few college students cross the street. “I’ve always had a sweet tooth, but growing up, I did not like American candy as much. It was always too sweet, and sometimes I felt like throwing up when I had cake. Nothing tasted like the snacks and sweets I would get from the Asian supermarket.”

You smile fondly as you remember your childhood. Growing up, there was not an Asian supermarket near your neighborhood. Most weekends, you dragged behind your parents as they bought their groceries at big retailers, and the only times you grew excited were when they either brought you to the local bodegas so you could pet the owner’s guard dogs (who were surprisingly gentle with children), or the Asian markets that were out of town. It was only until high school when they established one a few blocks away and within walking distance, and you were finally able to grab your favorite Meiji snacks.

“I often had too much time on my hands during the summer breaks, so I experimented in the kitchen. My mom never liked baking, but I saved up to buy some supplies, watched tutorials on YouTube, and even chatted with my cousin for ideas,” you laugh lightly. “It started when I was in middle school when we had a bake sale for fundraising, and I fell in love with it since.”

The light turns green, and Jake nods as he follows along.

“What would you say is your favorite to bake? Or, what would you say is your specialty?”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his question. It is not often someone asks about your favorites, let alone your specialty. You are so used to taking requests and baking for others based on their favorites, but rarely did someone ask about yours.

“Strawberry cake,” you answer, thinking about the colorful pink hue of the cakes you made in the past. “Especially with buttercream.”

“Like strawberry shortcake?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s easy to confuse the two based on their names, but strawberry shortcake is different since that’s shortbread with strawberries on top. Strawberry cake—”

“I know,” he laughs with a slight shake of his head. “I meant the character.”

Oh. Oh!

Heat envelopes your face at the thought. You adored Strawberry Shortcake as a little girl and collected the books, plushies, stickers, almost anything with your favorite freckled heroine. Even though she is in the arms of another child, you remember your Strawberry Shortcake doll that you used to carry with you everywhere with her apron smelling just like freshly cut strawberries.

When you did not respond, Jake immediately tried to correct himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“No, not at all,” you laugh. “She was one of my favorites as a child. Being compared to her makes me happy, so thank you.”

From the corner of your eye, you notice him smile in relief. You look down at the plastic bag full of tupperwares on your lap. As you cleaned the dinner table, you did not realize that Jake prepared extra koshari for you to take home to your family in extra tupperwares.

“And thank you for the food, too. I’ll have this for lunch tomorrow.”

He smiles at you, his voice soft. “You’re welcome.”

Life had a strange way of bringing things full circle. Filled with warmth, a sense of déjà vu washes over you with your heart feeling as light as that night when he first found you on the steps outside of his apartment. Not once, but twice he found you heartbroken, but since you returned to New York, your nights were spent with him where you would watch him from the passenger side. The wall that separated you two had begun to crumble, revealing the man dressed in white knight armor.

The fluttering of your heart confuses you when he parks in the driveway. Your pulse echoes in your ears as he opens your door with a gloved hand outstretched towards you, and your legs begin to shake with each step you take towards your front door. Why does the warmth of his glove burn your skin? Why does he suddenly make you skittish like a frightened deer?

It must be because he touched my face, you reason with yourself when you step inside. Your parents greet him with friendly smiles, and for unknown reasons, you feel a tug on your heartstrings when he lifts his hat at you.

As he walks away, you are left standing in the kitchen with a cold tupperware of koshari in your hands. Your parents kiss your cheek before walking up the stairs, and with each kiss, you imagine what it would feel like if Jake’s lips kissed your cheeks goodnight.

The early afternoon sunlight streams through your curtains when you wake that morning. Downstairs, you hear your father playing his favorite old songs on his speaker, the foreign language bringing you comfort and a sense of nostalgia. It was finally the weekend.

With a yawn, you force yourself out of bed and walk down the stairs. The love ballads grow louder, and you find your mother seated at the kitchen table with breakfast leftovers covered with a napkin.

“Good morning, baby,” she greets you as you smile sleepily at her. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod and rub your eyes while taking a seat in front of her. Last night, you spent a few hours on Messenger talking to your cousin about the newest addition they added to the Mochi Flower Bakery and Cafe. While the Mochi Flower was best known for matcha mochi cake, your cousin wanted to expand the menu to keep up with their local competitors. She shared with you the different designs that were shared with the class that included floral prints and a few beloved childhood characters like Hello Kitty. A couple months ago, she took a class from a masterclass baker on how to add such delicate designs to a sponge cake, and she’s been in love with it ever since.

Before you realized it, you were on Messenger for almost three hours. It was nearly three in the morning when you ended the call, your mind reeling from the designs she showed you. Both of your families considered opening a sister bakery in New York, and with each call you had with her over the spotty internet, the idea no longer felt like a dream, but a possibility.

“I did,” you answer, looking at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. You did not realize it was past noon. “I haven’t slept in like this since my last semester of college.”

Your mother laughs, and you laugh along with her. The twelve hour time difference was tough, and you were honestly surprised her internet lasted that long with minimal interruptions.

At that moment, your father walks in and greets you good morning with a soft kiss to the top of your head as he places a bowl of cut strawberries in front of you.

Your eyes widen slightly at the vibrant hue. “Papa, did you go to the grocery store this morning? When did we have strawberries?”

Your father shakes his head. “I didn’t buy them. Your driver friend dropped them off this morning.”

Driver friend? You wonder, knowing your father often forgets the names of your friends. Did he mean Jake? You have not talked to him in a couple weeks, not since Taweret’s birthday.

“The gentleman with the hat,” your mother clarifies. “He came by this morning and dropped off a box of strawberries that he got at the farmer’s market. He said it was for you.”

Your heart skips a beat as she hands you a yellow post-it note. Across the page, you memorize the straight lines of Jake’s handwriting, softly tilted in black ink.

For your strawberry cake - J

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you so much for your support! The idea of Conejita and White Knight!Jake has been floating around in my head for about a year, and with time, they finally came to fruition. Special thanks to @soft-girl-musings for listening to my ideas and late night texts on Discord. My laptop has been out of commission as of late, so I was unfortunately unable to post this sooner, but it's finally here!

To be honest, this series started when I was quarantined with COVID (part 1 was written when I had it the first time, part 2 the second time I had COVID, go figure lol). It makes me so happy to see that you have grown fond of conejita as well. I am a slow writer, and I want to thank everyone of you for your patience and support.

Originally it was going to be a trilogy, but since I am notorious for writing long fics, this series will most likely be four parts instead! I have a couple more characters I want to introduce. If you want to continue being on the taglist, please let me know. Stay tuned for updates and any future fics! I have a few more I want to put out this summer 🤍

Love, Celeste

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