#jake lockley scenarios

[ichorai]

dlz ; jake lockley.

track ten of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; jake lockley x gn!reader

synopsis ; jake lockley wasn't your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just... he was just there. a ghost living in your house.

words ; 3.5k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au

warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3

main masterlist.

Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatingly fresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze. 

He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Elliott Smith, Radiohead—were you singing them on purpose just to annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.

He especially hated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.

When Jake fronted, he slept in the guest room. Marc had convinced him not to blow more money staying at a hotel—and Steven was trying to persuade him to at least sleep in the same bed as you. After all, they were married to you. 

But Jake wasn’t your husband. Steven and Marc were. Jake was just… he was just there. A ghost living in your house.

The very thought of sharing a bed with you made a chill dance down Jake’s spine. He could never. As appealing as the thought of having you slotted between his arms, sleepily recounting how your day went to him, sounded, he couldn’t ever have that. Jake Lockley wasn’t a domestic man.

His hands would always be dripping with blood that wasn’t his, no matter how hard he tried scrubbing it away.

There were times Jake felt a morsel of regret. He was nowhere near nice to you, and yet you still spared him that infuriatingly patient, sweet smile, always telling him to stay safe before he left to drive his cab around (or do Khonshu’s dirty work), and never failing to whisper good night before slipping into your bedroom. 

Sometimes he had a queer, niggling feeling scratching at the pits of his stomach one would commonly refer to as jealousy. He knew that Marc and Steven got to hold you, kiss you, tell you they loved you as they pleased. 

Jake couldn’t do that. Jake wasn’t even entirely sure he was capable of loving someone. 

What made it even worse was that Jake learned about you through them—not because he ever actually tried to get closer to you.

He knew you loved apricots, but not as much as peaches. He knew you loved lighting scented candles whenever it rained. He knew you named each one of your house plants. He knew you were only slightly ticklish. He knew you had a tell; your nose would twitch and your eyebrows would quirk upwards whenever you lied. He knew from Steven to kiss just above your pulse point against the column of your throat to make you melt into him. He knew you had a birthmark between your thighs from when Marc—

Yeah, he’d rather not think about that one.

Jake knew you cried a lot—that one he learned on his own. He could hear you through the walls, but you probably weren’t aware of that fact. 

One night, Jake sat in the living room, staring into nothing, heart twisting angrily at himself until he couldn’t take it anymore, storming out of the apartment after shoving his hat onto his head and grabbing his cab’s keys. Steven and Marc had yelled angrily at him the whole time, but he learned to block their voices out. 

He wasn’t very good in the emotional department, that was abundantly clear.

When he came back home hours later, having driven around the city several times to clear his head, he tried to be as quiet as possible. At an hour as late as this, you were bound to be asleep, right?

But alas, there you were, curled into the corner of the couch, head uncomfortably lolled onto your shoulder. The house was entirely dark save for the dim glow of the television, casting a blue luminescence over your dozing form. Long shadows kissed the slopes of your features, softened with sleep. He noticed that there were tear tracks faintly outlined over the skin of your cheekbones.

Jake froze at the doorway for a moment. Were you waiting for him to come home?

He pushed down any and all intrusive thoughts, begrudgingly shrugging off his coat and hanging up his hat. A calloused palm carded through messy, coffee-hued curls. 

Heart dipping heavy within his chest, Jake stalked forward to turn the TV off, setting the remote down on the coffee table. He stood over you for a moment. A frown twisted at the corner of his lips, drawing his brows together.

Jaw clenching, Jake stepped away from you, slipping into the hall. He leaned against the door to the guest room for a moment, huffing out a low groan. Gods, what in the hell was he doing?

After another minute of frustrated hesitation, Jake willed himself to make his way back into the living room. You were twitching in your sleep, eyelids fluttering with what he could guess were the beginnings of a harsh nightmare. 

Gently—or, as gentle as a highly-skilled mercenary could be—Jake hooked an arm beneath the crook of your knee, the other looping over your shoulders and neck. When you stirred, Jake could only quietly make hushing noises, wincing at himself. Thankfully, you didn’t fully awaken, a soft noise falling from your lips as your nose turned to press against the fabric of his shirt obscuring his chest, just above where his heart scratched at the walls of his ribcage.

He kicked the door to your bedroom open none too silently, eager to set you down. Get as far away from you as possible. The sound of the doorknob thwacking against the wall behind it made your lids shoot open, and you groggily mumbled incoherent phrases under your breath before peering up at him with confused, watery eyes. He cursed internally.

“You’re back,” you said, voice hoarse with disuse. “You okay?”

There were lots of things Jake wanted to say to you at that moment.

No, I’m not okay. Were you waiting for me to get home? I’m sorry if I made you worry. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. Am I an asshole? You shouldn’t ever wait for me again. What were you dreaming of? Was it a nightmare about me?

Instead of any of that, Jake merely set you down onto the mattress with a grunt, dusting his hands onto his pants. He glared down at you as if he was angry—and he was, but not necessarily at you. 

But wasn’t he, though? He was angry that you were just so… so kind to him. He was angry that you were patient. He was angry that you were so easy to love. 

“Go to sleep, peach,” he gruffed. A hot flush coursed over his face at the nickname that had unintentionally slipped out. To his relief, you didn’t seem to notice.

Your sleepy expression seemed to cave in on itself and you dazedly nodded, head falling back into the pillow. 

If only he could slip in beside you, entangle his legs with yours as you kissed softly over his tense face, call you his.

Jake nearly slapped himself to get his head screwed on straight. He spared your already-sleeping form one last glance before trudging out of your room. Hurriedly, he threw himself into the guestroom, ripping off his shirt and pressing a palm flat against his chest to quell the racing thunder of his heart.

You were not good news for him. 

You didn’t see Jake for weeks after that incident. 

A part of you was glad—you were beginning to miss the sound of Steven’s sweet voice, his tender touches, his passionate kisses. You missed Marc’s back hugs, his strange fixation with your bare legs, his lopsided smiles.

The other part of you, however, wondered about Jake.

“Does Jake ever… say anything to the two of you?” you asked Steven one day, stirring sugar into your steaming tea as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Your husband looked up from the novel he was reading, pushing his glasses up his nose while considering your question. 

“Sometimes. Mostly stays to himself—quite the quiet bloke, innhe? Why, love?”

Your bottom lip trembled as you glared into your tea, as if it was the source of all your troubles. Steven was immediately out of his seat, tugging you close until your forehead rested upon his clavicle bone. You sniffled into him, crushing your eyes shut with shame. 

“Does he hate me?” you asked, voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did to make him—”

Steven immediately held you all the closer, crooning out, “No! No, of course not, silly. He’s just… he’s just having trouble with himself, that’s all. Doesn’t really talk to us much, either. It’s not you, love, I promise. In fact, I’m nearly certain he fancies you.”

“You’re not just saying that?” you said, scrutinizing him with wide, glassy eyes. “I don’t need him to love me like you and Marc do. I just… it’s hard when it feels like a man with the same face as your husband hates you.”

Steven’s expression crumbled, and he kissed over your left eyelid softly. “I know. I’m sorry, darling, I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Rubbing soothing circles over your back, he urged you to take a seat next to him, leaning over to move your mug of tea from the counter to the kitchen table. “Come on, I’ve got an amazing poem I want you to read.”

It was only two days later that you saw Jake again. You strode through the door, juggling grocery bags in one hand and a stack of books you borrowed from the library in the other. With a huff, you set the groceries down in the kitchen, turning around to see Jake quietly observing you, leaning against the fridge. You bit down a startled scream, flinching at his unexpected presence. 

“Oh,” you said after a second of flustered silence. “Hi, Jake. Didn’t see you there.”

He was observing you with such a sharp gaze that it felt like his irises were cutting straight through your flesh. Finally, he pushed away from the fridge, slowly moving towards you until he stood just in front of you, about an arm’s length away.

“Jake, what are you—?”

“I don’t hate you, peach,” the man said, all gravelly and brusque.

It took you a moment to fully register what he was saying. “Oh,” was all you said, parroting yourself from five seconds ago in a rather poignant manner. “Well… I don’t hate you, either, Jake. Far from that.”

You could see the struggle in the dark depths of his irises. Turmoil raged behind those narrowed lids, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to look away, not even if you tried. 

Feeling bold, you shuffled forward to slowly raise your hands, cupping Jake’s face within your palms. His glare seemed to harden at first, always so angry at things for not going the way he expected it to go, muscles tensing beneath your touch—but when your fingers gently scraped over his stubble, he could feel himself letting go, practically liquefying into you.

“Why are you like this, Jake Lockley?” you murmured, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. The action made his eyelids flutter shut. He’d never let himself be this vulnerable in front of you before. He wasn’t prepared for his walls to come crashing down around him so quickly—so easily. “Did I do something to upset you?”

All previous inhibitions thrown out the window, Jake grumbled out a small, “Yeah. All the fuckin’ time, peach.”

You quirked a brow. “Go on, then.”

One of his eyes opened before sliding closed again. “Where do I start? You smell too good—I can never concentrate around you. You’re always singing my favorite songs and it’s buggin’ the hell outta me. You’re always so nice to me—even though you know I’m not like your precious Steven and Marc.”

Something akin to a guffaw fell from your lips. “Well, first of all, thank you? Somehow you managed to compliment me in the rudest way possible, and I commend you for that. Second, I know you’re not like Steven and Marc. But I still love you all the same.”

The kitchen grew so quiet, Jake could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

His heart began tripping over its own gallop of a pace. You’d said it so easily, so swiftly, as if loving him came as naturally as breathing. 

Jake found his eyes falling to your mouth, slightly puckered to the side in thought. 

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, you started saying, “Jake—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupted, glowering at you with a newfound fire crackling behind his eyes. 

You blinked once, then twice. Then you nodded.

A small sigh of content that made Jake far too excited for his own good escaped your lungs as he dove forward and melded his lips with yours, dipping you backward ever so slightly in the midst of his vigor. 

He kissed differently than Steven or Marc did. Steven was languid, careful, and tender whilst Marc was feverish, calculated, and explorative.

Jake Lockley, however, kissed like a mad man. He was all tongue and teeth, desperately furious with his motions, kissing you as if it was the very last time he’d have the chance to do so. His nose slotted against yours, brushing against your cheek as you caved into him, arms winding over his neck to pull him ever so close. 

His fingers immediately clutched at your waist, one moving upwards beneath your (Marc’s) shirt to lightly scratch over the skin of your ribcage and the other shifting lower to tug over the back of your thigh. 

Gods, you just felt so right. 

“Mmh, peach,” Jake growled into your skin as he traversed down your neck, biting at the spot just above your pulse point, which made a low, desperate noise scratch at the back of your throat. He’d do anything to hear that noise over and over again.

“Why do you call me that?” you panted out, fingers threading through his haphazard curls to haul him away from your neck and back onto your lips. 

“You like peaches,” he breathed into you, a groan of agony rumbling from his chest when you nipped at his bottom lip with a hum of approval. “Don’t you?”

A choked sound was all you could let out when he shoved you none-too-gently against the counter, bending over to accommodate for his eager lips over yours.

“I love them,” you whispered once he parted away to catch his breath. 

There it was again. The L word. 

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

Suddenly, as if snapped back into reality, Jake halted any and all ministrations, nose only a hair's breadth away from your neck. You smelled so damn good, so tantalizingly tempting, lips raw-bitten and skin flushed with heat.

But Jake couldn’t. You didn’t belong with a person like him. With Steven? Yeah, of course. With Marc? The idiot loved you too much to ever let you go, even if he tried to. 

Jake would bring you nothing but pain and misery and the thinly-veiled threat of danger. 

“This is a mistake,” he said, voice rough with tremendous restraint.

He thought that if he kissed you, all these stupid feelings would wash down the drain, as if you’d be able to suck it all out of him like a goddamn love vacuum. But, no, it was as if just having a taste wasn’t enough. He needed the rest of you. He needed all of you.

But he couldn’t.

“Jake…” Your voice was quiet, breaking off slightly when he let go of you, stepping back while glaring a hole into the ground. 

With the maturity equivalent to that of a prepubescent teenager, Jake stormed out of the kitchen and into the hall, slamming the guest room door behind him so hard that the picture frames of you and Steven and Marc on the walls rattled. 

A week passed by until you saw Jake again.

You were in bed with Marc, shivering as he ran his palms down your waist, swatting his hands away while gritting out, “That tickles, Marc!”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing kisses down your shoulder, nosing your cheek affectionately. 

“Tell me about this one,” he whispered into you, taking your hand to trace a thin scar over the inside of your wrist.

“I was seven,” you whispered. “This boy pushed me off a swing in the playground. I threw my hands out and a rock got me bad—fractured my wrist, too. I don’t remember much, but I remember there was a lot of blood. I’m pretty sure the poor kid was the one that ran screaming for a teacher to come help.”

Marc regarded you with a look of pure adoration, thinly laced with amusement. “Did you really just call the bastard who pushed you a ‘poor kid’?”

You barked out a laugh and he pressed a lasting kiss over your faded scar.

“Alright, your turn. Tell me about this,” you playfully pressed your thumb between his brows. “You got a little divot here. Been furrowing your eyebrows too much, huh? And you wonder why I call you the grumpy eagle muppet.” When he rolled his eyes, you chuckled out, “What? Listen, it’s not my fault Khonshu got rid of all your scars! I gotta work with what I’m given, here!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Marc bit out, though you could tell he wasn’t really being serious with the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, turn around. Sleep time, baby. Love you.”

You hummed in mild contentment, turning around so your back molded perfectly against his chest. “Love you, too, Marc.”

The rise and fall of his chest was deep, rhythmic, so calming that you were just on the brink of sleep—

Until it stopped.

You could feel the body wrapped behind you stiffen. Immediately, you knew this was Jake.

With a lump lodged in your throat, you hesitantly turned around, only to be met with Jake staring back at you, wide-eyed. It was dark, so you could just barely make out the upset tautness of his features.

Jerkily, he started moving to clamber off the bed, all but shaking you off of him like you were a pesky insect.

No. No, you wouldn’t stand for this.

“Jake,” you said firmly, reaching out to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Mute, the man shook his head, legs slipping out from beneath the blanket. 

Desperate, you sat up, wrapping your arms around his midriff and pressing your cheek into his back as you said, “You deserve love, Jake. You deserve my love. Please, stay.”

For a moment, you wondered if he’d just push you off again. Disappear into that guestroom you were too scared to venture into when he left for work. Just when you were on the near precipice of relinquishing any and all hope, you could feel Jake’s shoulders sag. His head hung low as he sighed.

Wordless, he shifted around and you let go of him so he could slip back under the covers. 

Tentative, you laid down next to him, shifting so your head could rest over his chest. His arm jostled around to rest comfortably beneath your neck. 

Jake held you differently from Marc and Steven.

Jake held you as if he was afraid you’d break apart. Jake held you like he had to be ready to let you go at any moment. Jake held you like he was afraid to show you just how much he loved you.

You craned your neck upwards to press a light kiss to his stubbled jaw, then settled back down.

You heard Jake sigh, but this time, it was one of pure relief—utter bliss. It was quiet, but it was there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, nose tucked into your hair. “I’ll try to be better with you. I’ll try, peach.”

Nodding minutely, you intertwined your hand with his free one, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “I know.”

Just before your breaths evened with sleep, Jake could only barely hear you drowsily mumble out, “I love you, Lockley.”

He knew you were already asleep, which made the feat of saying it back somewhat easier for him.

“Love you, too, peach.”

[spectorgram]

dates deferred

moon knight system x f! hero! reader summary: three times your dates with steven, marc, and jake are interrupted and one time it's not. notes: depictions of DID limited to what is portrayed in the show, talking about food/eating word count: 1.6k

You and Steven have been waiting months to get into this new restaurant that opened up a few blocks away from your apartment. It’s vegan and run by a Michelin-star chef, and you had to book a reservation months in advance.

When it’s finally your reservation, you’re both buzzing with excitement. As you slide your shoes on, Steven comes out of the bathroom, fiddling with the tie hanging limply around his neck. “Need help?” you ask, striding over to him.

“Please,” he sighs out, and you take hold of the tie, looping it into a Windsor knot like Jake showed you. Steven sighs, resting his forehead on yours. “I dunno how the other two do it so well.”

“More practice,” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to his nose. “We’ll get the hang of it. Now, let’s go, I skipped my post-lunch snack for this.”

“The sacrifices you make,” Steven says and you roll your eyes playfully, finding your bag and slipping your hand into his.

As you walk down the street, you ask, “Have you looked at the menu? What do you think you’re getting?”

“I’m really eager to try the kohlrabi loin! I’ve heard that it’s absolutely fantastic.” You grin at his enthusiasm as he practically pulls you down the street, chattering about the restaurant.

You’re about a block away when there’s a loud crash across the street. Both of your heads whip around to see some other-dimensional monster tearing through the streets, people fleeing away from it. “Shit,” you say, and you and Steven share a glance before he summons his suit and you form your spear made of pure, tangible light.

Steven moves first, rushing for the monster and you sigh to yourself. Guess it’s another few months until you both can try that loin of kohlrabi.

You and Marc set up a nice picnic in Central Park, sitting on the Great Lawn and soaking in the October sun. It was your idea to take a vacation to New York City and Marc, with a little bit of coaxing, agreed that it would be a nice change of scenery.

You rest your head on Marc’s shoulder and he stacks his on yours, your bodies leaning comfortably together. It’s a perfect day, not too hot and not too cold. You glance up at Marc, who’s gazing down at you adoringly, and you laugh a little, kissing him swiftly. His mouth follows yours when you part and he says, “Tease.”

“Says you,” you say.

Marc just raises an eyebrow suggestively. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

You hum, “You’re right, I didn’t.” You lean in to kiss him again when you think you hear someone call your name. It must have been a trick of the wind and you press your mouth to his. Marc lets out a rumbling sigh, wrapping an arm around your waist and he begins guiding you onto his lap.

Then, you hear your name again, louder and more urgent from a different voice. Breaking from your boyfriend, you see the sources and you groan internally. Bucky and Sam walk up to you. They’re dressed like civilians, but the bulk under their clothes tells you that they probably have their suits or tactical gear underneath. “Did you just purposefully ignore us?” Sam huffs.

“You two have the worst timing, you know that?” You notice that they’re staring at Marc and him back at them, and you sigh, introducing them quickly.

“Not like evil has a schedule,” Bucky says. “We told you to be on standby all week.”

“‘Standby’?” Marc echoes and you glance guiltily at him. You had held out hope that whatever threat Bucky and Sam said they were dealing with would be, well, dealt with by them and you wouldn’t have to tell Marc the other reason you wanted to go to New York.

You tell Marc, “Bucky and Sam texted me last week saying that they might need my help with something, so they told me to come to New York and be on standby and…” You trail off.

Marc frowns at you, shoulders tense but after a few moments, he exhales and relaxes a little. He says, “Go on—”

“But, Marc, it’s our date—”

“One condition,” he continues. He looks at Sam and Bucky and says, “I’m coming too.”

“Wait a second, you—” Bucky starts but Marc cuts him off, “If she’s going, I’m going.”

Sam gives you a look and you say, “Marc can fight, I promise.”

“Alright,” Sam says. “Let’s get a move on then.”

It’s almost twelve a.m. when Jake trudges into your (now shared) apartment, wrapped in Khonshu’s armor and soaking the welcome mat with blood. You’re laying on the couch, watching trashy reality TV when he enters, and you sit up abruptly when you see him clutching at his left side.

Neither of you say anything as you guide Jake to the bathroom, sitting up down on the toilet seat and opening up your medicine cabinet. You take out the hydrogen peroxide and the roll of bandages you started buying in bulk when the boys moved in as Jake lets the suit melt away. He finally says, “Should’ve seen the other guy.”

It makes you smile a little, and you uncap the bottle, pouring some onto a large sterile pad. “Bet you gave them hell,” you say, pressing the pad to his side.

Jake hisses and, with a smirk full of clenched teeth, he adds, “And then some.” He winces again when you use another pad to pat the area dry and his expression sobers. He grabs your arm before you can start wrapping the bandages, saying, “I’m sorry I had to cancel, amor.”

“It’s okay,” you say gently, leaning over to peck the crown of his head, taking advantage of the lack of his cap. “If anyone gets it, it’s me.”

Jake shakes his head. “We haven’t gone out without getting interrupted in weeks,” he says. His eyes dart to the mirror on your medicine cabinet and he snorts, “Steven and Marc agree.”

You nod. “I’m getting fed up too, but our lives are… there’s always a risk of that.” You try to joke, “The price of saving the world,” but it just falls flat. You secure the bandage around Jake and say, “We’ll have to keep an eye on it.”

“I know the drill,” he says, standing and taking your hand in his, leading you out of the bathroom and to the front door. “Get your coat.”

“What?”

He scoops up the keys from their bowl and says, “Midnight drive, let’s go, bonita.”

You two climb into Jake’s car and as he starts the engine, you say, “Do you want me to drive?”

“Hell no,” he says. “You’ll get us killed.”

“I’m not that bad!”

He gives you a look and you scowl half-heartedly at him. He shakes his head and leans across the console, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You see the way he winces a little but you don’t say anything, and Jake pulls onto the road. He blasts Lionel Richie on the radio and you both sing along. You watch him and you can’t stop grinning, and you know he steals fond glances at you when he can.

Jake takes you to a spot just outside of the city and stops the car. You go to step out but Jake tells you to wait, getting out and rounding the car to your side. When your door opens and a hand helps you out, it’s Steven grinning brightly at you. “Lovely night we’re having,” he says and you laugh, throwing your arms around him, mindful of the wound on his side, and kiss him deeply. His hands find your hips and he draws you closer, breaking the kiss in favor of small, quick pecks to your lips.

When you finally stop, the two of you sit on the hood of the car and look up at the stars glowing in the sky. You two are shoulder to shoulder and you feel Steven’s arm move to point up. “There!” he says and your eyes go to where he’s pointing. “That’s Betelgeuse.” Then, his finger traces a path up before doubling back and sliding down. “It’s the Orion constellation.”

“It’s incredible,” you say, and Steven asks, “Do you know the story of Orion?”

“Can’t say I’ve heard it in a while. Tell me.” Steven weaves the tale of Orion the huntsman, blinded by the King of Chios for falling for his daughter, and eventually having his vision restored by the sun’s rays; of Orion whose death has many different version — killed by Artemis, killed by Apollo, killed by a scorpion that still pursues him through the stars. You soak up the information and the way Steven looks in the moonlight, silvery and heartbreakingly beautiful.

He gives you a smile, noting your awe-stricken stare. “What is it? Something on my face?”

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him. Then, you move closer, murmuring in his ear, “I love you.”

Steven flushes and a dopey smile forms, and he kisses you again. When you part, you see the way he straightens up and his smile moves from love-stricken to something a little more suggestive but soft nonetheless.

Marc brings your hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently, leaving you tingling. When he finishes, he looks you in the eyes and says, “I love you too. We all love you so much.” He pulls you fully into his arms, chin rested on the top of your head, and you two gaze at the stars together.

There’s no otherworldly monster ripping through the street, no frantic shouts of your name, no victim of Khonshu’s vengeance, not right now. It’s just you and your boys and the stars, and you can’t think of anything more perfect than that.

[daughterofthequeen]

Incorrect Quote:

Marc: What are you doing?

You:(Ear on the wall)SHHHH!I think somethings wrong going on with our neighbors.

*Marc puts ear to wall and hears banging*

Marc:Oh no

You:We should call the police.

Marc:No we shouldn’t, get away from the wall😑

You:So you condone violence.

*Headspace*Jake:Yes.

Marc:No. Well depends on the situation.

You:Then call the police.

Marc:No, baby that’s not violence.

You:What else could it be?

Marc:. . .

Marc:😒

Marc:Please,get away from the wall.

You:NO!DOMESTIC VIOLENCE IS WRONG AND ILLEGAL!

*Headspace*Steven:I got it

*Steven fonts*

Steven: Y/n, Pets is on

You:OOOUUU!Get the popcorn! *jumps on couch*

Steven:Works every time😌

*Headspace*Marc:So much for condoning violence😑

[ohlovxr]

reader is on the couch sad bc of overthinking and Marc/Steve/jake come in and it’s very fluffy and they’re just trying to cheer you up. “why is my pretty baby crying?” And they’re cupping your face while wiping the tears away :(

there’s something about the use of “pretty baby” that immediately made me think of marc in this scenario. he’d do exactly that. and when you tell him that you’re “just thinking”, his concerned frown deepens because there’s not actual problem for him to fix to make you feel better. there’s nothing he can do other than just be there. he’d honestly probably try to cheer you up, or rather just to let you know that he’s there, by planting soft and slow kisses over your face with little murmurs of assurance.

steven kinda immediately tries to be helpful even when he knows your sadness is just a product of your own overthinking. he’ll crouch down in front of you and hold the hands resting in your lap with all the tenderness in the world and a sympathetic “oh, love,” on his lips before he’s asking you, “‘s there anythin’ i can do t’help?” (you take his helping offer in the form of cuddles; wordlessly wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him onto the couch with you.)

jake wouldn’t really say anything. he’d kinda let you have your tears; let you let out what you needed while he’s kinda just giving you some comforting touches and letting you lean into him.

[ominoose]

New Bots - Moon Knight Summer Edition

Steven Grant

🥪┆ You and Steven go on a picnic - You and Steven are at the park on a lovely sunny day enjoying a nice, vegan picnic.

Marc Spector

⛱️┆ You and Marc have a beach day - You drag Marc out for a beach day since he's been brooding at home too much.

Jake Lockley

⛺┆ You and Jake go camping - You and Jake trek up to the woods and set up camp, sharing a small tent.

Bot Masterlist

[flavescentskies]

His deadliest weapon

[heartsumu]

After all this is over and hopefully Jake and Steven stay, I imagine Layla cooking food and then calling out, "Marc, Steven, Jake come over! Food's ready!" Like she's calling three big dogs or something. And in comes bounding a single manfaceset in whoever is in control at that time.

[marcspectorsbooty]

Imagine Jake getting a flower tattoo for you because you’re his little flower 🥺

I’m-

[age-of-moonknight]

Moon Knight (Vol. 8/2016), #198.

Writer: Max Bemis; Penciler: Jacen Burrows; Inker: Guillermon Ortego; Colorist: Matt Milla; Letterer: Cory Petit

[mahalshairyballs]

A tl;dr version of the answer I wrote yesterday

The Moon Boys and how they'd comfort/deal with their SOs having problems

.

*If the problem is not linked to them*

Steven : oh I'm sorry, do you want to talk about it over tea? What do you need ?

Marc (if it's something not related to his traumas) : aw that sucks, we can find a way to fix it/let me fix it for you.

Jake (initially) : I don't like seeing you like this...uh...there there *pats head*, want me to show you something great ? I just know the place.

.

*If the problem is because of them*

Steven : Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't want to upset you. *listens to criticism while feeling bad about it, wants to fix it*

Marc : I'm sorry *truly apologetic, owns responsibility, takes the blame, even if it's not his fault or fully his fault* *feels shitty about it* *50/50 on whether or not he'd do the same thing again*

Jake (initially), depends on how the SO brings it :

*SO being detached about it, focusing on what he did wrong.*

Jake : Okay, you didn't like it, I won't do that again *very committed to keep his word on it*

.

*SO being more emotional, focusing on how Jake made them feel*

Jake *spiraling internally* : hey look it's not my damn fault *and other not-so-sensitive replies*

Or

Jake : I....that's not..I didn't want to make you feel like that...*spiraling internally* *what are emotions* *is a lost puppy* *leaves*

Steven : oh! Hello! What happened?

[chicken-blitz13]

Me and @duckwithablog talked for 2 hours about Jake being a Taylor Swift fan honestly he radiates as one and I love it

[ghostly-wisteria-tea]

The Melancholy of a Moon God lost in another world - 1

Fandom: Moon Knight - MCU Rating: Mature, everyone will be VERY out-of-character, I'm still a newbie. Summary: MCU Khonshu got isekei-ed to another universe similar to his own. That's mainly it. Watch as he tries to navigate this familiar yet foreign world, meet strangers wearing a friend's face, and get very confused to why people are saying he is in Asgard jail when he is not even Norse, nor an Alien. AO3 Link: Here!!

Crack fic, but it pretty much became my weird side project for some reason and a way to practice my writing and English skills. English isn't my native language so please be kind. Now then, time to bring in Truck-kun!!

Prologue

It hurts...

It hurts everywhere.

He wonders if this is divine punishment for all the things he has done. Ironic since he is also a Divine being, but he is not ignorant to know that there are others. He grew up under the rule of his Godly parents. His entire pantheon focuses on diverse plurality, not a single force. He knows he is not all powerful.

He welcomes this pain though. He knew this was coming, but he didn't care. He was told many times that everything will come and bite him in the butt. And he has always known it. Afterall, you don't get to be the Lord of Justice without knowing what NOT to do, and how not following the moral codes of Ma'at will get you punished.

In the past his duty was to uphold the laws of morality and lead by example, but things have changed. No matter how many times he gave peace, he only got hate and curses in return. The world descended to chaos, wars, conflict, everyone backstabbing each other to gain victory. And those innocent lives caught up in the middle are killed. Souls that have nothing to do with the chaos. It got to a point that upholding the rules of morality is not enough anymore. Being "Good" is not enough to save the innocent. He had to do the opposite, stop trying to keep his hands clean and get it dirty with sin, so others don't have to. He is doing this because he has to fully know the consequences. His family hated it, his followers (former followers) hated it, his Avatar despised it but still stayed with him because they gained something from it. It was never out of love, but personal gain for them.

He knows he is forever ostracized by those he has loved and those that loved him in return.

Vengeance is not even his main association. He was not allowed to raise his hand in vengeance until he had to forcibly take the title from Petbe. If Horus can be called "The Avenger", then why can't he?

It's a very dirty job. you'll be hated, despised by the world. Vengeance is both a boon and bane, an unstoppable force at best, a toxic acid that corrodes yourself and those around you at worst. Walk the path of Vengeance with caution foolish child. May Ma'at forgive you to what you will become.

Those were the last words from his former mentor Petbe, The Egyptian God of Vengeance. The god sounded relieved? Sad? Khonshu's not sure. Maybe Petbe is relieved that he no longer has to bear the burden of vengeance alone, or sad that said burden is now being passed to a literal child.

How ironic, the Child God of youthful Innocence took up the duty of vengeance. Forever staining his innocence with blood.

As if he has any innocence anymore. He barely knows if he can still be considered the God of Youth anymore when nothing about him is youthful. He barely recognizes himself, yet he fully accepted his fate and never regretted it. Crossing the line and never turning back with no regrets or hesitations.

Maybe that's why he took the fall. When he said that his Avatar is worth protecting, he meant every word. He knows he found an opportunity for an effective and efficient weapon, but that’s just a bonus. What Khonshu is looking for, is Hope. Marc is a highly experienced soldier who knows the hierarchy of his superiors, he knows how to handle a gun and shoot with ease. But he also found a lost soul, someone broken and hurt by the world but still remained moral and true, who refused to be truly corrupted by the pain.

Khonshu found himself being sympathetic at the broken yet moral man, and deep frustrations that a child lost his innocence under the hands of their own mother.

Khonshu gave up his own innocence out of his own freewill. But Marc's innocence was stolen by his own mother. Khonshu never felt more angry at a human being than ever. He knows what a mother should do but he also understood Wendy’s fall from grace. She became a lost soul the moment Randall died, trapped in a spiral of grief that warped her to a monster. 

Funny that the worst monsters towards humans are themselves.

In the end, Khonshu took a fatal blow and was left with a choice, to save his Avatar or save the world. He refuses to give up his Avatar, nor stop his mission to protect humanity. So, he did what he has always done, He bent the rules.

Marc Spector is human; humanity is the world to Khonshu. So he picked the world of humanity, which includes Marc in it.

All he heard last was Marc's desperate screams at him, calling him an idiot for doing this and to just kill im. The man forgot one thing unfortunately, Khonshu never listens to anyone, not the Gods and not to a mortal man who deserves a second chance. And Khonshu is going to give him that.

" You always wanted me gone anyway."

"Not like this you moron!"

" Too bad, do me a favor and please take better care of yourself. Jake, I know your listening, make sure this idiot doesn't drink himself to death. Steven...pick a more updated manuscript next time, your latest find is laughably wrong."

He can still hear Marc pleading for him to stop, even Steven and Jake started begging him to stop. But he can't hear anything anymore now that his body is deteriorating. His banished state made him much, much weaker than a normal and pushing himself more will result in his obliteration, as his body can no longer withstand the weight of the cosmos. He doesn't even have his Moon crown anymore, just a staff and, in Thoth's words, "The most stubborn and stupid attitude in Egyptian history".

He wonders if this is what death feels like. Despite what mortals believe, Gods are not timeless. With a few exceptions since Osiris was able to resurrect himself, but that is simply transformation. From a god of life to a god of death. 

But this is not death, this is worse than death. Something the Gods feared. The issue with Osiris is that he was never truly gone. This is Oblivion, having his own existence removed from reality and this world, and the records of this universe. 

This is Damnatio Memoriae.

Khonshu will be removed from the world, no one will remember him, no one will mourn him. His godly parents, his family. Mortals and Immortals. All of them will forget he even exists. His images in Karnak will be wiped clean, nothing more than a morning haze while they go on without him. He wonders who will replace him in history now, who will be the son of Mut. Even in his last moments, he still worries about his mother.

Maybe this is a fitting end for him. Perishing by his own choice so he can't blame anyone but himself. He never regretted his actions even before. If he is going down, then he is going down on his own terms.

Well, there is one. His only regret was that he was never honest towards his Avatar, to express how he truly feels. 

Doesn't matter now, Marc and Steven made it obvious that they never liked Khonshu. This shouldn't bother him. Khonshu spends thousands of years being hated for simply being an Egyptian Deity. People who never bothered to read about his family, or his history, to actually know HIM . Just simply made assumptions as the ultimate "Other" in a story written by outsiders. He should be used to it by now.

It still doesn't matter anyway, he missed his chance. He has been missing that chance every second for the past for 10 years. But for the first time in a very, very long time. He felt something. 

Yes, for the first time since his banishment. Khonshu, the God of the Moon made a wish. To any one of his family still listening. He knows they are still listening, just not bothering to even lift a single pinky while he is literally being disintegrated out of existence to stop a manifestation of Evil Chaos from destroying the world.

It is part of the rules to give respect to other gods, Khonshu just stopped bothering about that when his respect for them diminished. If he still has his hands, he would be lifting both his middle-fingers at them. Actions he learns in his many, many travels and he finds them to be the perfect way to express how he feels. His name literally means "To Wander", so of course he is going to pick up stuff from wandering around the world, including as many profanities as possible that existed. He could already say "fuck you" in 50,000 different languages including programing if it's possible.

Will his father mourn for him? The siblings he used to enjoy hunting trips with? His former beloved Hathor? Thoth, his mentor and closest family member since they both share a father and powerset? Will his mother cry? His mother probably did mourn for her son, the son she lost to time centuries ago. Not this banished monster who is dying right now. 

He can feel his consciousness disappear. The pain is also subsiding, but it's also getting harder to think straight. Like a reverse birth, instead of growing more conscious and aware, you grow more and more dumb. Thoughts become harder to maintain, memories disappear, the pain is gone but so is everything else.

Until all that's left is just, nothing.

[h3k3t]

The tale of the Sun and Chaos || Chapter O1

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜꜱʜᴀʙᴛɪ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʏʀᴀᴍɪᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢɪᴢᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴠᴇꜱᴛɪɢᴀᴛᴇ. ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ;  ((ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ & ᴍᴀʀᴄ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀꜱ)) ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ "ᴍᴏᴏɴ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ" ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ;; ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ;; ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ/ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ;; ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ-ᴛᴏ-ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏʀᴘꜱᴇꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ɴ / ᴀ: ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀꜱ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀᴛꜰᴏʀᴍꜱ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴘʀɪᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛꜱ, ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ

Night had fallen over the ruins of the pyramid of Giza, or at least what was left of it. What exactly happened was still completely incomprehensible if not for those who experienced it firsthand and fought. They had been inauspicious days, strange days, with events that had not been seen for a long time. Starry skies that changed at the speed of light, pyramids reduced to rubble, souls that flew away from their bodies, to then end everything in a sudden silence, as quick as a slap that leaves you perplexed and astonished.

Silence had now fallen on the pyramid of Giza, a silence, that unlike that of the desert, emptied the lungs and filled them with heavy anguish and the smell of some rotten corpses left to rot in what remained of a room that perhaps was used for of councils or meetings. Who those people were is a mystery that will be buried in the sand, as well as the footprints of a thief, who silently crosses the rubble that obstructs the corridor leading to the ushabti. Their hands tremble as they grasp the stone objects with caution, their eyes look around, snapping like sentries, at the first noise nearby; it was not in the plans for anyone to cross the path of that stranger, nor was it in the plans for anyone to catch them red-handed. Time was short and this was still a hostile and dangerous land.

Just as the thief had arrived they disappeared, there were no sounds of footsteps echoing in the ruins, only a spiral of light that immediately closed, letting some sparks meet and the grains of sand, extinguishing after a while.

London - 02:20 am

Jake Lockley's eyes slowly opened, he focused on the surrounding place, finding himself between the sheets of the double bed where Steven Grant and Marc Spector slept, convinced that they now have a life free of any abnormality. The man heaved a long sigh, picked up a small alarm clock that was on the next bedside table and noticed that it had been two in the morning for a few minutes. Well, at least the two alters had slept for a full three hours, that was enough.

He immediately got out of bed and as usual washed and dressed, ready to start a new mission, another 'work shift', another night in the service of the god Konshu. If you wondered how much this lifestyle could weigh on Jake Lockley, the answer is 'nothing'. Nothing he did weighed on him, it didn't bother him to drive his limo or his cab to unknown destinations, it didn't bother him to track down those who according to Konshu's will were to be punished, nor did it bother him to kill them, slowly or quickly. For him that was right, this was what he was and what he always would be: a hitman, who in a rather twisted way took pleasure in imposing his own justice with violence. Jake Lockley was convinced that his perspective on life and cause and effect did not make him a monster, he was simply capable of going all the way, going through one cycle and starting another, to go where Steven Grant and Marc Spector had been unable to get.

The figure of the man approached his beloved limo, shiny under the pale eyes of the moon and the dim lights of the London streets. He slipped into the vehicle after opening the door to the driver's seat and lowering the window, he looked in his jacket pocket for the pack of his French cigarettes and a lighter. He raised one to his lips and after trying twice to trigger a flame from the lighter hole, he burned the end of the object, finally taking a long puff. His dark eyes, devoid of light or reflections, took a quick glance at the row of seats behind him, where Konshu used to sit. He didn't even need to turn his torso, he already knew that the cold caress of the unusual wind was the signal that that skeletal bird in a suit and tie had just appeared.

"Evenin’, Konshu" Jake said before a long cloud of whitish smoke came out of his nostrils, while with his gloved hand he chased the ash that had deposited at the end of the cigarette out of the window. His tone was impassive, almost sarcastic in feigning a minimum of feeling.

"There was a theft in the pyramid of Giza, Jake Lockley" Konshu had never been a type for so many ceremonies, he didn't go around things, he said them and wanted them to be done instantly.

"I didn't think you were such a nostalgic type" Jake commented taking another drag on his cigarette "Is that all? Should I go to Egypt to find out more?" Jake disliked long journeys, it compromised his secret life. In the shadow of Marc and Steven he lived, fought, and everything else and it was okay, even though he was often so close to being discovered. Jake was a territorial type and if there was one thing he wasn't willing to give up it was the sort of freedom he had gained now that the two had let their guard down, not now that he had tasted how sweet the feeling was of taking action and not being damned interrupted.

"You won't need to go far, Jake Lockley" Konshu replied crossing one leg "In fact the thief seems to be closer than we think" the man raised an eyebrow.

"Are they in London?" well, this was a fluke.

"I feel a strong energy, not of one, but more ushabti" replied the god. All of this was strangely easy.

"But you don't know who they are, nor would you be able to give me a precise point, uh?" Jake urged him with the cigarette between his thin lips.

"If I had been capable of such things, I certainly would not have needed you" to the ears of poor fools this might have seemed a flattery, to Jake's it was just a shrill and annoying bell that reminded him how much his presence was swinging between the being a useful avatar and not being one, so it was rare for him to fail.

"Okay, but it will take time. London is big” replied the man rolling his eyes to one side, before realizing that Konshu had already disappeared into thin air. He didn't need anything else, they both already knew what Jake had to do: the necessary and fast.

[ . . . ]

London - 5:00 am

Dawn was now on the horizon and Jake had just closed his front door after crawling inside the dusty apartment he called home. His gloves were soaked in blood, as were his shoes. A Spanish curse escaped from his mouth tightened by the teeth and framed by a tense jaw, he should have cleaned them as soon as he woke up, he hated walking around in dirty clothes... The man walked over to the old wooden wardrobe next to the bed, and after undressing and putting on his pajamas he crouched down to the cabinet, slipping a calloused hand under it. His thick fingers moved a rather damaged wooden plank and pulled out a box that was not too bulky and after putting his clothes into it he placed it where he had previously hidden it.

It was all there, in that niche under a wardrobe, his existence was small to fit into a crack between wooden boards, in a box, yet it was the bearer of an immense chaos, which in the naivety of the two alters formed a paradoxically perfect balance.

Jake looked at himself for the last time in the mirror, he hadn't gotten much that night, he had stalked some people who could know something about the black market of archaeological finds, auctions and much more, but not even well-placed punches and some threats have helped any advantage. He was back to square one, thought the man lying on the bed, and time was short. He closed his eyes with a slow sigh, as if it were his last breath before he died and then an idea flashed through his mind, before Steven could open his sleepy eyes again.

London - 5:10 pm

“Thank you and have a good evening” Noah Amon greeted with a smile on her lips a young father and his adorable daughter, who had just bought a plush of the goddess Taweret at the gift shop. The girl waited for the two visitors to exit to be able to breathe a long tired sigh. Even today the umpteenth day of work was coming to an end at the British Museum in London, even if in some corner there were still some tourists who dragged along enchanted by some relics from ancient Egypt. How to blame them, the girl thought as she stared blankly at her cell phone screen; No notification of missed messages or calls.

"Hey, hard day?" JB asked approaching the counter of the shop, then observing Noah with a cracked smile.

"As usual, is there any news from the world of otters?" she asked with a small, amused smile, honestly if Noah had known that she would have had a bigger salary sitting in an armchair all day and watching otters videos, she would surely have thought twice before accepting the job as a saleswoman at the museum. Her colleague smiled almost spontaneously before showing her a video of a rather chubby otter breaking ice cubes. The two laughed lightly for a few minutes looking at his phone screen, before Noah shook her head, she couldn't understand if JB's presence make her happy or not, surely since Steven had disappeared into thin air at least her days were not flat and totally unsatisfying.

"So," the boy put his cell phone in his pocket before giving her a mixed look of sleepy and friendly "Some colleagues were organizing a night at the pub tonight, would you like to join us? I can accompany you if you don't have a car"

Noah was undecided, there was something strange about JB. In the end he wasn't a bad boy, no, in his own way he kept her company, he was nice with her, and every time he took care to involve Noah in some way. Surely it had been a couple of weeks now that the boy had approached her and if they started dating, it wouldn't even mind Noah; Why not, after all? What was wrong with that? Nothing, it’s just...the girl was convinced that it was not the right time, her head was still overcrowded with too many things, things that unfortunately JB would not have been able to understand. She was about to respond when, paradoxically, Donna saved them from a potentially sad ending.

"Hey Amon, the new exhibition is in a week, do you know what that means? New inventory” The woman noisily placed a few boxes on the counter, under the gaze of JB and Noah, who simultaneously pressed their lips together in an awkward thin line. The girl turned to him and with a hint of a sorry smile she said:

“Unfortunately I still have a lot to do tonight, JB. You know, after all, that's why I earned a degree in History of Anthropology and Religions and one in History of Art, right?" Noah commented with a point of sarcasm as she opened one of the packages, pulling out an item "To sell Horus plush in a gift shop" she let out a self-deprecating chuckle, while JB pursed his lips in an annoyed grimace.

"I keep saying you're wasted in this bloody gift shop" he said, shaking his head in regret.

"I know, but apparently Dylan is doing just fine on her own...Donna says" she replied shrugging.

"If only that idiot Scottie hadn't been fired—"

"Steven, his name is Steven, JB" Noah corrected him as she put the plushies in their place "And anyway he would have been better than me as a tour guide" the young man shook his head unconvinced.

"Too bad he was crazy as a bloody mad horse" he replied putting his hands in his pockets. Noah would have liked to reiterate that most of Steven's psychological imbalance had most likely worsened in recent times due to the bad working climate, but in the absence of evidence and unwilling to argue with the one person who tolerated it inside, she decided to keep quiet.

"Whatever, bruv" she replied vaguely.

"Hey listen, I too try to tell the boss, I just wish well..." JB tilted his head to one side smiling gently at her, then put his hands on his hips "You're a good girl, you know, and you deserve to be happy"

"Thanks bruv. That's kind of you" Noah returned the smile, while he gave her a friendly wink.

"I'm going, my friends are waiting for me, but hey—" the boy pointed at her as he backed away "You owe me a beer, mh?"

"Count on it" she replied with a gentle smile greeting him, even though she wasn't really convinced of that.

Noah rolled up the sleeves of her cream colored vintage shirt, trying to muster courage and strength for what awaited her tonight, well... those damn stuffed animals didn't fix themselves, earlier she started and sooner she finished, she kept repeating in the her mind. Donna's voice boomed from loudspeakers throughout the museum, warning that the British Museum would close to the public in a few minutes, the last of the tourists strode towards the exit, footsteps echoing off that polished marble floor and Noah, completely distracted by the world around her, she tied her hair back in a low ponytail so some strands didn't get in her face as she lifted boxes, set items down, and made a list of the day's prices and receipts.

Someone approached to her, their step was calm not entirely affected, the girl naively thought that it was JB again, maybe he had come back to say something:

"Hey JB, did you forget something?" she asked looking up, before meeting that of the last person she would have ever imagined she could cross the threshold of that place again "S-Steven...?"

[m00nsbaby]

The invisible barrier.

(Jake Lockley x F!Reader)

Tags - Warnings: Jake doesn’t know about Marc or Steven. Angst, smut, fluff, everything. Most of Jake’s dialogues are in Spanish, most of reader’s are in English except in November - December. Word count: 4,9 k. (Lol, sorry) Summary: A whole year trying to understand Jake Lockley. (Literally)

January.

"¡Hola!" (Hello.) The sudden voice next to you made you jump as you made the most important and complicated decision of the week.

Would you choose pretzels with dark or white chocolate?

Reluctantly, you turned to your side to see a man standing just a few inches away from you. On another occasion, you would have probably jumped back or fled to another aisle in the supermarket, but the apologetic smile on his lips and the puppy-like look in his eyes told you that he didn't want to be in this situation either.

"Perdón, ¿Podrías decirme qué dice aquí?” (Sorry. Could you tell me what it says here?) The words came out quickly from his mouth and you furrowed your brow in confusion. Your fleeting and ridiculous Spanish classes had never been of much use, even less now that you had the opportunity to help an attractive man.

"I don't... Huh." You cleared your throat, searching for a way to say, 'Maybe I can't help you, but I'll move heaven and earth to try.' Dramatic? Yes, of course, but what more could be expected from a hopeless romantic? Many love stories began like this in your mind; this was a scenario you had imagined at least twice before falling asleep. "No hablo español." (I don’t speak Spanish.)

The man blinked a couple of times, as if realizing that he had gathered courage for about 15 minutes only to lose his dignity like this.

"Oh." He cleared his throat, nodding afterward. "Thanks," he said shyly, as if trying to hide his accent.

"No, no, let me help you. What do you need?" You turned the bag of Cheetos he was holding in his hands so you could see the list of ingredients on the back as he was asking. Both of you were guessing what you were saying. Your gaze scanned the list, nodding your head when you detected the problem. Everything was written in English.

Sure, your aisle companion had an extra problem on top of that. The letters were too small for his poor eyesight, and he would rather ask for help from strangers than give up on the idea of using glasses.

"Give me a second." Your fingers quickly handled your phone as you took the bag from his hands.

You took a photo and the app took care of the work for you, translating every word on the red packaging you held. You didn't hesitate to take a step forward and extend your hand far enough for your phone to be at the stranger's ear level, who didn't question your methods for a moment.

He just stood still, listening.

"¿Colorante rojo número 6?” (Red dye number 6?) He questioned when the voice function finished. And you quickly scanned the phone screen, trying to find the part on the list that seemed closest to what he had just said.

Well, seis = 6, that one was easy.

"Yes, 6." You saw him smile and take the bag back from your hands to shake it in a celebratory manner. "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why 6?" He guessed based on how you tilted your head to one side what you were asking.

"Soy alérgico al número 4, o al menos eso creo.” (I'm allergic to the number 4. Or at least, I think I am.) He pointed to his throat. "Siento comezón en la garganta cuando como cosas que lo tienen.” (My throat itches when I eat things that have it.")

Did you understand anything he said? No, nothing beyond the number 4. So, you smiled and nodded, eliciting a warm laugh from him.

He was cute.

"Gracias." (Thank you.) It seemed like he understood the basics, just like you. It was better to use his words than to deal with the pronunciation of the "t" and "h" together.

"It's okay." You shrugged while continuing to smile in a friendly manner. It wasn't because the stranger was incredibly attractive; you always behaved this way with people, or at least you tried to. "Enjoy your Cheetos."

Another giggle. "Cheetos," he repeated, imitating the way you pronounced the brand's name.

You rolled your eyes playfully and went back to the pretzels without saying anything else.

Well, there went the potential love of your life. Both of you were too shy to engage in casual conversation. You were aware that pretending to have the confidence to do so would be a lie.

Silently, you paid for your pretzels covered in white chocolate, looking around in case the guy was still nearby. After a few seconds, you gave up. Well, it was nothing out of the ordinary, even with one more chance, you wouldn't have approached him. More than 20 dollars for a bag of chocolate covered pretzels? That must be a crime, the first time you bought one . . .

"Hola de nuevo.” (Hi again.) The leather of his jacket brushed against your skin as you bumped into him. He was in the exact same position as you, one hand holding his Cheetos, the other clutching the receipt he was trying to read with squinted eyes.

You almost had a heart attack.

"Hi." You smiled, your cheeks betraying you as they turned rosy just from being around him like this. You had to take a step back after the clumsy little push you gave him.

"¿Tienes cómo regresar a tu casa?” (Do you have a way to get home?) You frowned at the question. This only confirmed that your crazy fantasy wasn't going to work out; there was a huge barrier between you.

He could see the confusion on your face so he pointed outside. It was raining heavily.

"Oh." You had been so engrossed in your pursuit of him that you hadn't thought about that. It wasn't a terrible problem, though; you could just wait until it calmed down.

You could spend another $20 on an umbrella in the worst case. Or call a car to take you the 10-minute walk to your house.

"I'll just wait." You had to remind yourself not to get too deep into your words.

"Yo te llevo.” (I'll give you a ride.) He quickly said. "A ride." The way the 'r' rolled off his mouth was enough to make you dizzy.

"Are you sure?" This couldn't be happening. This genuinely couldn't be happening.

"Of course, I'm sure," he repeated, smiling. This couldn't be happening.

It couldn't.

That night, you ran together to his car in the rain, laughing. He opened the door for you, even though it meant a few extra minutes of water poured on him.

You gave him directions through your phone, and you learned how to say "cuadras" (blocks) to guide someone next time, and he kept telling you something you didn't understand, but he noticed you were just nodding for him to keep talking.

He said goodbye with a kiss on your cheek. He used a word similar to "custom" to justify it, ‘costumbre’ maybe.

Oh, and you exchanged numbers. It turned out the stranger, Jake Lockley, worked as a taxi driver most nights. You understood that because the words "taxi" and "noche" were in your mental dictionary.

February.

Your first date was a disaster.

You never considered that to spend the day together, you had to exchange more than 5 words, and Jake stained your beautiful pink sundress with an ice cream that didn't even taste that good.

Oh, at some point, you tripped too. You were so focused on trying to understand one of the anecdotes he was telling you that you ended up on the ground with a scraped knee.

That wasn't so bad, though. I mean, you had Jake on one knee, checking yours. He even had you step on his thigh so he could clean you up with his ice cream-covered napkin.

When the day came to an end, he took you home. You noticed he had memorized your address, making it easier for both of you. You hummed a song together to cover the silence of two people who had to resort to other means of communication than talking.

"I had fun." Lie, this hadn't been anything like you imagined a first date, not after reading books or watching movies.

He nodded silently as he got out of the car to open the door for you.

And even though the date was a complete disaster, Jake kissed you.

He kissed you against the closed door of your apartment, holding you by the waist as if you intended to escape from his arms, begging you silently not to separate from him.

"¿Repetimos la próxima semana?” (Second date next week?)

March.

Text messages flowed throughout the weeks. Depending on the day, one or the other used the translator to send messages that the other could understand.

Sometimes they were just silly pictures, mostly of cats. You found a silly liking for sending him videos and photos of different animals in romantic situations, hugging each other and such, with only the description 'us.'

Jake responded ‘nosotros’ with different emojis depending on the day. He liked the white heart.

His car became familiar to you, as well as the late-night drives with music. You wondered if Jake had started neglecting his work to spend more time with you, and although it sounded selfish, you didn't care much.

You enjoyed his company.

April.

Your fingers played with his curls while both of you rested comfortably on your bed, you on the pillows, Jake on your abdomen.

He was surprisingly interested in one of the old books you hadn't touched in a long time.

"Jake?" He immediately put the book down to look at you. "Can you help me with a word?"

"¿Ahora?" (Now?) he asked.

"Right now."

"¿Cuál palabra?" (Which word?) He closed his eyes as your fingers continued to enjoy playing with his hair. It was so soft that the gentle caresses you gave were enough to mess it up.

"Boyfriend."

"Novio." You stretched your free hand with difficulty. He opened his eyes again, looking at you with interest as you struggled in the least attractive way to open one of your drawers with one hand. Something cracked in it.

You put the bag of Cheetos on his chest, clearing your throat afterwards.

"¿Quieres ser mi novio?” (Do you want to be my boyfriend?)

May.

"Jake?"

The car hadn't started yet when he turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows as if to ask what was wrong. You stretched enough to touch his knuckles, which were marked with a purple tone and scraped.

Your gaze went to him. It was as if both of you knew how to communicate through looks.

"No sé qué me pasó. Mi teoría es que golpee algo mientras dormía.” (I don't know what happened. My theory is that I hit something while asleep.) He frowned as he extended his fingers to get a better view of them. It looked like he had beaten up someone, and he couldn't deny that it hurt, especially when he gripped the steering wheel of the car.

"Are you still having those strange dreams?"

"Weird dreams," Jake whispered to himself as a way to remember your words. "Sí, sueños raros.” (Yes, weird dreams.)

You pursed your lips without saying more as you brushed his knuckles with your thumb, as gently as you could.

"Let's go." You finally gave in, returning to your seat with an unconvincing gesture.

June.

"I don't understand football." You said as you walked hand in hand, leaning some of your weight against his body.

Technically, neither of you were drunk; you were just flushed from the heat of the alcohol, giggly and a little tipsy. Jake had mentioned how funny it would be to go to one of those bars where they show football games for fans, even though neither of you were fans. Choosing a team randomly to support, drinking things with strange names, and maybe sharing spicy wings sounded like a good plan.

That was your Friday night.

"Tampoco yo.” (Neither do I.) Jake was doing his best not to laugh. He failed miserably.

When you reached his car, you leaned your body against it, and your hands ended up on your boyfriend's shirt. He immediately knew what you wanted, bringing both hands to your waist and leaning forward, closer.

"Is it hot here, or was it the 4 margaritas we drank?" You whispered while trying to contain your smile.

"Debe ser ese vestido.” (It must be that dress.) His lips brushed against yours. The sudden change in his voice made you shiver, so husky. “O por lo menos es lo que me está poniendo caliente a mi.” (At least I know that's what's making me hot.) It was the last thing he said before kissing you as if his life depended on it.

You moaned into his mouth, pressed between his body and the car. The kiss was wet as his mischievous hands slid under your dress, squeezing your ass firmly enough for it to hurt. Not in a bad way. "Jake." You complained as you looked around to make sure no one was walking by to see you.

"Date la vuelta.” (Turn around.) Apparently, your Spanish only worked in moments of convenience because you obeyed immediately. You turned your body with difficulty, mainly because he refused to let go of you. You felt his erection against you as soon as your cheek collided with the cold metal of the car. He was rubbing against your ass while biting your neck to his liking, sucking and licking your skin until he marked it. "Fuck, Jake." You whispered with your eyes closed. You could have cum right there with just his kisses and soft touches. Fortunately, he was more considerate because one of the hands that rested on your waist little by little went between your legs, your dress was already raised enough to only have to worry about your panties, he brushed his fingers over your abdomen before sliding his middle finger between your lips. First he wetted it well before moving up to your clit. His touch made you tremble and hiss. "¿Un par de besos te tienen así, corazón?” (A couple of kisses have you like this, sweetheart?) You could hear the smirk on his lips as his finger traced circles against your most sensitive area. "Imagínate como será cuando esté dentro de ti.” (Imagine how it will be like when I'm inside you.) A shameless moan escaped from you. "Eso quieres, ¿No?” (You want that, don't you?) He kept talking in your ear while he distributed one or two kisses between your neck and your shoulder. “Sentirme duro. Profundo.” (To feel me hard. Deep.) He simulated thrusts between each word, his hip pushing yours harder against the car and against his hand that kept playing with your pussy to make you whimper. You nodded without opening your eyes. "Con palabras." (Use your words.) He said clicking his tongue.

"Yes please." You begged desperately while trying to get air through your mouth. "Buena niña.” (Good girl.) You swallowed the complaint of feeling him take his hand out of your panties, just because you immediately heard how he started to unbutton his jeans. "Escupe.” (Spit.) You could feel his girth between your legs, letting you know that there were no more clothes involved. You took a few seconds to be able to clean the fingers that were inside you before with your tongue, making Jake groan just by imagining what you would do with your mouth in another situation. When you were satisfied you spat into the palm of his hand as requested. He wrapped his hand around his cock, and covered it with your saliva. He used the same hand to accommodate it between your lips. A sigh of relief left your mouth when you finally felt it inside you. A muffled whimper accompanied the way your muscles suddenly relaxed, as if that was what you needed. "Mierda, amor." (Shit, love.) As Jake's forehead rested against your shoulder, he muttered under his breath. "Voy a terminar rápido si sigues apretándome así.” (I'm going to finish fast if you keep squeezing me like this.) His voice made you dizzy, you mentally thanked all those days you spent understanding each other because his words could have been enough to push you to the limit. It didn't take long for both of you to pick up a delicious rhythm. When he pushed his hip forward, you pushed back to make him go deeper. When he was pulling back, you were pulling forward almost taking his member all the way out to prepare for his next thrust. You were so close you had to bite the hand he put to your mouth to keep from screaming. "¿Vas a terminar para mi, mi vida?” (Are you going to finish for me, my life?) He whimpered. Oh god, he fucking whimpered. He had a desperate tone to his voice, almost like he was comforting you. "Déjame sentirlo, por favor, por favor.” (Let me feel it, please, please.) This time it was he who was begging. Your saliva had started running against Jake's hand. You were seeing stars from squeezing your eyes shut, and how close you were wasn't helping at all. The spasms had started around him, and without warning, the inevitable happened. He finished inside of you. His cum being pushed deeper inside you with each thrust he took to finish his orgasm was enough for you to reach yours. "Amor, carajo.” (Love, damn it.) His voice cracked at the sensitivity combining with your walls squeezing him every few seconds. You were milking him. "Te amo.” (I love you.) He whispered as his breath interrupted each of his words. That was the first time he said it.

July.

The only thing that relaxed you was that this 360° turn apparently had nothing to do with you.

Jake was someone else.

His flirty and playful personality was just a memory to you. Under his eyes, there were huge dark circles since his dreams had become crazier and more frequent.

There were unexplained wounds on his body, according to him. Or sometimes there were none, but he felt the pain throughout his body, as if a truck had run over him, he said.

He became silent, as if he felt he was talking too much when he started to let out words about what was happening. He still hugged and kissed you, still spent afternoons with you and continued to respond “nosotros" to your silly animal photos.

But something wasn't right. There was something so... strange.

You did what you could to work on it, to let it pass.

Even if it cost you the trust in your relationship.

August.

Your hands trembled as you dialed his number for the tenth time that night. Maybe you were being dramatic, but Jake always made sure to let you know when he had returned home.

The sudden change that had occurred in him over the past 3 months didn't help at all. You wouldn't last a lifetime without wondering why his body kept producing wounds he claimed not to remember, or about those days of complete dissociation on his part, when he swore you were playing with him when you told him it was Saturday and not Wednesday.

"I just want to know you're okay." You whispered with a broken voice to the voicemail. "Please, just tell me you're okay."

There was no response that night. You couldn't sleep either.

The next day, when he showed up at your doorstep with the dark circles you had learned to get used to over the days, your body's first reaction was to push him with all your strength. It was only enough to make him stagger.

"You're an idiot." You spat the words, your eyes flooded with tears.

"Me quedé dormido anoche, perdón.” (I fell asleep, I'm sorry.) He didn't even seem to believe the words coming out of his mouth, but how could he explain to you what was happening in his life if he didn't even know what the hell was going on?

"How much longer do you plan on lying to me?" You didn't care that people passing by on the street saw you both as crazy. You in your pajamas, him leaning against the car as a method of protection.

"No te estoy mintiendo." (I’m not lying to you.) He raised his voice a little, letting out a lot of the feelings he had been suppressing for a while.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The worst part was that you also had things bottled up inside you, the worry for him being the thing that choked you every day, squeezing tighter and tighter.

"Creo que no quieres entenderme.” (I think you don't want to understand me.) He was angry. You had never heard him like this, especially not directed at you. "Creo que ni siquiera estás intentando.” (I think you're not even trying.)

Damn the day you started to understand his words.

"I'm not understanding you, Jake?" You had already broken into tears. Your finger collided against his chest in an accusatory manner while he seemed unaffected, even though inside he was falling apart.

It was too much for him. Everything was too much.

"I've been trying for months to ignore what you're hiding from me." It was so difficult to argue in this way that frustration was suffocating you.

"¡No te estoy ocultando una mierda!” (I'm not hiding shit from you!) You snapped.

With fear.

Mid-sentence, Jake had reached out a hand to push you. Not with much force, just enough to separate you from his chest.

In seconds, he became aware of what he had done. If the car wasn't behind him, he would have moved even further away from you. He was overwhelmed by fear too.

He was losing himself as he had suspected.

"Me tengo que ir.” (I have to go.)

"Jake Lockley, if you leave, I don't want you to come back." Tired of seeing him run away from the problems, you resorted to the last card you would have liked to play.

You were foolish to think he would risk hurting you again. The last thing you heard was the sound of the engine accelerating to get away from you as fast as possible.

September.

The first part of September is blurry. You did your best to survive without him, but the days passed so quickly that you began to question if you were alive or just living in a bad dream that had lasted longer than necessary.

It was as if Jake was dead to you, without any sign, without any notice, nothing.

He simply disappeared.

The clear countdown of the days begins on the 13th, when your phone lit up to notify you that he wasn't doing much better than you.

✉: ¿Podemos hablar? (Can we talk?)

✉: Estoy perdido. (I'm lost.)

It hurt not having him, but it hurt more to see Jake's well-being. Not knowing how he was, where he was, what he was doing after that tragic day tormented you.

You replied, and the most important relationship in your life turned into a series of midnight calls where you tried to understand what your ex-boyfriend was mumbling from the solitude of his car.

You had friendships that had started in stranger ways than this, you could endure this.

Make it work.

October.

"Trick or treat." Mentally, he slapped himself for how ridiculous his way of reappearing was.

A half-smile appeared on your lips as you opened the door and came face to face with an embarrassed Jake, wearing your favorite leather jacket and both hands in his pockets as if he was waiting to be scolded by you.

"I doubt any of these things don't have artificial coloring number 4." That was your only response as you leaned your body against the door frame. With one hand, you held the huge container of candies that came out of hiding every Halloween.

"Estaba por aquí.” (I was around here.) Jake pointed back, the path that led to the supermarket, or at least that's what you assumed. He had a very lame excuse to see you, but that worked for you. The interest was enough. "Y pensé en venir a saludar.” (And I thought of coming. To say hi.)

"I'm watching Friday The 13th." You looked behind him. Children approached with shyness, seeking candy. "Come in, let me finish with the candies."

Your smile was so genuine that Jake's heart skipped a beat. How had he lasted so long without you? Those lost 3 months would always be present in the multiple mistakes he made.

That night, you kissed until it hurt. Until your lips hurt from bites, until the skin of his neck burned from love bites, until his fingers became imprinted on your waist. "I love you." You said between moans as the movie gave you an almost unreal vision of who the love of your life was. Flashes in white, in red, even in black showing you how beautiful he was from any angle or lighting. He made your sofa creak as he raised his hip toward you, thrusting into you even deeper if that was possible. "I love you, Jake." You repeated with a broken voice while your little jumps gained more strength. Your body was already exhausted, your legs were shaking and your hair stuck to your forehead and neck from sweat but emotionally you refused to get away from him. "Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.” (I love you. I love you. I love you.) His whispers mixed with his panting. You both seemed to be on the verge of tears. "Don't go away again." Your fingers tightened on his chest, scratching at his skin as you had done many times before. "Don't ever leave me again, Jake." The way you said his name burned in his heart. He brought a hand to one of yours to squeeze them on his chest, making you feel his agitated heartbeat. There was no need to say more, not while your kisses, movements and moans spoke for themselves. That night, as you rested on his chest after an orgasm that made you both shake from head to toe, he promised you never to leave. "Mi vida.” (My life.) He repeated as his fingers untangled your hair and your weight on him increased as you drifted off to sleep. "Mi cielo. Mi corazón.” (My darling. My heart.) He whispered in your ear. "Mi todo." (My everything.)

November.

Everything with Jake was stupidly easy.

Laughing, singing, existing.

As easy as in the romantic comedies you used to love watching before you met him. And it's not that you had forgotten about those because of him, but now you enjoyed watching action movies, those that allow you to get distracted without losing track of the plot.

You didn't press him to talk about what happened in those months, knowing that there were still a thousand secrets between you because you still saw strange bruises on his body, marks on his knuckles, or felt him getting up in the early hours of the morning when he stayed over with you.

"Leave me alone!" You ran down the hallway, laughing with him trailing behind. Probably restraining himself because it would be impossible for him not to catch you with his eyes closed.

He wrapped an arm around you to press you against his chest and used the other to prevent both of you from crashing into the wall. He was laughing too.

"Do you give up?" He squeezed you tighter with his arm.

"Never! Let me go!"

The laughter almost made it difficult for you to speak.

"Come back to me, and I'll let you go."

The seconds of silence churned his stomach.

"What?"

"I mean..." He cleared his throat. "Officially. Would you be my girlfriend? Please?"

It almost seemed like he was begging you.

You reassured his fears with a kiss.

December.

"I don't understand how you can eat these things." You took a deep breath through your mouth, sticking out your tongue, already reddened by the red dye number 6, to seek some relief from the burning sensation.

Jake was setting down a fifth box from his arms. He sighed, tired.

"No puedo creer que no me estés ayudando.” (I can't believe you're not helping me.) He approached you to steal one of the Cheetos from your bag while you licked your fingers. "Te dije que uses palillos chinos, así evitas el polvo.” (I told you to use chopsticks, that way you avoid getting your fingers dusty.)

"The dust is the best part." You popped your thumb out of your mouth.

"Disgusting." He feigned a look of disgust as he settled between your legs, resting a hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze.

"You didn't say that when..."

"¡Dios mío!" (My God!) He gasped, biting his lower lip to suppress his laughter. He leaned forward, stealing a chaste kiss from you. "Compórtate.” (Behave.)

"Are there many more boxes left? I didn't think you had so much stuff in your apartment." You pushed the box aside as you leaned forward to prolong your kisses.

"This is my apartment." He whispered with a smile against your lips.

"Touché." Your fingers slowly roamed his shirt collar before pulling him closer with a tug on the fabric. "What if you take a break?"

Jake's hands were already on his pants, figuring out how to unbutton his jeans without separating from your body.

"I'm never going to stop unpacking." He complained as his lips began to descend towards your neck.

Ok now that I have written happy endings for the three of them I’m sick of them, lol, I’ll try to get angst-ier with these thingies

[oddballwriter]

hello! Could i please request a one shot where Steven and Marc know about Jake's existence and they have been trying to get used to him and get to know him, and during a mission where they need help they found out Jake has been having like a long term relationship with the reader (who is Sekhmet's avatar)

And Steven its totally freaking out but also crushing on her but Marc its like "wtf how long has this been going on?"

Unexpected Addition

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Part Two

Summary: Life with a new addition is a bit tricky, but Steven and Marc are getting the hang of having Jake around. But what they don't expect is that Jake has a bit of a life of his own, including a love. Which sort of adds another addition. 

Warnings: The boys are fighting. Steven being a love sick puppy. Marc is kind of a dick in this not gonna lie. Mentions of some factors of D.I.D. . It's mentioned that Jake told reader about Marc's past, to a degree. There's some arguing about you and Jake being a thing for so long and kind of referenced that you and Jake technically overlap with Marc and Layla by a hair.

This fic is actually more of Steven just having a big stinkin' crush on you and Jake and Marc yelling at each other.  

Author’s Snip: I feel like this is good but not completely on the mark. Anon, if you want to throw me another scenario that's Jake centric with this idea/world then feel free. Just give me a sign.

Notes: I semi-proof read this so if there's weird grammar and shit just ignore it.  

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

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Jake was a surprise. Well, in the logic of common D.I.D. systems not really, but in the sense that neither Steven nor Marc knew he was there. It felt like a bit of a privacy breach to think that Jake's just watched everything go down from the shadows only to leave as soon as he came, and it was a bit unnerving to know that Jake was more off the hinges. But it's not like they could really do anything about him. Jake's a part of the system, whether they like it or not.

Jake honestly wasn't that much of a change up though. He usually did his own things and kept in his lane for the most part. Even if his tactics were more... forceful than Marc and Steven's were. Otherwise Jake would be something of an allusive one. He didn't seem to do much but they had a hunch that there was more than just Jake Lockley, the third alter, cabbie by daylight, and system parachute and low key Khonshu's hitman. And there was.

Because there was you.

Marc and Steven found out about you because they were on a mission that Khonshu demanded that they do. And it turns out Sekhmet had the same idea for you.

It wasn't like the two were in on it and it was a ruse to get you to meet the others. It was genuinely just an "Oops, did know you were gonna get it." sort of thing.

"Jake? Wasn't expecting a surprise team up with you. Usually boyfriends surprise their girlfriends flowers." you laugh under your breath as you try to not catch any unwanted attention. You didn't need anymore than the " Excuse me?" from Marc to know that it wasn't Jake you've bumped into. "I'll explain once we get this done. Just follow my lead for now." you say as you move on with what you were planning on doing.

"Okay... so..." you roll out trying to think of what to say after having just handled the mission, and now sitting at an empty park bench in your regular clothes, "My name is Y/N. What's yours?" you settle on as you lift your hand for a handshake, trying your best to have a non-nervous smile. "How do you know about Jake?" Marc asked, ignoring your polite gesture of formality.

"Marc. That is so rude. She's trying to be nice." Steven scolded from the puddle at his feet.

"Me and Jake are... together." you mumble out. "How?" Marc demanded. He looked so angry and menacing while he interrogated you. You've seen a lot of mean looking guys but when it's the face of someone you recognize as your boyfriend, you felt a bit trapped by the tense energy. You barely squeak out "I met him a while back.".

"Marc, if you just let me explain without making a scene it'll all make sense." you quickly speak out before he almost interrupts you, "How do you know my name. You were acting like you didn't know it a seco-".

Marc violently twitches before the tense scowl on his face disappears and is replaced with a softer worried expression after a second less violent twitch.

He looks at you, he sees that you looks a bit frightened, and then he speaks, with a British accent "I'm sorry about that... that-that wasn't me. I didn't switch us." he says, "Must have been-" he tries to say before you speak. "Steven, right?" you ask in a soft voice. He's caught a bit off guard that you said his name. He points to himself with a "Me?" and nods "Yeah.".

You stare at each other for a bit before you speak up. "Jake hasn't told you about me, I know. He just barely started being known to you guys and he didn't want to rush anything. I understood that and did my best to stay clear so that I wouldn't shock you two but I knew that there would be a fumble at some point." you explain.

Steven listens intently till you're done. It was either that or listening to Marc and Jake yell at each other in the reflection of the puddles.

"I only know about you guys because he wanted me to be ready when the time came for him to think that it was a good time for us to actually meet. I didn't mean to throw any of you through a loop like that. It's just been a while since I've seen him and I got excited." you apologize as you explain more.

"It's okay , love. It's just that we hardly know anything about Jake and finding out something so personal was a bit jarring." Steven says. You feel a little flutter at being called "love" for a second before Steven speaks again. He subconsciously touched your hand. "And I'm sincerely sorry about Marc's behavior. You were being courteous and he was acting like you were a danger when you were making it clear that your and Jake had some type of acquaintance." he apologized.

"It's okay." you comment. "Jake told me that Marc would be a bit... apprehensive about me. That's just how he is." you add.

"And me?" Steven questions with a bit of curiosity to what Jake might have said about him. "He said that if I meet you then you might be a bit flighty. Said that you were easy to spook." you say in a bit of a laugh.

Steven got to see more of you after that. You would spend some time to get to know each other more, which Jake approved of. He thought it was nice to see the two parts of his life that he kept separate finally meet. It was kind of like having cats meet for the first time where you watch them interact and then get comfortable with each other.

Steven, admittedly, and a bit too obviously, took a huge liking towards you. And you the same. You were fascinated with the other. He liked hearing about what you did as the avatar of Sekhmet and what that entailed for you both in mission and personal life. Along with what you just did in your regular civilian life. As for you, you were amazed to see a person who acted, talked, and even moved so differently than the person you usually associated his face and body with.

Unfortunately, you and Marc weren't taking to each other too nicely. Well, you were still perfectly friendly towards him any time you saw him. It was Marc who wasn't very enchanted by you.

Matter of fact, he and Jake were still at it with each other.

"How long has this been a thing?" Marc asked with the same demanding voice he did to you. "Three years." Jake answered in a nonchalant tone. "Three years?!" Marc repeated, unpleasantly surprised by the answer. Jake scoffed "Didn't she say we've known each other for a while?" Jake mentioned.

"So you've just been seeing this random woman for three years behind our back-? Behind Layla's back?" Marc fumbled out with anger. "You," Jake interrupted, "- Sent divorce papers to Layla. Not me." Jake clarified. "Not to mention. She was your wife. You made it very clear to Steven that she was off limits and I already knew that she was off limits. So sorry I went and found my own woman instead of hitting up yours." Jake quipped.

"Yeah and now it seems like Steven likes yours too." Marc said making his own quip.

"Good!" Jake bursted, "At least he's courteous enough to treat her with some respect and get to know her.". Marc would have spoken again but just beat him to it. "You're acting like I was going to hide you from each other forever. I would have had you two meet at some point once you were used to me. You three just met earlier then I would have liked." Jake explained.

"Did she know about Layla?" Marc asked. "Of course I told her about Layla! I was open and honest about my situation and what that would spell out for our relationship." Jake answered with an emphasis on the words open and honest. "How much did you tell her about us?" Marc demanded again before Jake exploded.

"Everything!" Jake barked. "I told her fucking everything I could! I told her about you. About Steven. Layla. Our condition. Everything about us, she knows. I wanted her to be ready for when you cross paths. I told her how to behave and what to watch out for so that she wouldn't startle either of you. And you know what? She did! She was going to explain everything to you if you would just let her fucking speak instead of grill her like that." Jake lectured.

Listening to the two fight was something that Steven would usually ignore. It seemed like arguing while getting to know each other was a thing in the system. Usually Steven would intervene if it was getting too bad or he was brought into it. But neither of those caught his attention because he was busy paying attention to you. Again.

"You look so different." you say almost out of the blue. "Excuse me." Steven spoke. "You look so different from Jake even though it's the same body." you remark.

"You have such different eyes. Yours are all doe eyed and round. Jake has a resting angry face. It's so weird." you smile. "And you smile different too. Jake only smiles a little and with the corner of his mouth, so it looks like a smirk. You smile with your cheeks." you add.

Steven flustered and felt shy under your gaze. The way you were talking didn't speak ill of neither him or Jake. You were speaking in admiration at what made them so different.

"You also don't have the little paperboy hat or gel." you point out as you look at the curls on his head. "Jake usually wears a little bit of gel to slick back some of his hair. I sometimes forget just how curly it is." you say as you gently reach to play with a few little curls. Steven honestly felt like he should be coughing up wings by now with the amount of butterflies he had going in his stomach and chest as you touched him. Even if it was just to admire him for a moment.

He did feel a bit guilty for enjoying your words and affirmation a little too much. He wasn't entirely sure if Jake would act the same as Marc did when he accidentally made contact with Layla. But then again, he hasn't had Jake barging in and being defensive about you. It felt weird to think about it this way but at least Jake was, seemingly, sharing. That or he's too focused on Marc when he's not the one fronting.

Steven did wish that Marc was nicer to you and more open to meeting you. You were very sweet and treated them nicely.

Maybe Marc would get to see you look at him and complement all the details about him like his eyes and his smile. You could get to know him and what he likes and how that contrasts with you. maybe you two could get used to fighting together in the cases that you bump into each other again.

[girlwithwolftatoo]

Hey! How would the moon boys react to fem!reader? Cupping their face in her hand out of the blue?

Weather is more than appropiate for fluff stuff <3

Moon Boys + Reader cupping their face

Marc Spector:

The most reluctant of three. He craves for signs of affection but won't react positively to it at first.

Your hands holding his face makes him feel... weird, a little vulnerable, a little childish. Consider most of his childhood and adolescence he didn't get much love.

"Drop it" he murmurs, but he's not serious. Won't take your hands off, won't turn away, he just struggles with his own feelings.

Little by little, he breaks. He sobs with an expression of embarrasment, as if waiting you'd find it ridiculous or stupid (which of course, isn't the case), and may kneel down as you still cup his face, all defeated and tired.

Listening words of reassurement and compassion is the best for him. Feeling you trust him and love him despite any mistake or flaw gives him the self-confidence he lost so long time ago, and the fact you don't judge him is even more important.

"I'm sorry, I... I know I'm not good foor you..." "You never say that again, Marc. It's a lie. You're good, for yourself and for me"

Steven Grant:

You probably caught him in the middle of a crisis or a panic attack, mumbling so fast his accent becomes thicker and you can barely undestand what he says, and once you put your hands on his jaw...

"What are...? Ohhh that feels better, yes..." he murmurs as soon as the warmth of your hands relax him almost immediately.

May close his eyes just to enjoy your spoils, even will accept to sit and, perhaps, a little massage on the shoulders (he's very ticklish so be careful).

Little by little, his tangled mind takes a straight trail of thoughts, and he vents everything in a more calmed tone. It's not just the flesh to flesh contact, it's the fact you're there, listening him, what helps him to recover quick.

Chances are he may reccomend to take a nap together, just to be sure he'll wake up in a better mood, or simply make some tea for you and him as a gesture of appreciation for what you did.

"Honestly don't know what would I do if you weren't here, love"

Jake Lockley:

For this case I can imagine two scenarios: one, Jake returning early in the morning, all tired and moody, or two, you having to approach Jake to calm him down since he's losing a little his temper and probably about to do something hideous.

If it's the first case, Jake simply walks in, dropping his jacket nd mumbling something about being sick of everything. Once your hands reach his face, he sighs almost in relief, as if he just entered a hot bathtub.

"I'd wish I could spend night here with you instead of outside more often, bonita" he complains and groans like an exhausted dog, allowing you to rub his face. A soft smile appears in his lips, and you know he's back to normal again, like a spell.

The other scenario sounds dangerous, but not because of Jake. As soon as he feels your presence right next to him, something in his mind sounds an alarm and he stops anything he's doing. If you'd got hurt during his watch, he would never forgive himself.

"Jake, Jake!" anyways you need to call him out to be sure he's paying attention. "It's okay, mi amor, it's over". Just a single hand will do, and he cups it into his own hand, gently squitting his eyes.

"Perdóname, princesa, I just... had a bad time" he murmurs, grabbing onto your hand as if he'd never let it go.