#khonshu imagines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nicktremblaywayfu · 1 year

Note

Smut Khonshu x Arthur pleasee. I think when they meet each other again after very very long time no see:)

Won’t You Say Hi to An Old Friend ?

Requested By : Anon

Author Note : I finally got the ability to write mlm smut. Prepare for more fic of Arthur being a slut y’all. Also slightly inspired from Patience and Prudence - Tonight You Belong To Me.

Summary : Once belongs to the Moon God, always belongs to him. No matter how long they have been apart, no matter with whom they were with. Time was naught for the god of the night sky. If he wanted to spend time with whoever it was, then their fate would be sealed on the moon. Even if it was his long former avatar that he despised to the heart.

Rating : 18+ (Adults Only !)

Pairing : Arthur Harrow x Khonshu

Characters : Arthur Harrow, Khonshu

Warning : Violence mentioned, manipulating, gaslighting, Khonshu being Khonshu, God/Human, Immortal/Mortal, Height gap, Height differences, Age gap, Age difference, come on y’all Khonshu is universe old, older man/older man, somnophilia hint, victim blaming, because it’s khonshu, hint of primal play, half naked, overstimulation, mlm

Words : 4203

Available on Ao3 as well

—

Although (Although) we're apart

You're a part of my heart

And tonight you belong to me

–

Dozens of star constellations ago, long before Marc Spector wore the cloak of the knight, one man was bestowed with the lunar power. Dark brown hair blew by the wind like the mane of a lion, hand gripping on a crescent dart that has changed color to red, white shining eyes examining the night. Criminals and alike hid in the dark shadow of alleyways, fret of what could come to them. Afraid that they would be butchered like a pig, afraid that their body would be hanged on the corner of the town with a blood written sign

“I’m a sinner of this earth. Don’t be like me.”

Glory days for the banished Moon God. Golden age for his knight for the first time after the rivalry of justice between him and the soul devourer has ended. The days where the moon shone the brightest, almost like it was the sun of the night.

The annus mirabilis era for him, whom people called him as the moon deity,

Khonshu.

But those times have become naught but nostalgia. A bitter end, he broke his mortal avatar too much. He broke his toy like a 3 years old boy. But that’s how he always has been. He was the son of the Sun God, depicted as a little boy. He wasn’t supposed to grow old, having a youthful body as well a form of eagle headed god, with glorious colorful feathers like his father’s.

Fate has been so unkind to him. His care towards humanity has driven him to be banished from the overvoid.

“Truly, if thou care so much about the inutile mortals, then live with them as long as you are able to speak, able to breathe, able to walk. Keep an eye on them with your legs on the earth soil until Ra decides to turn his sun into a cold star.”

His feathers turned into bones and some strands of white hair. His eyeballs dried, joints in his head became one with his bone. He could speak, but not move his beak. He could see, yet what’s left on his head were old time-consumed hollow eyes sockets. His neck was merely thin air, unseen although his father could grab it still. At least the sun didn’t dry out his body beneath his ceremonial armor. He had his human-like body, tan muscular stomach and pecs like a man that would make any woman faint upon seeing it. His innocent child-like face has gotten old, making those paintings of his human form like childhood photos.

His existence was less known to humanity, ironically. He was not as popular as Anubis, Thot, Isis, or his father Ra. He didn’t have a whole country worshipping and dedicated to him like Bastet and her sister Sekhmet. Even the London Museum remembers the feared Ammit, but not him. He relied for a friend and company by bestowing the chosen man with his moon knight cloak.

His love life, you asked ? Well, once he found a wonder to the soul devourer Ammit. He was banished, but still allowed to visit the duat. There he was like an awkward teenager boy flirting with the crocodile lady with his charms. Surprisingly they went well, with her dominating the relationship of course. The enneads laughed at him, considering it was merely pure luck that she wanted to lay with him. But that went only until his lover went greedy, using her justice ideology to gain more souls to eat in exchange for utopia on earth. They argued, thunderous voices overlapping each other with their avatars fighting. But Alexander always had a perfect scale for a reason. He betrayed his own goddess for good, sealing her in her stone and keeping her safe inside his body after he left the world to be judged by Anubis. Then the bird went alone again.

Lonesome god that occasionally changed his avatars, either they were dead or they went mental. None of them survived until he met a young man. Brown hair tied in a ponytail, eyes were blue like the sunny sky, good posture with sharp eye-sight, a believer of the moon god. The bird offered him to be his knight, which the young man accepted gladfully.

He was his prime, best Moon Knight. Bloody murderous to the criminals and sinners, but affectionate and loving to innocent people. They worked together, until a strange feeling struck the bird god’s hollow heart. A strange sensation that he had last time with a fellow god 2000 years ago. His gaze, his body, the way he spoke.

Irresistible.

The Enneads no longer care about Ra’s adopted son. They didn’t care if the god had an affair with a mortal, a forbidden love.

And so, he occasionally used his human form just to taste the soft, pale red lips of his own avatar. They fell in love with each other, but their love started to rot. From pet names turned into curses, affections into hatred. He wanted more of his avatar, more than he could be. More than he could bear.

The affair was forbidden for some reason. Not because mortals live in a blink of an eye for the gods, but mortals will never be enough for the higher beings.

15 years of affair ended up in a heart shattered in pieces and mind broken into shards. The enneads decided to forcefully cut the tie between Khonshu and his avatar, but not caring about the aftermath for both of them.

After all, it was their business to handle.

It was true that he found another, but merely as an avatar. Not someone he could love. His current avatar was nothing like the previous. Barbed tongue, that he had to threaten his one and only love so he would obey him. Obey, and obey. Or he would do the else.

But 1.5 decades of years felt like centuried. Everytime the star was shaped in a constellation of lions, he remembered his former lover. The one that is mortal. The one with blue eyes and brown hair. His mighty lion.

Oh how long has he never seen him ? He loathed him, yet he missed him. He missed being scratched on the beak, but he hated to remember the bitter arguments he had with him. He told his avatar to do his mission against the man, but he never actually appears.

So one night, he decided to be seen.

To be seen by his avatar’s alter that he despised.

As well as his former avatar.

Yet what he got in his heart was rage. He had seen the young man grow older in his life, greying hair with lines appearing on his face and his muscle covered with more fat. Muscled stomach turned round, though his strength remained close. He had seen his life stages, and all he got was the audacity of pretending he did not exist. So he was mad, telling his current avatar to kill him. What’s the use of those pretty eyes if he didn’t wish to see his true god.

“It is a privilege I no longer have.”

Lies.

He could see him. He could hear him.

The former Moon Knight knew his ex lover was near, towering over behind his mortal frame. But he cared not a slightest.

Tantrum was thrown, he kicked an empty metal food shelf. Yet his former lion remained calm like nothing happened. The man ate his dinner with his successor, ignoring curses and arguments from his Khonshu. The old bird was truly nothing but a gust of wind.

And Khonshu hated it.

Yes he was wrong but his former avatar was wrong as well so it was a fair game, wasn’t it ?

At least send your hi through my avatar if you despise looking at me that much.

Even after the chaos of the night ensued, he still ignored his former god’s existence. He could hear him, he could see him, but he belonged to another Goddess.

He belonged to a goddess that was once Khonshu’s former love as well. How pitiful, his former lovers united against him.

Khonshu regretted one big thing in his life, that he shouldn't let Harrow enter the temple of Ammit for his last mission.

Arthur Harrow.

That was his former avatar’s name.

She spoke to him through a prayer ushabti, poisoning his mind so he would betray his god. And He did.

Leaving the Moon God all alone, leaving him with his current avatars that despised him to his hollow bones.

Now, the man that carrying the name of Arthur Harrow stood on his compound’s rooftop. He built a community with thousands of followers across the world, all just for Ammit. He never did that to Khonshu, which sparked the bird god's envy.

His old eyes remained sharp despite the crow feet growing on the edges. Beige cardigan with red koko shirt beneath, examining the night. His people are already sleeping, with his army guarding every corner. He looked at the sky, stars shining so brightly in his eyes. Lion and bird constellation, artificially shaped. He exhaled. His former god was always stubborn, stone headed. Perhaps his head was harder than an ushabti stone.

Steps getting louder and louder, Arthur looked on his back. A towering figure of man, white hair styled in a man bun. Shining white eyes, lines on his face showing that he was much older than Arthur Harrow. But his face was attractive that would make any man and woman swoon over. Messy trimmed facial hair being another proof of aging. He looked in contrast from what ancient civilisation depicted in the wall murals and statues. White suit rather than ceremonial outfits, he strided to the man proudly.

Harrow just leaned on the rooftop fences, sighing and smirking smugly.

“Aren’t you supposed to look younger than that ?” He’s mocking how time has been cruel to his god.

“Yet you’ve wanted this very old face of mine a long time ago, moonshine.” Khonshu tilted his face, brows furrowed.

“You’ve got the hint in your own very words, old bird. This time is not a ‘long time ago’. Besides, what’s with calling me like that, hm? Got a little bit desperate with loneliness, grandpa bird ? “

Khonshu’s face fumed red listening to Harrow’s mocking giggles. He raised his hand, conjuring his staff from thin air and slammed it to the ground. A wave of blinding lights emitted, there Khonshu turned into his undead bird figure. His head now a lot bigger and longer, minaciously trying to threaten Harrow. But Harrow didn’t move even the slightest bit. All Khonshu’s move was predictable. Lame, embarrassing, nothing new like the old bird himself. He just growled with disappointment, He could no longer possess any threat to him.

“Listen, I am tired this whole night. That was a lot of fun, sweat and blood dripping with adrenaline. Phew, can’t wait to see what tomorrow will offer me.”

“Yo do NOT walk past me like that, Harrow.”

Just with that, Harrow walked past his god anyway, sacrificing the bright, beautiful night gazing leaving the old god alone on the rooftop. Yet what he saw on the lower floor only brought him exhaling very loudly. There on the couch, Khonshu sat with his white suit. Leg crossing another, flexing his thigh. Head tilting, as Harrow frowned to him.

“Enough disturbing my life Khonshu. You’re done. I belong to another goddess that would take better care of me.”

“Hmhm, what makes you so sure, Harrow ? Do you even know her personally ?”

“Do you ?”

Khonshu couldn’t form a smile, but Harrow could still see him smirking.

“I did. I knew her more than anyone. More than you could ever be.”

“I suppose I see a reason why she left you, huh ? Holier-than-thou chicken, I could see Ammit would enjoy your bones as a lovely broth and crisp snack.”

Harrow’s slander did hurt the bird’s heart, if he gotta be honest. But he had to endure it. Be patient. For he wished to have nostalgia with Harrow in a very intimate moment.

“But we’re not here to talk about her, Harrow. It’s about me and you. Can you at least serve me something to drink and eat, like you did to Steven ?”

“Gods don’t need to eat.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t, hmph.”

Harrow just staring at him, the vision of his dream looking at Khonshu beaten up fatally by Ammit decorated his imagination.

“Say, Harrow, do you still hate me that much ?” Khonshu put the tip of his fingers together, posing for a question.

“For all the torments and abuse you gave me, that is a rhetorical question.”

“There’s always a fix for everything.”

“You’ll never be able to undo a glass that you shattered on purpose, Khonshu.”

“Well good thing you’re not a glass, Harrow. Don’t give yourself an excuse to not heal from your scars.”

Arthur wanted to argue, but deep down he knew it would be futile anyway. He closed his opened mouth, shook his head then turned his body to the bathroom. He took a quick warm bath to clean from the blood and sweat of the recent battle, as well as to warm himself in the cold of London. Brushing his teeth as well as washing his hair, he cleaned his body from head to toe. Then he dried his hair ‘till no water dropped, as his sleep would be better with dried hair. All fresh and clean, he wrapped his lower body with a towel to go to his bedroom, wearing some clothes.

To his (no) surprise, Khonshun remained on the couch, staring at him. At his body, head scanning his entire frame. Harrow said nothing, ignoring the god now flooded with perverted imagination. He did not care about showing his body, Khonshu had seen him fully naked anyway.

But Khonshu, oh Khonshu, his mind starting to be filthy like a mortal's lust. Harrow moaned as his godly cock thrusting inside him mercilessly, scratching his back as he struggled with the girth of his manhood. Him shoving his beak to his mouth forcing Harrow to suck on it. He growled with thought, putting his legs both on the floor as something started to arise between his thighs. Why would he touch himself if Harrow was right there, unoccupied ?

There in his bedroom, Harrow put on some pajamas. It was nothing fancy, but a comfortable garment with a solid soft white color. He combed his hair as he looked in the mirror, staring at how much he’s been aging. But hey at least age has been so kind to him. Anyone who has seen his younger self photo would say he aged like a fine wine.

He yawned, throwing himself on the bed. Whatever Khonshu did there, he didn’t give any shit. As long as he won't chirp loudly like a noisy bird, he won’t mind. At last, he drove to sleep.

Until the voice of a growling man plagued his ear. Arthur opened his eyes and found quickly that Khonshu was towering over his lying figure, staring at him sleeping for whoever knew.

“Khonshu, that is ENOUGH !” He shouted as he slapped the bird’s beak hard.

Khonshu flinched, taken aback as he rubbed the spot. A faint, teensy weensy crack on his beak. He chuckled, didn't expect that a human would cause this tiny harm.

“Don’t be so harsh, moonshine. I’m here not to hurt you-”

“You are a creep, a pervert god. Shame on you, Khonshu !” Harrow was furious, his calm stature gone.

“It’s not my fault that you showed up with nothing but a towel there. You’re inviting me by showing your body, Harrow.”

“Using your bird brain logic, you’re inviting to be killed just for merely existing. Now get out or I'll call the whole Enneads council for your vile deed.”

“What vile deed I actually have done ? I have done but seeing you with my sight.”

“Khonshu, I need you to get out of my room at once, now ! “

“Not until I get what I demanded, Harrow. You know me so well, you know how to get me out of this room.”

There was a war of gaze as they didn’t say any words for a while, and now Khonshu pulled his beak closer, sniffing him.

“What are you doing now ?”

Khonshu took a deeper sniff, Harrow always took his hygiene seriously and he loved it. Sandalwood and clove scent on his body, strawberry and mint fragrance in his breath. He grumbled in arousal, an eagle ready to mate.

“Harrow…” He slowly got on his bed, gloved hand touching his face.

“Get your hands away from me you filthy deity.” He shoved the god’s hand away, making Khonshu chuckled.

“My moonshine.” He used his beak, trying to tear Harrow’s clothes. ‘Seems it was easier in movies that his avatar, Marc, watched in valentine than in real life.

Arthur landed his knee right below Khonshu’s beak, inflicting pain.

“The audacity you had, Khonshu. All these years of torture and you still wanted to jump on bed with me. Embarrassing.”

“This will be the last time, Harrow. Cherish it as I won't give you this moment of intimacy anymore.”

“Like I needed it from you anyway.”

“So you had a woman that would satisfy your need, is that is, Harrow? Or perhaps…”

Khonshu took off his shoes, throwing them next to Arthur’s sandals.

“...A man ?”

The tip of Khonshu’s beak getting closer to Arthur’s ear, all of his limbs on the bed finally.

“None of your business.”

Khonshu continued to scent on him. There was no hint of another mortal’s smell, just the scent of Harrow’s body and his perfumed bath necessity.

“All these years, it was just you. For whom you are keeping this loyalty and pureness, Harrow ?” Khonshu creeped his hand beneath Arthur’s pyjamas, snaking through to get a grip on his pecs.

“Khonshu !” Arthur flinched as his gloved hands gave a texture on his skin as Khonshu squished his man boobs.

“I love how your chest is bigger than the last time we fucked in my temple chamber.” He pulled the man’s shirt over his chest.

Arthur struggled to keep his body closed but Khonshu was way bigger than him, at least he didn’t shift his height to fully grow in the size of the room.

“Don’t be shy, moonshine.”

“You’ll be damned for this, Khonshu.”

“Then I shall be damned in satisfaction.” The laugh of the god thundering in the room, later he pulled open Arthur’s mouth with his other hand forcing him by inserting the tip of his beak. It was sharp, any miscalculated move could hurt Arthur’s tongue.

Which, giving the poor mortal no choice but to satisfy this needy lustful god. He carefully sucked his beak like sucking a dick. ‘Guess it was equal to kissing someone on the mouth but Khonshu only had a beak and he wanted this moment in his god form. He could do it again, one day, with his human form but today’s not the day.

Spaces between them were getting tighter, and tighter. Khonshu kept massaging Arthur’s thick pecs, arousing him as something bulging in his pants. But he was not yet done, so he pulled down his pants. Looking at Arthur wearing white clothes really reminded him of the good old days of his moon knight life, but alas if you wanted to have an intercourse with someone, some fabric should be taken off.

There he could see Arthur’s standing cock in glory. His age didn’t affect his sex drive, a good sign for him. He pulled off his beak, letting Arthur get a proper breath. He wanted to see his moan, he wanted him to squeak like a rubber toy. His hand snaked to the base of his cock, stroking it slowly.

“Khonshu-..there’s no need for that-..”

“I’m satisfying you, Harrow. Before you return the favor.” Khonshu took off his gloves, giving a better grip of Arthur’s cock. But it was not slick enough for him to give him a hand.

“Lick it.” He commanded, shoving his palm to Harrow’s tongue. After getting enough saliva, he continued giving Harrow a touch. It was not slick as a lube but it would suffice anyway. Just as he wished, Arthur moaned as his cock being stimulated.

“Yes, let go of your voice. Moan for me.”

It was a long time, really, for Arthur the last time he got laid with someone. He didn’t really think of finding a lover, afraid that they wouldn’t understand his goal of Ammit. He even forgot when was the last time he let Khonshu slip his dick inside him back when he was young.

But before he almost reached his climax, Khonshu stopped. Arthur looked at him in confusion, a bit of disappointment as well.

“Oh, look at that puppy look. Don’t worry about moonshine, I'll give it all just for you.”

Khonshu shoved two fingers inside his ass, making the old man scream in alarm. He then rubbed right on his g-spot, the part of his rectum beneath the prostate. He was stimulating it, listening to Arthur moaning uncontrollably.

“Say, Harrow, do you want to continue the next step or you were just satisfied with me stimulating you with my hand ?” He lifted Arthur’s chin up, the other hand still stimulating his prostate slowly.

“If that would make you gone from my life forever, then so be it old bird.”

“Gladly.” Khonshu then unbuckled his pants, pulling out his godly cock with the size that would make every man in the world envy him. He rubbed his cock a bit for more arousal and easier thrust, then he positioned himself on top of Harrow.

He pinned the man on his wrist, the tip of his beak on his neck marking him as he slowly thrusted his cock. He pushed it all inside of him until all the part of his manhood nested inside Arthur. As Harrow thought he could endure it, Khonshu released the pin and instead, he held on his hips while on the other hand grabbing his cock. As he was having a pace on the rhythm of his cock, Khonshu was rubbing his cock. A double stimulation, the poor mortal could only cry, sob, and growl in painfully arousal.

“Khonshu !” Never in his life thought that he would scream his god’s name.

“Oh god-”

“Yes. I am YOUR God Harrow. Scream my name, as I heard your prayer to me.” He laughed and fastened his pace and the rub. He marked Harrow by leaving a line of thin blood across his neck, and his chest too.

Seconds before he came, a spurt of white liquid came from Arthur’s cock, hitting Khonshu's suit.

“Really Harrow ? You came on my suit ? You’re lucky this was no ordinary piece of clothing.” Khonshu just sighed, but continued his pace.

“Wait, stop- i’m already done” Too late, Arthur was entering an overstimulation phase.

“Your own fault that you came before me.”

Few minutes after crying and sobbing, Khonshu finally came as well deep inside of his ex avatar. Arthur’s breath was shaking, relieved that it was finally over. Khonshu pulled out a sticky white fluid dripping from Arthur’s hole and making a string on Khonshu’s tip.

“That was fun. We should do it aga-”

“No. This was the last time as you promised, Khonshu. We’re done from here.” Arthur pushed the bird aside roughly, cleaning himself from the mess.

“Not even aftercare? You should let that part of me inside of you for more time.”

Arthur didn’t say anything as the bird laughed at him. He then opened his door, looking at Khonshu giving him a code.

“You sure wanted me to leave, moonshine ?”

He didn't say anything.

“Fine, fine. At least give me a farewell kiss first.” Khonshu conjured his suit back, the spot of Arthur’s seed no longer to be seen.

He obliged, anything to make this bird leave him alone. So Arthur gave him a passionate kiss on his beak, scratching it below. Oh the kiss was so delightful that Khonshu turned into a human just so he could devour his lips. Tongues danced with each other, he always loved this mortal’s taste. Arthur pulled out, string of saliva connected to their tongue's tips.

“That’s enough.”

“But i just started-”

No more words, Harrow shoved him away. Door slammed, locked. Khonshu just chuckled, returning to his god form and disappearing into a cloud of dust.

In no time, he was inside of a fancy limo. Red seats, contrasting to his white suit. The driver’s window opened, revealing a man with a cabbie hat and expensive jacket. He looked at the god from the rear mirror, lifting his brows.

“Stubborn little one. I’m done arguing with him about the scarab’s whereabouts. Let’s just go, Jake.”

The man just nodded, closing his driver’s window then turning his limo on. Khonshu crossed his leg, fingers touching each other forming his classic pose. He couldn’t wait to tell Ammit one day, that he fucked her soon-to-be avatar so hard.

—

#Arthur Harrow #Arthur Harrow x Khonshu #Ethan Hawke #Arthur Harrow imagines #Arthur harrow fanfictions #Khonshu #Khonshu fanfictions #Khonshu Imagines #Moon Knight #Moon Knight (2022)#ns/fw #mlm #marvel villain #mcu #marvel

7 notes · View notes

heartthrobin · 10 months

Text

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

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

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

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

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

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

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

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

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

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

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jesus, Steven."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who's birthday is it?"

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

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

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed a velvety red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let her respond, Steven."

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

"So, uh, yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

"Uh-- and you are?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good job, Stevie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day passed like most of them do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

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

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

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

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

“And you’re very beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steven?”

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

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

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

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

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

“When?”

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

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

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

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

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

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

“I’ll hold you to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

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

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

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

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

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

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

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

taglist:

@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn

i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

1K notes · View notes

betyloca · 2 months

Text

Imagine: being the reincarnation of a priestess of Khonshu, being Marc's younger sister and that he always keeps you away from the god.

Marc: Don't go near her, I don't want you near her.

Khonshu: Do you think you will always be by his side?

Marc: Yes.

Y/N: Marc, who are you talking to?

Marc: *turning to see you* with no one

Y/n: but I saw you talk

Marc: I didn't talk to anyone, we didn't have to go to the museum today.

Y/n: yes you are right let's go

As they walked, you noticed the shadow of a man with the head of a crow. When you turned around you didn't see anything

Khonshu: You can't take care of her forever, not when she sleeps.

#marvel #marc spector x reader #marc spector #steven grant x reader #imagine #jake lockely x reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu imagine #moon knight x reader

178 notes · View notes

gatorbites-imagines · 2 months

Note

I love reading your work, could you do the Moonboys + Khonshu (if possible) with a touch starved s/o? 💜🩵💙

Moonboys and Khonshu x touch starved male reader

Headcanons

I miss the moonboys. I still hope they make another season,,,

I believe in softer Khonshu, I’m ignoring how hed really be in canon.

Marc Spector

I imagine Marc is just as touch starved as you are, he just doesn’t like to be open about it. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable like that, which in the end just makes him more touch starved.

So, when you start cuddling him more, holding his hand, always being near him and touching him in some way. Then he would tense in the beginning, but soon he would start melting into the touch.

It starts small, like him letting you grab his hand, and Marc intertwining your fingers. Or when you guys are sitting on the couch watching a movie and you lay your head on his shoulder, Marc would rest his head against yours.

Little by little he would start opening up, the more your relationship develops, and trust is built. I don’t think he would say it with words, but Marc would start to be more physically affectionate in different ways.

He never turns away any of your searches for touch, part of him melting little by little, until he feels all gummy and vulnerable on the inside, and Marc just finds himself curled up and holding you, feeling at peace.

Steven Grant

Like Marc, Steven would also be touch starved. Maybe not to the same extent as Marc, since Steven is aware of himself and his feelings to a deeper degree. He gets stimulation from other places, so its not that gut deep yearning the others have, but it’s still present.

So, when you start leaning on him, always touching him, or hanging onto him, Steven doesn’t mind. He especially loves it when you hug him from behind when he’s doing something, be it reading his books or when he’s puttering around the kitchen.

He almost melts if one of your touch searching behaviors is kissing him, be it his lips, his cheeks, his forehead or his hands, or pretty much anywhere. Steven just loves it so much it almost makes his heart burst.

Steven would also be the only one to go out of his way to verbally tell you he doesn’t mind you being touch starved, or how much you crave touch in some way. Just to make sure you are aware that he doesn’t mind, and you don’t need to hide it from him.

Jake Lockley

Do I even need to say it? touch starved. But hes the type of touch starved where he feels pain when you touch him, at least in the beginning. As the one that took most of the physical abuse for the system, Jake has a different relationship with touch.

So, in the beginning when he notices how touch starved you are and how you always want to be touching them in some way, he might go out of his way to switch with Marc or Steven.

As your relationship develops though, Jake slowly warms up, much slower than Marc. Its always small touches, like hooking your pinkies together when walking, or him brushing his hand through your hair.

He would be tense when you need hugs, but after some time Jake would allow it because he loves you. And by extension, Jake would start feeling better when it comes to human touch.

Hed never be as affectionate as Marc or Steven, at least for a very long time, but he goes out of his way to reassure you in the ways you need, to make sure you get your needs met and don’t feel neglected.

Khonshu

Unlike the moonboys I don’t think Khonshu is touch starved. As a god I don’t even think he really craves physical affection the same way we do. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it, but the craving isn’t as big for him.

When it comes to you being touch starved, I think Khonshu would just go along with it and let you cuddle into him, or lean on him, or whatever else you need to do.

He would love to run his hand through your hair though, his deep voice making a comment every now and then, comparing you to a cat or some other affectionate cute animal.

Khonshu wouldn’t go out of his way to tell you in words that he understands you are touch starved and that he doesn’t mind. He just shows you it doesn’t bother him, by holding you when you need it, or cuddling you to his chest when you have that yearning for touch.

And since very few people can see him, then he is always able to be near you and touching you. No one is gonna see the bird skulled giant following you around with his hand on your shoulder anyways, so why not.

171 notes · View notes

multi-fandom31 · 1 year

Text

Oscar Isaac was right!!!

Oscar is so cute❤

#Oscar Isaac #moon knight #jake lockely #mark spector #steven grant #steven with a v #poe dameron #poe dameron fanfiction #moon boys #dune #marvel #star wars #poe dameron x reader #khonshu #mr knight #oscar issac imagine

3K notes · View notes

mknightgrant · 2 years

Text

Silence

Pairing(s): Steven Grant x Reader, implied Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly

Word count: 5.1K. Buckle up, folks.

Warning(s): Insecurities and heavy angst. I cried while thinking of the concept, and I’m hoping this does my idea justice. Set after the finale, so there are spoilers!

A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing a fic and posting it, so please be gentle! This piece is purely based on research and the events of the series. I am not a system, nor do I know anyone who is a system. If any part of this piece offends anyone, please let me know. No offense is intended.

This is also not completely beta-read, so the mistakes are on me.

Summary: You should’ve stopped asking questions.

Taglist: @s-v-e-l-t-e, @caroldanvours

Everyone had warned you about the rose-tinted glasses. Your friends, your family, hell, and even your old college professors used to tell stories about how love could be either the best or worst thing that you could ever experience. It was a risk to put your heart entirely into the hands of a stranger, giving them the liberty to do whatever they wanted to it. Love it, cradle it, protect it, sure—but also poke it, stab it, and break it to the point of no return.

But with Steven Grant? It was a risk you were definitely willing to take.

You had been friends with him for five months and had been dating for at least eight before he disappeared without a trace. You were confused, to say the least. In the year or so that you have known him, you never would have expected him to disappear and cut all ties with you. But still, you waited. You waited with the hope that maybe he’d come back home to you.

However, when Steven did return, he was conflicted. He honestly believed that you wouldn’t wait for him, especially since there was no effort on his part to try and contact you after his sudden disappearance. Nonetheless, he felt that he at least owed you an explanation, and his heart squeezed in his chest when you didn’t leave when he told you about everything.

He explained it from the start, his sleeping disorder, how he tried staying up because he had hyper-realistic dreams that scared the hell out of him. You already knew of this early on in the relationship, but then he continued the story, telling you about Marc, about Khonshu, and everything that had happened to him from the day he got fired from the museum to the day he came back home to you. You've noticed that he seemed happier now, probably because he understood why he had been losing days of his life, and he’s come to accept and love his alter despite everything.

But there was also another reason, wasn’t there?

Maybe it was your fault. You shouldn’t have asked too many questions. You should’ve just taken what he told you, accepted the anecdotes, and moved forward. You should’ve just been happy that he was here and safe. But you just had to ask, right?

“Who’s Layla?” Your innocent question stopped him dead in the middle of his sentence as the grin he donned slowly faded into a tight-lipped smile. One he had hoped would be a little more reassuring than nervous, and maybe, if he hadn’t taken so long to reply, you wouldn’t have been suspicious.

“A friend of Marc’s.” His reply was short and simple. “I… She was the one who came over that day, remember? When you dropped off that book you borrowed from me? Before I… Before I disappeared?”

Oh. Of course, you remember Layla–well, her physical attributes, at least. To say that she was gorgeous was an understatement. She was breathtaking, ethereal, and a goddess at the least. However, you hadn’t heard whatever they were talking about when you knocked on the apartment door that day because they stopped talking before Steven opened the door, enough for him to peek out at you.

Steven’s heart raced as he studied your reaction to his reply, trying to gauge whether or not you heard his and Layla’s conversation. Surely you hadn’t, right? You had no idea about the scarab before he told you about it when he had returned. So that would mean that you probably hadn’t heard the conversation, and you hadn’t seen the way he looked at her the way he once looked at you. You wouldn’t have waited this long for him if you had, right?

He hadn’t meant to fall for her, but he couldn’t help himself, could he? The second his arms instinctively wrapped around her waist when she drove a little faster towards his apartment, and he was hit with “I’m still your wife,” things changed. His mouth moved on its own accord that day as Layla handed him the divorce papers he–technically, Marc–had sent.

“I would never divorce you.”

Then everything came crashing down after that. Marc had warned him against showing Layla the scarab, but she got around to it anyway, so it was too late. Steven had begged for her help, trying to explain the whole situation, and the entire thing merely confused Layla even more.

“You really don't remember why we've been looking for this? Our adventures. Or our life together?”

“Oh, God, I wish I could.”

You had come knocking on the door only a few minutes later, a smile on your face as you held up his newer copy of Marceline Desbordes-Valmore’s book of poetry. “Steven! Hi! I finally got around to reading this, but I have to say that I don’t exactly ge-”

Your words were abruptly cut off when Steven dragged you into the apartment, shutting the door behind you. None of you were quite sure why he had done that, but now that he’s thinking about it, maybe Marc had been the reason for it all.

You hadn’t had enough time to properly introduce yourself to Layla, and likewise, because the moment your eyes lay upon her, you froze. Who was she?

The following events flew by too quickly for you to properly grasp at the time. The police knocking on the door, Steven gently urging you to hide, the police making accusations against him, then just silence.

By the time you believed that the coast was clear, they were gone. The police were gone. The woman was gone. Steven was gone. You had tried going around the area, searching through the different police stations for him, and you had even gone back to the museum to ask if they had changed their mind and were pressing charges. Sadly, nothing. He wasn’t at any of the police stations, nor did the museum change their minds. So you did the only thing you could do at the time. You waited.

You texted him, called him, and left voicemails for him. Hell, you even resorted to emailing him a couple of times, just to see if your messages would reach him. All your efforts were unanswered, and you truly had no idea of his whereabouts until he came back home to you.

Sure, you’d seen the news about the happenings in Cairo, but never in a million years would you have thought that your boyfriend was the one donning the white suit.

“Oh!” A smile graced your lips, having merely associated the name with the pretty girl who once stood in the apartment. “I remember her! She helped you guys out? That’s amazing!”

You were completely unaware that Steven left out an important detail: that Layla was his alter’s wife. In the short period that he had been gone and away from you, he had kissed her and had fallen in love with her too.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Days passed, and you had been invited to the apartment numerous times throughout the week, but you weren’t complaining. You missed Steven, quite frankly, you also wanted to know more about Marc. You had encountered him a couple times when he had been fronting, but your interactions never lasted too long. Steven was usually requested for control whenever you were around, but you were aware of his alter since Steven had explained that they recently learned how to become co-conscious. That didn’t mean that they knew every waking life of the other, but at least the blackouts and memory gaps have lessened considerably.

On random occasions, Steven would continue to tell you stories about what had taken place in Cairo. Some stories were repeats of what he had told you in previous days, while others were memories he had just remembered and wanted to tell you. Sometimes, he’d tell you his thoughts about the event or other questions he had, only to piece the answer together halfway through asking you.

It was the simple moments like these that made you happy, really. To have Steven beside you on the bed, rambling about anything that came to his mind. You didn’t mind when he would tell you a story he had already told you, and you definitely didn’t mind when he would go into the technicalities of the event.

Though, there was one thing you noticed to have become a recurring topic: Layla. He would bring her up unconsciously, really, or at least, that’s what you would want to believe. But as the days passed, her name frequented his lips more often, and it felt different. It was almost as if he asked you about her daily, bringing her up as if she was the only waking thought he had. If it weren’t for the accent, you would have honestly thought Marc was fronting. She was his friend first, right?

“Do you think she’s okay? I-I mean, Marc and I were Khonshu‘s avatar, and he was just downright manipulative.” He turned his head to glance at you, “Taweret… Taweret, on the other hand… we met in that afterlife I told you about, yeah? She seemed nice. Helped us escape the Duat and all that, but… I just can't help but wonder, you know? Do you think Taweret is treating her right?” His question remained unanswered as he turned his gaze back up to the ceiling of his apartment, his fingers intertwined and resting on the soft flesh of his stomach.

You were lying on your side as you looked at him, heart clenching in your chest as you studied the way his eyes shone under the moonlight. It took you a couple of seconds before you were able to bring yourself to nod slowly, swallowing the lump that you hadn’t noticed formed in your throat.

“I’m sure she’s doing alright, Steven. She does sound pretty badass, yeah? She’s saved you and Marc quite a lot, hasn’t she?” Your voice was small as you replied to him, a wave of insecurity wafting over you as things began clicking together in your brain.

“Yeah? Yeah. She did save us when she freed Khonshu! I swear, though, you should’ve seen her in her armor, love! She looked amazing. I don’t even think I was able to greet her properly, really. Could you believe that? Marc and I were conversing about it the other day, right? And…”

You toned out his words as you continued to observe the way his mouth moved, how his lips flicked up to a gentle smile as he talked about her, and how he continued to ramble on and on about her. Utterly oblivious to your thoughts, more so to your feelings. You’ve seen this kind of look before.

To be fair, you had been thinking about it for a while. You tried convincing yourself that she had just become a close friend that he began to care about. That he was just concerned about her well-being since she had agreed to become an avatar of an Egyptian goddess, and he nor Marc didn’t exactly have the best time as Khonshu’s avatar. However, the more you studied his words and actions, things became clearer and clearer. It wasn’t until a gentle call of your name snapped you out of your thoughts, causing your eyes to lock with Steven’s worried ones.

“You… Are you in love, Steven?” You dared to ask, causing silence to fill the room once again. A silence that lasted a couple moments as Steven furrowed his brows, and his hesitation in giving you an answer was already an answer itself.

The more he talked about her, the more you were able to analyze his reactions and facial expressions and damn yourself for having seen that look in the past. Damn yourself for recognizing it.

You’ve seen it in the way your father looked at your mother. You saw it in the way your best friend’s spouse looked at them on their wedding day. You recognized it because it was the same look he used to have when he would talk about you.

“What?” He asked, confusion filling his expressions as he shifted on the bed to bring all of his attention to you. “Of course, I’m in love, sweetheart. I’m in love with you.”

Normally, his expression of love would have you all shy and red in the cheeks, but that wasn’t the case this time. “It’s just…” you frowned, bringing your attention to the ceiling. Roles had been reversed at this point, with you on your back and Steven on his side, facing you. “I’ve seen this look of yours before, you know? It’s the look of a man who’s fallen in love…” your voice trailed off at the end, pursing your lips as you tried to get your emotions in check. The can of worms has been opened, right? There isn’t much of a way back from it now. “It’s the look you used to have for me.”

Steven frowned as well. “Used to have? Darling, I don’t know what you’re going on about?”

You chose to ignore his comment, another question leaving your lips before you could even process the thought.

“Who is she to you, Steven? Who is Layla to you?” There was a slight shake in your tone, “You.. You said she’s a friend of Marc, yeah? But who is she to you?”

His eyes softened at the question, pursing his lips in response. If he were to be honest with you, he didn’t know who she was to him at this point. Was he attracted to her? Had he actually fallen in love with her in that quick of a timeframe?

Steven had always prided himself in the fact that he didn’t fall in love too quickly. Sure, he had casual crushes from the museum and friend crushes around the town, but this was different–Layla was different.

His brain often short-circuited when he was around her, and he just couldn’t help but admire everything about her. Maybe it was their shared interest in hieroglyphics and astronomy, or maybe it was something about her beauty in general, or maybe something about her intelligence and the way she was always there. She understood him, and she fought for him too. However, there was one thing he was sure of–she was Marc’s wife, not just a friend like he made it out to be.

But deep down inside him, he knew that he had fallen for her. He technically did confirm it back in one of those tents in Cairo, didn’t he? When Marc interrogated him about being in love with his wife? He hadn’t verbally answered the question, but his actions were enough for Marc to know that he had. The kiss he shared with Layla was also enough for him to know that he had.

Steven’s lack of response broke your heart, to say the least. The lack of a verbal response already served as the answer you hoped you wouldn’t have to receive from him.

The silence between you two didn’t last as long as you thought it would, having a sigh leave his lips as he brought his arm over his eyes.

“I-I don’t know.”

His words brought your attention to him once more, seeing his body tense up as he gulped. You should have played it off and moved on by this point, right? But you couldn’t. Not when his body language told you more than enough. You sensed the truth in his statement; you’d give him that. But at the same time, you also felt the conflict that was arising within him, and you knew that was because of you.

It definitely did not help your thoughts when he sniffled. Perhaps you were missing the bigger picture? Fuck. Maybe you overreacted? Had you offended him?

“Shit. Wait, lovie–I’m sorry. We can drop it, yeah?” You offered, sitting up abruptly and moving closer to him so you could lift his arm from his face, your heart breaking at the sight of tears rimming at the corners of his eyes. “I just… You were gone for so long and since you came back, you’d always just bring her up and I was just curious.”

Steven sat up as well, and your hand moved to cup his cheek, causing him to lean in against your touch. “That’s all. But I believe you, okay, lovie? I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry..”

The thing is, you and Steven barely got into misunderstandings, and on the rare occasion that you did, whoever was in the wrong would apologize with a kiss. So that’s exactly what you intended to do. You moved closer and leaned in to press your lips to his, only for him to pull his head back slightly in hesitation–another event you weren’t prepared for.

Swallowing back a sob, his eyes bore into your saddened ones. Guilt overcame his features almost immediately at the sight. You at least deserved the truth, right?

“I… She isn’t… She isn’t just Marc’s friend.” He whispered, bringing his hand to cup your own when he felt your touch falter slightly.

You felt as if you already knew where this conversation was headed, based solely on how he was basically tiptoeing around you, but you desperately wished you were wrong. “I… Is there something else you’d like me to know, Steven?”

“Layla… She’s Marc’s wife, darling.”

Nothing could have prepared you for that. You would have at least thought that she was Marc’s girlfriend or something along those lines, but you never would have thought that the alter of the man you were dating was married.

“She’s…” your voice trailed off as your hand slowly dropped from his cheek, causing him to move quickly to take your hands back in his. “He… You knew about this? When did she tell you? Or when did Marc tell you?”

“She told me the day that we met… Marc wanted to get a divorce because Khonshu wanted to have her as his next avatar, but Marc never signed the papers.” He quickly explained, tilting his head slightly so he could meet your eyes when you shifted your attention to your hands in his. “She tried giving me the papers that day but I couldn’t sign them–”

That sentence alone made your eyes shoot up, locking with his. “You couldn’t sign them?” you breathed, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to grasp the information that was being handed to you. Shaking your head as your heart pounded against your chest, you continued, “You… You knew that she was Marc’s wife from the first day, yet you lied to me?”

He looked down at your hands, which he still held in his, as a response, his thumb moving in circles in an attempt to soothe you, as if it would do much.

You honestly did not have the energy to be mad at him. Technically speaking, he hadn’t done anything wrong either. Your relationship did not have a title, and while you were definitely past the ‘I love you’ stage, he wasn’t your boyfriend. Based on your knowledge, you don’t have high hopes that he will ever be either.

“You should have just told me. Hell, even just… not saying anything as a response would have sufficed as an answer.” Was all you could bring yourself to say after a couple moments of not saying anything to one another. Your words were leaving your mouth slowly as if articulating every single word you were about to say. “Lying… Lying isn’t better than silence, Steven. I-I would have understood… I mean, it was coming, wasn’t it?”

His head shot up at that, and his gaze met with yours once more. “Wha-”

It was your turn to cut him off. “Do you love her, Steven?” You asked once more, a small smile gracing your lips. If he hadn’t known you as well as he did, he would’ve been convinced that you were okay, but he knew better than that.

You were convinced that you would be met with another round of silence, but you were mistaken.

“I-I think I do…?” He mumbled softly, gritting his teeth as he shook his head. You weren’t quite sure what his head shake was in response to, but you couldn’t exactly bring yourself to even process the action. “I don’t know, I can’t–You’re my first love, darling, I swear–”

His words turned into incoherent mumbles as he desperately tried to find the words to explain himself. To explain his feelings in a way that would hurt you in the least brutal way possible, but no matter how he chooses to explain it, his words are bound to hurt.

“I may be your first, but that’s all I’ll ever be, yeah?” Your voice was almost as soft as a whisper as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “And it doesn’t matter though, does it, Steven? It doesn’t matter if I'm your first, I-I’ll never be your last. I’ll never be your only.” Maybe you were rambling at this point, but everything was crashing down around you. The man you had been waiting on, the relationship you were clinging on to, and everything you have come to love was slipping through your fingers so quickly. To make things worse, your acceptance of it all merely serves as the catalyst to the inevitable end.

“I’m never going to make you choose, lovie… You know that, right?” A tear found its way down your cheek as you brought his hand to your lips to give it a gentle, lingering kiss. “It’s okay, Steven.”

He felt unworthy of you, to say the least. You deserved so much more than a man who leaves without a trace and whose loyalty did not fully reside with you. The memory of the kiss he shared with Layla plagues his mind, and the confession burns in his throat as he wonders if it's even worth it to tell you–to break your heart more than he already has.

“I’ve always considered myself lucky to have you, you know? It just… our whole relationship felt so good. Too good, actually.” You smiled sadly, tears brimming the corners of your eyes as you forced yourself to look at the man you love. The one you allowed yourself to fall for so recklessly with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he would love you back, even if just half as much as you did him. “She made–no, she makes you happy, doesn’t she? She kept you safe and fought for you. She saved you, and I just…”

Steven’s eyes shut tightly at your words, shaking his head rapidly as he desperately tried to think of the words to say to you. “It wasn’t on you, darling… Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

His response was typical, but you couldn’t blame him. “I don’t blame anyone for this, Steven, okay?” Your tone was free from any malice or bitterness, but the sadness that laced your words was still quite evident. “I could never hate anyone who makes you feel safe and happy, you know that. The only thing I ever wanted was for you to be happy, Steven, and if she makes you happier than I ever could, then….”

“No.” The fact that you couldn’t even bring yourself to finish that sentence broke him. His head continued to shake as if to convince himself that this isn’t happening to him, that you weren’t actually considering leaving him. He is well aware that you deserve better, but could anyone blame him for being selfish? After everything he’s been through? And after everyone he’s lost? “Why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?”

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek once more, your thumb gently grazing his skin as your eyes drink up the sight of him. Memorizing him. Every single bump and wrinkle. Every single self-acclaimed imperfection, in Steven's opinion. Every single thing that made him Steven and made you love him even more. “I love you, Steven Grant. I love every single bit of you, and I hope you never forget that.”

Your insecurities were getting the best of you. How could they not? The woman he had fallen for was here in the room with you that fateful day and had followed him somehow. Helped him. Protected him. She had everything you didn’t–bravery, strength, the brain, the beauty. And to top it all off? She had him, whether she was aware of that fact or not, she had won Steven’s heart, probably the same way she had won Marc’s. How could you ever compete with that?

You laid a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. He was too engrossed in his thoughts to realize that you stood up, collecting the things that you had brought over for the day. He’s brought back to his senses when he hears you sniffle, and he genuinely wishes he could just take you back in his arms and make you forget that he hurt you. But he doesn’t deserve that, does he?

Instead, he chooses to repeat his question as he gets off the bed and walks over to you. “Why do you sound like you’re saying goodbye?” He asks once more, dejection and defeat clouding his senses. His hands move to wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him in a tight hug, not wanting to let you go. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but at the same time, he still doesn’t want to lose you.

You hadn’t made him choose between you and Layla because you made that choice for him, and you were letting him go. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to lose you, and at the same time, he didn’t want to lose Layla.

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him like a lifeline-your lifeline. A slow nod from you caused his grip on your figure to tighten as he felt your movement, a new wave of tears accompanying the gesture. “Could you do something for me, Steven?”

There were so many questions taking over your thoughts at the moment:

Why couldn’t you be good enough? How were you going to move on? Why were you stupid enough to think that this would last forever? When did he fall out of love with you?

Instead, you chose something else. A question that hurt him more than it hurt you. “Tell me more about her. Just so I know that I’m leaving you with someone who could love you as much as I could.”

His grip tightened even more at your request. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you more about her, even if he had talked about her too many times in the past couple of days. He couldn’t do it because he knew that this was your way of seeing how you could have been better for him, where you lacked in your relationship. But the thing is, you never lacked in any aspect–you were perfect, and he doesn’t deserve you.

A shake of his head was the only response he could give you, causing you to sigh as you gently pulled away from his grasp. It didn’t work though, since his arms were still firmly planted around your waist, but you were pulled apart enough for you to see his face.

Cupping his cheek once more, you leaned your forehead against his. “Kiss me? Just… Just one last time, Steven. Please.”

And he did. He pressed his lips against yours in a kiss that would be engraved in your memory forever. A kiss that captured feelings of love, regret, selfishness, and sorrow. A kiss that would be the last of the memories you would share with him in thirteen months you had known each other. A kiss that would ultimately be your last with the man you have grown to love despite the hardships and heartbreak that came with being with him. You never would’ve thought that you and Steven would have your last kiss like this.

“How lucky am I to have someone that makes saying goodbye so hard?” You forced out a laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rested your forehead against his once more. A sad smile graced your lips as your thumb gently wipes away the tears that have made it down his own cheeks. “I love you, and I'm just really grateful that I had you. Even if just for that couple of months that I did.”

Steven’s eyes drank you up the same way you had earlier, memorizing your features and everything about you. He just hates how the last memory he would have of you would be like this–with your heart broken because of him.

“Is it selfish if I ask you to stay?” He asked, his voice softer than it usually was when he was with you. And for fucks sake, you almost do, but you can’t.

“Oh, God, I wish I could.”

The line jogs his memory, causing his eyes to clench shut. His tears were freely streaming down his face at this point, and he knew he looked like a mess, but he didn’t care.

“You were good to me, Steven Grant. Thank you.” You couldn’t find the words to say as you pressed your lips against his nose once more. “Thank you, lovie. For letting me love you the way I did.”

“Please don’t say goodbye.” A broken sob wrecks his lips as tries to convince you to stay, but he knew there was nothing he could do to make that happen. “I-I can’t lose you. Please. You promised.” It was selfish for him to pull this card on you, but believe it or not, he does love you. “You promised…”

Nonetheless, you nod slowly. If he doesn’t want to hear the goodbye, he doesn’t have to. But it doesn’t mean that this wasn’t the last time you would see him. He knows this.

“I’ll see you later then, yeah? When we meet again?”

He was shaking uncontrollably now, but he had to let you go the same way you were letting him go. Had roles been reversed, he would’ve done the same for you.

All he could muster was a nod as he forced himself to release you from his hold. He honestly hated how things went south so quickly, but he was to blame for that, wasn’t he?

He has to let you go.

“Laters, gators.”

A gentle kiss on the back of his hand, and a squeeze of reassurance were the last things he remembered before the door of his apartment shut behind you.

Steven was left in the same way you were when he had disappeared that night.

In silence.

5K notes · View notes

mochimoqa · 24 days

Note

Hiii I just recently hurt myself accidentally while cooking 😭 so can I request how would you write any of the Moon Boys comforting the reader who feels insecure of scars or marks on their body. Would appreciate it a lot 💗

Hello, anon!

I'm so sorry that you hurt yourself :(

But nothing like a good moon boys x reader will fix that :]

WARNING: Some cursing and Intense Fluff 🤭

...

"OW- Fucking shit-" Y/n screamed at the pain of extreme heat touching their skin. You turned off the stove and went to the restroom to grab your mini med kit.

"Son of a b—" You mumbled to yourself.

You've gotten hurt plenty of times. Either from cooking, activities, etc. You've gotten insecure over the years because of the scars and marks from different activities.

The one time where you were frying chicken and the hot oil splutter on your skin. Leaving some marks on you.

You turned on the cold water from your sink and let the burn somewhat fix the burn.

You sat on the floor and opened the med kit. The irritation of your skin was a bit bad. You grabbed some aloe gel and gently placed it on your burn.

"Ow-" You winced at the pain.

While you were doing this treatment, you heard a knock at the door.

Keys jangling and swung open the door.

"Love, I'm home!"

Oh, goodie! Steven's here.

"Ah, shit-" You panicked and quickly hid the medical supplies.

"Love? Y/n! Where are you?" He was pacing around the house til he found you in the bathroom.

You were covering your hand behind your back.

"Ah, there you are! Marc, Jake and I started to become a little worried there." He hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead.

"No, no, I'm always here, baby." You chuckled nervously.

Steven cupped your face and looked into your eyes. God, his cute dark eyes always get to you.

"I feel like you're hiding something..."

Your eyes widened slightly and chuckled nervously.

"What? No-"

He squeezes your face a bit tight.

You instantly knew that this wasn't Steven anymore and it was Marc. Steven was the more gentle of the boys.

"Y/n, I know you're lying to me."

"I- no, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are."

Shit, you've been caught red-handed. (No pun intended.)

"Okay, fine. You got me." You put your burned hand in front of him.

"I burned myself while cooking..."

God, this was so embarrassing to you. You've had too many scars and marks on yourself, you thought for sure they were gonna leave you.

"The burn doesn't look too bad." He grabbed your hand and examined the injury.

"Huh? You- You're not gonna leave me?"

His eyes shot up to you.

"Why would I ever wanna do that?"

"I- because of all of the scars and marks I have on my body... you don't think it's embarrassing?"

"No?"

Marc paused for a moment and seeming zoned out. He was probably talking to Steven and Jake.

"Steven said that he would never leave you."

He looked at your wound and paused again.

"Jake said that he would be stupid to even do that."

You chuckled lightly at their responses.

"Really?" You sighed and leaned against the sink.

"Mhm, and I agree with the both of 'em. You're literally too good to be true, Y/n. Sometimes me and the boys don't even know of how lucky we are to have you."

"But what about my scars?–"

"The scars don't matter. We love you with or without any scars or marks."

He paused again.

"Jake wants to take control to get rid of that stupid stuff you said about yourself."

You sighed, "Alright, bring him out..."

You felt your hand being squeezed.

"Hola, mi amor." (Hey, my love.) He kissed your hand.

You smiled lightly. "Hey, baby."

"So, what in the wrong fucking mindset are you even in?"

"Uh, I don’t know... I just thought that the three of you were gonna leave me and—"

"Esa es la cosa más estúpida que he oído jamás". (That is the most stupidest thing I have ever heard.)

"I know..."

"Cariño, we will love you til the end."

"Thank you, baby... thank you to the three of you..."

"No hay problema, bebé. (No problem, baby.)

"Want me to fix you up?"

You nodded. "That would be wonderful..."

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this! I absolutely love writing Fluff so this was by far the most exciting story to work on!

Also, very sorry for not posting sooner I had a lot of exams so I didn't have time to post this story!

112 notes · View notes

blue-sadie · 6 months

Text

Khonsu's Turn

Imagine:

Being the moon system's 'friends with benefits' and all the times khonsu 'accidentally' catches the two of you he gets jealous because even though he's a god he has needs so one night he takes over to show off his skills.

"So pitiful I've hardly done anything and your already screaming for me but please carry on show marc how bad he is at pleasing you and how I'm the only one that can make you feel this way"

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel smut #marvel x reader smut #marvel incorrect quotes #marvel smut imagine #moon knight x reader smut #moon knight smut #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #moon knight smut imagine #khonshu #khonsu x reader #khonsu smut #khonsu x reader smut #marc spector smut #marc spector x reader #marc spector

142 notes · View notes

multific · 2 years

Text

Made to be His

Khonshu x Reader

Summary: Love was one thing, but being born to be someone's was another.

The God of the Moon, as they called him, Khonshu was bored one day, talking to the only Gods who still looked his way he questioned one thing no God has ever.

"Why is it forbidden for us to love?"

This shocked the Gods. In their eyes, Khonshu should know. It wasn't just about the question of being immortal or not.

Gods were not allowed to fall in love. Especially not with mortals. Because they were Gods, they should be above mortals, set an example, and not falling in love.

In their eyes, love clouded the mind. And a God who is at the will of a human is easily manipulated. Which they couldn’t allow.

But the Goddess of Love, Hathor overheard Khonshu. She hated the God, and so decided to play the meanest prank on him.

Hathor made the perfect woman for Khonshu, she fit him perfectly. And to rub it in, even more, she not only gifted her with such beauty but she was also made half immortal.

And from then on, she just had to watch.

You were born a simple woman. Your mother and father took great care of you, you grew up with good values and you became a good part of society.

Yet, you felt as if you were one step in front of everyone, yet you felt like a piece of your heart was missing, like it was ripped from your heart.

Took you years to find that missing piece.

Once you went to Khonshu's temple and saw the statue, you knew, you were meant to serve this God.

Your relationship with Khonshu started when during a late night of prayer, a thief interrupted you and Khonshu saved you.

Khonshu knew the love he felt couldn't be, it shouldn't be. And yet, he loved you.

Your eyes mesmerized the God and could bring him to his knees. He knew he shouldn't but he loved you.

He tried to keep you from the Gods, keep your love for each other a secret. But of course, they found out.

Khonshu was rather surprised that the decision was only that he was banished from the Gods.

And you, you were banished from humans. you suffered greatly, you couldn't see your parents, siblings, or friends ever again.

Your punishment was to be with Khonshu, no matter what it took.

You didn't like to admit but even if it hurt, at least you had him, which made you happy.

The Gods hoped you'd blame Khonshu for it all and leave him.

But no one knew at that point that your longing for him was stronger than any other desire.

After all, Hathor forgot to give you the sense of hate towards Khonshu. He could try to kill you and you'd still love him.

It was messed up, but it was your life.

Eternity with the God of the Moon.

You liked his avatars, all of them different, Harrow was a strange one, always blaming Khonshu for things he has never done. Arthur Harrow was the only avatar of his who couldn't know about you.

Then came the broken mind of Marc Spector and his alters.

You liked them, all three were so interesting.

"Marc Spector, this is My Starlight, My Starlight, this is Marc Spector, my newest avatar."

"Nice to meet you."

He was stunned, he couldn't believe his eyes, he was sure he was in the presence of a Goddess.

And he was half right.

"Keep your eyes to yourself Marc, Steven and Jake! She is mine!"

Khonshu was scary, even Steven was a bit taken aback from that.

One day, the boys were out working in the Museum when Khonshu had to leave you at their flat.

He was rather reluctant to leave you, but after you reassured him, he did leave.

You fed the fish, made yourself some tea, even cleaned up the place a bit. Now, you sat on the windowsill, looking at London.

The world changed so much. You still remembered how it was back then.

"Oh, you are here." you heard a voice as the door closed. It was Steven with groceries in his hands, you went to help him. "Thank you."

"Khonshu left me here, he said it's safe. How was your day?"

"Pretty good, thank you. Oh, you cleaned up."

"Sorry, I got bored."

"No need to apologize, I-Thank you. It looks really nice."

"And I fed your fishies." you said as you saw he really did appreciate your help.

You sat back by the window, trying to be out of way. Steven sat down in front of you, you offered him a kind smile.

"Why are you with the bird? He calls you his wife and all."

"Hathor made me for him as a punishment. She hoped to make him suffer because she hated him so much. But, she created the exact opposite, I could never hate him. So, instead, she created a soulmate for him."

"Oh."

"Sounds crazy?"

"Crazy? No, a couple of months ago I thought Egyptian Gods were a myth and I had a Mercenary living in my head." you laughed a little.

"I like you three. You are interesting and handsome." you said and you saw as he looked away from you, embarrassed by the things you said. It made you laugh.

"Starlight?" the voice of Khonshu came as you stood up. "Let's go. Steven Grant, I won't need your services today, but tomorrow, be ready." he said as he grabbed you and you two disappeared.

"What are you doing Steven? He told you to stay away from her!" Marc said in his mind.

"I know, but she is so nice." Steven let out a sign, he was sure he was cursed, having crushes on married women, he had a serious problem.

You got home.

Home, an ancient temple, the same one you met him for the first time.

It was now your home for many decades.

"I told you not to speak to him Starlight."

"I know, but he's fun. Your last one was way too serious and a bit crazy, still handsome though."

Khonshu sat down in his usual chair, or throne as you often called it. You moved to sit on his lap, as usual.

"Handsome?"

"Not as handsome as you, My God." you said as you placed a kiss on his beak. His heart melted each time you did that. Kissing him, showing him love, care and affection. You were so good at that, keeping him calm and collected.

You gave him a sense of love which he never knew he needed yet deep deep down, he longed for.

Exactly the proof that you were made to be his.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

607 notes · View notes

januaryembrs · 10 months

Text

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [3]

description: With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward. word count: 9.4k trigger warnings: GORE, blood, Dove absolutely wrecks the jackals I won't lie. Very explicit imagery used for their deaths. Swearing. Layla thinks Dove is the mistress and is angry, talks of dove not owning her body anymore, talks of having bodily autonomy taken away. Quick hint at Dove's dark past. main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: I hate writing action scenes so if this seems rushed or bad I'm sorry, action is not my strongest point!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

She watched as Steven was led in cuffs to the black BMW that gave away no hint at being a real police car, eager to scramble back into his apartment from off the moss covered rooftop that had her second death of the week written all over it.

Layla was quick to hop back inside behind her, nearly shoving her out the way to get to her backpack.

“They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Marc said-” The younger woman started, trailing after Layla like a lost dog. This was way out of her depth. The way Marc had described it made it seem like he had it under control. About as under control as Egyptian Gods and resurrecting dead people goes, that is. He had said nothing about his ex-wife showing up or Steven being taken hostage by police impersonators.

Layla stopped at the sound of her husband’s name leaving the girl’s lips.

“Mention Marc one more time and you are walking to wherever Harrow is taking him, you hear me?” Layla seethed, looking at her with eyes cold as ice despite being a beautiful, warm brown.

Dove choked on her words for a moment, swallowing whatever she was going to come back with and instead choosing to nod once.

“Yes- Sorry-”

“Good,” The woman hissed, turning on her heel and heading for the front door. “And remember what I said about talking,”

“Gotcha- right,” She stammered in reply. Layla was more intimidating than Marc had been, more than Donna even. He was annoyed when they’d spoken, sure. Cold? Absolutely. But to Layla, she was actively a pest. A bug. A rodent that had crawled into her marriage bed and weaselled her way into her husband’s life. Which wasn’t true of course. But she understood that Layla had more than enough reason to be upset with her.

Heading after the woman, hot on her heels, she bit her tongue the entire minute they spent in the elevator, neither of them willing to start a conversation with the other. Whether it be pride (Layla) or sheer wanting to avoid getting punched in the stomach (Dove), the two women stayed silent until the metal box dinged and released them from the horribly tense atmosphere.

Layla set off for her moped that she’d parked on the road, unlatching the red leather seat upwards to reveal a spare helmet in the cubby. Shoving the smooth, maroon hard hat into the younger woman’s arms, Layla strapped her own onto her head and swung a leg over the caboose.

Dove followed suit, hopping onto the back, her arms faltering slightly as she looked for some kind of handle to hold onto.

“What now?” The driver’s annoyed voice snapped as she caught on to the fussing from behind her.

“Where do I put my arms?” Said a quiet tone, hating the helplessness in her voice yet the embarrassment was too much for her to have asked otherwise. Layla rolled her eyes, grabbing the woman’s hands and bringing them around her waist.

“Just hold on,” She ordered, a hum of energy blasting into the engine as she kicked off the curb and set off. The motor jumped to life, and the two women were speeding after the fraudulent fed car in no time. She clutched onto the front woman for dear life; she had always hated amusement park rides, and she was sure Layla was at least somewhat tempted to stage an accident with the way their morning had gone.

“I’m really not sleeping with Marc, you know,” She braved to speak, gripping tighter in fear the single comment would tip her counterpart over the edge.

“What did I say about-”

“I know! I know!” She called, loud enough for Layla to hear her over the bustle of London traffic, “I just wanted you to believe me. You’re more than right to be unhappy with him. Truth be told, the one time I’ve met him, he’s not exactly been a charmer.”

That seemed to perk up his ex wife’s ears. “You’ve only met once?”

“Yes. Like I said, I work with Steven at the museum. I only met Marc this morning when he told me-” She cut herself off, unsure of just how much he would want Layla knowing. How much she already knew. She didn’t even know he had a dissociative disorder, it wouldn’t be wrong for her to assume his wife wasn’t privy to other things too.

Maybe that was why they were divorcing? But that was none of her business.

“Told you what?” Layla pushed, which only caused the girl at the rear to sigh heavily. Layla didn’t need to know much. And besides, it was her burden to bear now, not Marc’s. She could tell her if she wished. Hell, perhaps Layla could even help her seeing as she already knew so much about the scarab.

“He told me,” She paused, coming to terms with how insane she was about to sound if Layla didn’t know much about her husband’s second, well third, life. “He said I died being chased by one of Harrow’s jackals, and the only way for him to save me was to give my body up to Setekh in exchange for becoming his avatar,”

Layla was quiet for a moment, the car Steven was in not too far ahead of them as she hung back to avoid suspicion.

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed.

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless.

“I just told you I fucking died, and you’re laughing?” Her passenger asked, aghast, which only made Layla laugh again. “Well, fuck you too,”

“No, sorry, it’s just,” The woman shook her head, taking a semi sharp right in order to stay on their tail, “Trust Marc to meddle in someone’s life and end up keeping her around because he feels guilty,”

Her face warmed. So Layla really did know her husband then.

“His meddling saved my life,” She tried to protest, the image of Marc’s eyes softening slightly when she’d grabbed his hand that same morning flashing in her mind. Without Marc, she wouldn’t be here. She tried to pretend the idea he was only keeping her around because he felt responsible for her now didn’t sting.

At least Steven wanted her around. For now, that is.

“Did it?” Layla asked, all remnants of humour gone, replaced with a cold seriousness. Not mean like she had been all day, moreso a sobering tone of reality, “My father told me every story there was about Seth.”

“He’s a historian?” Dove asked, curiosity winning over her bitterness that the woman had laughed at her. She thought now maybe it was out of disbelief, maybe even pessimism at hearing the nefarious god’s name.

“No, an archeologist,” Layla replied, “He said Setekh was once worshipped as a way of protecting crops and villages from the storms he created. He said it was thought because he was the god of foreigners he was responsible for all the oppressors attacking the people. He became the one who caused all the bloodshed, the evil, the barbarity. Every bit of chaos and violence was down to his hand,” The woman said, speaking with a passion for her country it was clear she had lived, slept and breathed everything her father taught her, “It was said while Anubis was the first God of the Dead, Osiris took the role during the later centuries. And when his brother, Seth, slaughtered him and scattered him in pieces around the world, he took on the title of God of the Dead,”

“Glad I’m not invited to that family reunion, then,” The other girl muttered from her place at the rear of the bike. Layla smirked to herself, not willing to let the younger woman know she’d drawn a small smile from her.

“They were always at each other's throats. And when they weren’t, they were usually marrying their sisters.” To which Dove recoiled in horror. The BMW started slowing down ahead of them, which they were both quick to notice as it took a right hand turn into a less populated area. The sky had been quick to overcast shadows, the April air turning cold and darker fast. As if someone up there knew what was coming.

“Lovely,” She mused, “Well, my family doesn’t talk to me anymore so I’m sure we’ll be okay as far as incest marriages go,”

Layla’s expression faltered. She hadn’t expected the quiet mouse of a girl to drop something so heavy, yet it was clear from her widened gaze she didn’t quite mean to say that so bluntly. To set off such a bomb on their already awkward ride. The striking woman wheeled up onto a curb around the corner from the narrow street the car had pulled into, trying to avoid the gazes of the few people they saw communing there.

Cutting the engine and hopping off the seat, Layla held the bike steady as the other woman did the same, all but falling off the back of the moped with a newborn fawn-like grace.

The two women looked at one another, the younger one handing the helmet over sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Dove murmured, unable to quite meet the beautiful woman’s eyes, Layla’s lips neither drawn into a sneer nor a smile. More a mix between pity and as if she were still weighing up the girl who picked at the loose skin around her nails anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Layla said with a long huff, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “Marc tends to leave people to deal with the shit he gets them into,”

The girl bit her tongue, pleased that she didn’t seem to be on Layla’s hit list anymore. They had bigger things to worry about now, like the fact Steven was essentially kidnapped or that they had yet to find somewhere to keep the scarab hidden.

She felt it burning in her pocket, as if it were buzzing with the glory of being what everyone had their sights set on; of being such a harbinger of trouble.

“Maybe so,” She said, handing the jewelled bug over to Layla to keep it safe, “But trusting him is the only hope I’ve got right now. Marc said Seth will be coming for me any day now,”

Layla looked at her for a moment, dark eyes raking over her forlorn figure some few years younger than her. The girl's eyes were soft, new to the world and the shit storm that was about to hit her, but her hands were what gave away her condition. The slightest touch of her fingers to her own where she handed her the scarab and Layla was able to feel just how cold her skin had become. Dead. Corpse like. As if the life truly had been drained out of her ten times over.

She wondered how her younger accomplice would fare as an avatar. Though Layla had swore that once those papers were signed this was not her fight anymore, she couldn’t help worrying just how badly her ex had seemed to mess up this young girl’s life in the space of one evening.

Seth was not a god you wanted to upset. Nor was he one you wanted to be of interest to. If everything that Abdallah El-Faouly had told his sweet daughter was correct, then that girl, barely mid twenties as she was, was in for a lifetime of torment and pain.

“Well, if that’s true, I hate to be the one to tell you to run and hide as soon as you can,” Layla said, her voice empty of emotion but her eyes genuine, “If Seth is the one looking for you, I can guarantee you’ll wish Marc had left you for the jackals,”

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow and his followers cornered Steven, still as lost and dazed as he had been all day. He just hoped that wherever Dove was, she was safe and far away from this mess that his other self had dragged her into.

“We have it.” Steven’s head whipped around at the sound of Layla’s voice, clear and commanding and filling the abandoned building.

And sure enough, his sweet friend stood next to her, eyes wide and clearly thrown off by the El-Faouly woman’s plan to draw attention to them.

“What the hell are you doing?” She whisper-yelled as the two women trailed through the crowd of Ammit’s followers, both of them watching carefully for anyone getting ready to attack them.

“I’m drawing their attention, Marc will deal with them easily,” Layla replied under her breath as they neared the two men in the centre of the room. It seemed Harrow and his followers had renovated some kind of church or antique building to become a communal hall. Community food lay out on tables around, a projector playing an old documentary on the dusty wall.

Harrow’s followers didn’t seem to have anything particularly off about them. In fact, they seemed like regular citizens you would see around the streets of London. Nothing about them screamed evil, yet that only served to make them more menacing. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Dove knew all too well villains and monsters didn’t look like Ancient Egyptian mummies or jackals. They looked like regular people, like the man sitting next to you on the train. Like your family friend. Like your milkman. Or your school teacher. Or the shop clerk. Or young, female gift-shoppists that had a hopeless crush on their seemingly married co-worker.

It didn’t matter who they were, what they looked like, they were tainted to their core.

“That’s a great plan, except he’s not Marc, he’s Steven,” The young girl hissed, as Harrow stared at her with a smug twinkle in his eye, holding out his rough hand to Layla.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe,” Harrow asked calmly, though it was clear with the way his focus trained on the jewel that he wasn’t quite so relaxed as he was making believe.

He was clever with his words, manipulative. Making himself seem honest and responsible to anyone who didn’t understand the scarab. But Layla did. She wasn’t like the ordinary woman Harrow took her for. She was smart beyond belief, and knew more about the legends than Arthur could ever learn from seeing into people’s souls.

“Summon the suit,” Layla ordered under her breath as they reached Steven’s shaken figure. Her almond eyes scoured around the building for the nearest way out as her younger accomplice shook her head in despair and picked at her nails with furrowed brows.

“Sorry what?” Steven asked, just as Dove had suspected. He had no clue what any of this meant.

Layla’s brown gaze cut to his, chagrin mixed with a hint of fear boiling up in her expression. “Summon the suit,” She said again, stepping closer to the man who gawked at her with a lost look.

“‘Summon the soup’? What are you saying?”

“The suit,” She said again, shoving the scarab into his chest, before turning to where Harrow was reaching for his staff. “And keep this safe,”

“So be it,” Harrow said tiredly. Deciding they were in too thick to continue this little joke of Marc’s, she reached behind her for the younger woman, dragging her towards the only available exit she saw.

Layla’s frantic brain caught sight of a flight of stairs that led to the first floor: a wide ledge that overlooked the rest of the room and had tiny archways where passageways wove into the sandstone walls, scaffolding and more of the plastic tarp scattered over and around the steps.

A quick loop around the top of the stairs took them to a second set of steps that led only to an upper ledge and a large arched hallway with natural light coming from the end of it. A fire escape maybe? An open window? Bingo.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Layla hurried, grabbing Steven on the way as one of the men lunged at her. She was quick to rip his hand off her arm, shoving him into a table so hard he went tumbling over the edge and knocking into another of his men.

Forcing Dove ahead of her, Layla directed the young girl towards the first flight of stairs, ducking around the scaffolding that lead to the first floor seemingly still mid-renovation. Steven trailed behind them quickly with a gasp as he dodged another of Harrow’s men.

Practically swinging around the railing on one hand, Dove felt her tired legs ache as she ascended quickly, the only thing keeping her from stopping being the two people behind her breathing down her neck, relying on her to keep going. The temporary staircase wobbled for a moment as the floor shook, small chunks of brick crumbling free from the delicate wall at the movement. A flash of amethyst purple light reflected around the building, filling the space with something odd; something tense that crawled up her spine, like a foreboding that cut her right through her gut.

Reaching the first level, she was quick to stop in her tracks as a man ducked out from one of the tiny corridors woven into the stone walls, and lunged for her. She felt Layla dart behind her and start scaling the second flight of stairs to the open door that hopefully spelled freedom. The man was quick enough to grab her wrists, but Steven's arm was swiftly wrapped around her waist, holding her from being thrown off the edge of the barrierless ledge.

She kicked at the man a few times, desperate for him to let her go. That is until she got one of her hands free and was able to grab him by the collar of his coat.

Remembering how tightly she had been able to grip Marc’s arm that morning, she found it unnaturally easy enough to lift the man a solid few inches off the ground, the stitches of his clothes ready to give way at his body weight. The menacing look on his face dropped when he realised with a cold slap to the face that no amount of holding onto her arms could do anything seeing as she had him scruffed and held like a little dog that was misbehaving.

He let out a sharp squeal as she threw him with ease over the edge and down the ten foot drop, not enough to kill but enough to hear a loud crack from his ribs and legs.

“How on earth did you do that?” Steven asked, his baffled breath rolling over her neck in a way that had her stomach churning up a storm. His arm still held her tight to him as he guided her the way Layla had taken off to, the warmth of his hand alone seeping through her top and onto her bare skin underneath that was still as cold as a cadaver.

His touch gave her a taste of life again, of humanity. Like she didn’t exist again in this world until he touched her. As if his hand alone could find her in the afterlife and pluck her back to mortality.

Which technically he had.

“Come on,” She brushed off his question, urging him towards where Layla was now pummeling the shit out of another assailant that had tried to make a grab for her. She made equally quick work of the attacker, shoving him off the same way the other woman had and sending him flying off the building frame and into a pile of wood that cracked easily with his weight.

Grabbing both their arms, Layla led the two stunned watchers through the open archway that luckily expanded into a long corridor. Tarp lay around the bottom of the huge windows, moonlight filtering in through the surprisingly clear glass panes being the only thing allowing them to see their way.

The three sets of footsteps pounded down the stone hallway, Harrow’s chants chasing them through an echo, spoken in Coptic the younger woman had surmised. It seemed her degree in Ancient Languages wasn’t entirely a waste. She was able to grasp at bits and pieces of what he was saying despite the rushing of blood in her ears from her running.

Something about Ammit’s wrath, eradicating enemies. Calling on the ancient goddess to help him carry out her justice.

Then came the shriek. Familiar at this point, the vengeful growl that reverberated down the hall and harmonising with Harrow’s hex.

Summoning pure evil. She caught that part easily as they skidded around the corner awaiting them at the end of the hallway, coming to a set of huge, varnished wood doors. She threw her shoulder into the left one, hearing it give a small creak of protest before it gave way and slowly swung open.

Her heart dropped as she quickly realised they were at a dead end. It felt almost de ja vu like as they entered the room, her eyes frantic to take in any way out as Layla and Steven rushed to block the entrance off. A thick, brick wall complete with an old fireplace on the right, and two huge windows in front and to her left. By all means it was a beautiful room, but it was an enclosure. A trap. A casket.

“Here. Bolt the door,” Layla ordered, heaving a metal bar through the handles to give them some sort of protection of whatever it was Harrow was conjuring.

More tarp over the floors and piles of bricks, dust and building tools, the windows reaching higher than even the ceiling to the museum. Sarcophaguses piled around the room, some fake but most seeming authentic, as ancient as the exhibits she walked past regularly at work, yet they were just thrown to the sides of the abandoned room as if they were not priceless objects.

A dirty mirror lay to her right leaning against the fireplace, white plastic wrap draped over half of the looking glass, ridden with dust and a deep crack that made it unusable, no doubt why it was dumped here with the rest of the pieces of history they deemed rubbish.

Layla and her rushed to the windows, Layla taking the one on the left and her heading for the one opposite the door, each attempting to jiggle the bottom of the panes, looking for a latch they could flick open to give them an escape. But the glass was thick. Taking up an entire wall, meant only to let light in and keep air firmly out. Meaning there was no movement from any of the panes. The lit up buildings across the street laughed at her attempts in a silent mocking, the block of flats watching the desperate women struggle.

“Oh my god,” Steven said with a tone of utter despair, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave,”

She would have laughed. Any other day and his words would have cracked her up. But she barely heard him over the desperate way she tugged at the white, chipped frames, urging the damn thing to come loose, her nails splinting painfully at the force she used to try peel the rusted metal from their seals.

It would be no use anyway, she realised. Looking down she realised they were up high, on the third floor to be exact, and the only way down was a long fall onto solid concrete. Seeing Layla turn away from the other window, she guessed she had no luck with that either, and cursed under her breath.

Layla stalked towards Steven’s piteous frame, grabbing him roughly by the arms. “No-no. Hey, listen to me,” She started in a panicked voice, though it was clear she was attempting to be kind to him. The three of them turned to the door as the sound of scratching signalled that something big was out there, waiting for them. Long, sharp knife-like claws raked down the old wood, carving out channels in the barrier, the pieces of timber creaking with the weight of it, like a dog begging to come into the sitting room.

A moment of silence, before the doors began shaking in their hinges with loud thumps. The animal threw itself against the doors, the metal bar jittering in its place at the sheer weight of it.

“Your name is Marc,” Layla said calmly, holding onto his shoulders to keep his attention on her, “There’s a suit, I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out,” Her dark eyes pierced him with something cold and scared hidden in them, as his face flustered and his breathing picked up.

“No,” He mumbled, shaking his head that dripped with sweat, feeling his chest constricting as she grabbed him harder.

“Where are you? We need you to fight!” She yelled, shaking him now as if to hope to snap him back into his senses.

“Let me in, Steven!” Marc’s voice came from the abandoned mirror, his reflection twisted into a cruel sneer as Marc watched him freeze in place, Steven’s bright eyes lost and scared.

It was too much for Steven. He was expected to be something, someone, that he had no idea existed until a few days ago. This was no longer about waking up late or funny dreams, or sand around his bed and tape on his door. This was real. Real consequences. Two very real women depending on him to become this hero and save the day.

They needed him to be Marc. But he wasn’t. He was Steven Grant. And that was all he’d ever be.

“No, I can’t please. Stop it both of you,” Steven’s voice snapped Dove out of her focus on the outside, her fingers sore with where they gripped the window frames distraughtly.

She saw his overwhelmed figure. The way Layla held him in an iron grip, her voice raising in distress as she kept asking him to snap out of it, to bring out ‘the suit’. She saw the way Steven’s eyes flicked between the woman and the mirror, his voice clogging up with unshed tears.

Finally giving up on the windows as an option, she stormed over to where the two of them stood, grabbing Steven by the shoulder and pulling his arms away from Layla’s desperate grip.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” She growled, feeling Steven make a grab for her hand as she confronted the woman.

“He should be scared! If he doesn’t get the suit the three of us are going to die, do you not get that?” Layla’s voice raised, but even the younger woman could see her face was rigid with fear. It was fear causing her to be so harsh, not malice. Layla was only human after all. The memory of that thing that had chased her through the museum resurfaced painfully, a phantom stab blooming over her stomach that seemed entirely healed, as if it hadn’t practically ripped her guts through her soft flesh and spilled them onto the marble floor.

“Shouting at him isn’t going to fix that, it’s not his fault. We just find another way out, okay?” Dove snipped, shutting down any other argument Layla could give her, and turned to Steven with a soft expression, “Okay?” She asked gently.

Steven stayed quiet, but he nodded, tears welled in his eyes, his face just as scared as she felt inside. She was shitting herself, her muscles tensing up with every grunt that came from the creature on the other side of the door. But cornering Steven and asking so much of him when neither of them truly understood what was happening was only doing harm.

“Alright,” Layla mumbled in defeat, her lush brows drawn into a frown, despair lingering in her hazelnut eyes as she headed back to the smaller, side window and peered out to the building below, “I can see a fire escape on this roof-”

But no sooner had the woman come to terms with the fact there was no hero coming to save them from this mess, the barricade had given way with a loud pop as the metal bar split clean in two.

A single breath, a moment of pure silence where Layla’s head whipped from her fraught attempt at seeking an escape route, where Steven and Dove clutched onto each other just that bit tighter. The doors swung wide on their hinges, smacking into the walls with the force and crumbling the bricks into piles of red dust on the already dirty floors.

A figure stood in the entrance. She could only think to describe it as a tall man trying to wear a dog’s body. Its limbs were gangly, skinny, mottled and rotted skin stretching thinly over them. Four feet at the end of boney elbows carried dagger like claws, thin wisps of white hairs poking from its spine. Its face was that of a possessed wolf, skeletal and gaunt, its mouth opening into a roaring snarl with two yellow-green eyes staring back at them with a haunting glow.

The air escaped Dove’s lungs the second it let out a familiar hum of hunger. This was the thing that had attacked her. That had killed her last night. This was the thing that had plunged its hand into her stomach with no remorse, tearing her organs to shreds in a single swipe.

The creature, the jackal, looked ahead at the two of them, holding onto each other for damn near life, her nails digging into his toned arm at her sheer trepidation. Its jaws fell open, saliva dripping from its dead lips as it gathered its legs up and prepared to lunge.

“Jackal, J-JACKAL” Steven yelled, his hands beginning to shake as he pointed at the creature.

“Oh my god- Oh my-” His friend could barely get out her words, panic constricting around her heart that thudded through her ribs hard enough to have her choking on her sentence and stay quiet, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight of the thing.

She much preferred when she couldn’t see the damn thing.

The Jackal took a breath, and the girl set in its sights could have sworn she heard it laugh, before it bolted at them.

The two of them screamed, Steven shoving her to the floor as its lithe body made contact and sent both their bodies flying through the glass, falling, falling, falling down all three levels and onto the hard concrete.

“Oh my GOD!” Layla shrieked, her eyes trained on the huge gap in the wall where her ex-husband had been thrown through by some invisible force, before they lowered to where his not-mistress was cowering on the floor after being manhandled away from the danger. She caressed her scraped elbow silently, her gaze also locked on the broken glass.

Realising the girl was in shock, Layla leaned down to a pile of bricks, grabbing one and promptly raising it above her head, bringing it down onto the side window harshly. The glass cracked slightly, before she hit it again a few more times and it gave way completely, scattering across the tiled roof on the other side. Throwing her jacket over the broken glass, she hopped over the window ledge and onto the slanted roof, careful not to skid on the smooth stone. Whipping back to the girl that had seemed to come to her senses and was now looking at her bewildered, Layla yelled a single “Come on!” through the gap in the window, before turning and heading towards the fire escape alone.

Steven. Not Steven, please not him. Steven’s gone. Steven’s dead, or at least he will be soon, no doubt his body crumpled on the floor, practically laid out as a buffet for that monster.

He’d thrown her out of the way, given his own life for one so undeserving as her own.

A man so kind and gentle, good, shouldn’t have rescued her, someone entirely not that.

Being dragged out of her daze at Layla’s yell, her head snapped to where she’d managed to create an escape, the woman looking at her expectantly before she turned and headed towards the edge of the roof.

Steven could still be alive, she told herself, he could be okay.

Holding that hope close to her chest, she pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the exit Layla had taken.

Please be okay. Please be okay. I’ll give every life I have to give if it means you’re safe.

Her hand was seconds from gracing Layla’s jacket when she heard it. Another growl.

No, not a growl. A chuckle. Dark, deep and rolling, an amused laugh from a thick chest that was loud enough to fill the entire room with its timbre.

And she knew. She didn’t understand how, but she knew. She knew who waited for her to turn around. To meet his black, inky gaze with fright.

But she was frozen. Despite her body being cold for the past day, the chill that ran through her spine was enough to have every single one of her hairs stand on end. Her voice was gone, her chest tight, her throat closed up.

“I know you’ve been waiting for me, my little monster,”

His voice was a rumble, though a smile laced his words. His every syllable sent a thrum of horror through her veins, her body going numb. As if she weren’t here. She was watching a movie through her eyes, and the villain was coming, the story was ending. The credits were about to start rolling.

She said nothing. Didn’t dare move an inch, praying to anyone listening that she could become as invisible as that jackal had been. Yet she felt him getting closer. His feet made no sound, but she felt him draw near. The same way a person feels they’re not alone in a haunted house. Like seeing shadows in the corner of your eye. Like feeling something watching you from the darkness when you wake from a nightmare.

A hand trailed down her loose hair, running long, slim fingers through her locks, he gave a growl of praise. “I’ve been waiting for you too,”

She started crying. Her face got hot, her eyes stinging as she tried to hold the tears back, only for them to scorch her cheeks as they rolled down, her expression pulling into an ugly whimper.

Closing her eyes, she told herself if she couldn’t see him he was just a voice in her head. If she didn’t look him in the eye he had no control over her. It was just a bad dream. A side effect of the stress. An auditory halluc-

“Oh, don’t cry,” A cold knuckle dragged over her cheek, swiping away a tear. His finger alone took up half her jaw. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to save you, little beasty,” His voice was dark, but gentle. As if he cared. As if he didn’t want her afraid. “Think of what we could do to Harrow, together,”

She didn’t doubt he had ideas for what torture he wanted to rain down on the man. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be feared, or to hurt people, or to kill. She didn’t want to be bad. Or to feel even more so that there was something crawling out of her soul, a demon that showed everyone just who she really was. What she really was.

“No,” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a small step away from him.

“No?” He asked, a deadly calm washing over his voice. “People have taken from you your whole life. Taken and taken for their own selfish needs,” Seth cooed, circling her with his behemoth frame as more tears flowed over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut with a frown, “I see your anger, your need for vengeance. To make them hurt the way they hurt you-”

“NO,” She yelled this time, her hands coming up to grab at her hair, her body giving in to his words. He knew her. He knew her like an old friend, like he knew himself. Like she knew him. Like he’d been there for every bad thing that had happened to her. Like he was there for the whole of that time, he was there that day.

That day. That body. What she’d done to him.

“You hurt, little beasty,” Seth said, coming to stand in front of her. She felt his two huge hands hold onto her shoulders, one coming to her chin to tip it up to his face.

If she opened her eyes now she’d see his sable black eyes looking down at her in an aching hunger. As if he revelled in the fact she was so pliant to his touch, that he could snap her neck within a flick of his finger and she could do nothing about it. She clamped her eyes shut harder, desperate to not fall for his gentle words, or the familiarity that came with his touch. No, he wanted this, he wanted her to concede, to trust him. To give into him.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I see the way you hurt. I see the fear in you that came long before I did. That they’ll all see you as I do,” He said, caressing her jaw with his sharp claws, a single ounce of pressure too much and her skin would be slashed open.

“Stop,” She begged, her face wet with tears, her throat closing with a sob that drew out her request like a child.

“Stop?” Seth’s voice was different now. The semblance of kindness that had been there in a fleeting moment was gone, replaced again with a thunderclap of a laugh, “You poor sweet morning lamb. We’ve not even begun,”

Her eyes opened for a split second when she felt her body tense up, the feeling as close to rigour mortis as she could imagine, as a dark flash of movement, a row of sharp teeth, and insidious black eyes were all she saw as he took over every part of her body.

Death took her body for the second time, though this time she felt everything.

Layla watched its jaws open as its head flicked to her, its deep grunt of annoyance echoing through the empty street, before it's long, slim arms were thrust outwards and grabbed the two of them by the jugular, boney, rough fingers wrapping around their throats and squeezing.

Steven was lifted off the ground, Layla suffering the same fate after she had thrown an empty beer bottle at the demon’s head, the tiny shards of refracted light bouncing off the glass like a mirrorball and outlining the head of a monstrous creature.

Layla felt the brick smack harshly against her spine as the thing threw her to the wall, the same way Steven was tossed against a parked car, the passenger window cracking from the pressure and the alarm wailing in protest.

They both stood up again immediately, Layla’s eyes scanning the floor for anything to use as a weapon, before her almond eyes fell on the neck of the bottle she’d thrown, the jagged edge of broken glass sharp and fatal. Diving for the shiv, she swiped at the area she thought the creature could be stood, though her attempt only proved futile as her wrist was grabbed almost too easily and the weapon was ripped out of her hands.

The woman made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cry as she was tossed to the hard ground like a ragdoll, Steven being thrown next to her as he made a move to grab the monster as well.

The two of them gasped as the hands seemed to swipe them to the ground harshly, like a cat toying with its meal, dragging the torture out as long as possible before they gave up and submitted to being ravaged. The two of them looked at each other in alarm, Steven’s eyes a bright white behind the suit, as they felt the jackal grab their ankles and drag. Their bodies scraped against the pavement, the two of them kicking and squealing, writhing to get out of the monster's grip, only to be yanked into the air once more, the blood rushing to their skulls the second they were pulled from the concrete earth.

“Steven, do something!” Layla wailed, her cheeks pooling a purple colour the longer they were held, though she never relented in her hits, her arms and free leg waving around for any soft tissue she could get at.

“Marc’s the one who fights these shits, not me!” Steven called back, trying desperately to reach for his batons to inflict any damage he could.

Layla felt her head building with pressure, her eyes becoming painful to shut as she blinked slowly, the darkened streets turned upside down in her mind. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, her eyes locking in on a figure standing at the other end of the wide street, unrecognisable to her dazed eyesight.

“Steven?” Layla murmured drunkenly, her hand coming up to grab his arm that was still flailing around.

“What?”

“Who is that?” The woman asked, pointing to the dark silhouette that stood and watched them.

Steven’s illuminated eyes followed her finger to see the figure still with statue-like grace, silent yet never relenting their dark stare.

His eyes trailed from their body, muscled and in a wide, casual stance, their arms resting at their sides. Their entire body seemed to be in some kind of black, chestplated one piece suit, pads of armour on their vulnerable parts, thin spindles of gold wrapping around the suit in a skeletal fashion. The armour spread over the backs of their hands, opening out into golden claw-like razors at the tips of their fingers that didn’t so much as twitch with fright at the sight of two strangers suspended in the mid air.

A black muzzle wound its way over their mouth just above where the suit ended at their jaw, their hair falling over the back of their shoulders to reveal more of the golden weaves that fell around their neck and over their breastplate, accentuating the woman’s curves whilst also giving off the look they were wearing a set of bones on their armour.

Two six-inch shells of armour protruded from their headpiece, curved yet in lithe points, like long dog ears, like a Whippet’s, high and alert.

“I-I don’t know,” Steven murmured, though he found himself unable to take his eyes off the shadowed figure. He wasn’t even sure they were breathing at the way they were frozen solid, their head tilted slightly as if intrigued by the scene in front of them.

It was then that it seemed the Jackal realised they had company. But this jackal wasn’t alone. It had brought friends too.

The figure seemed to cut out of their daze as another of the behemoth beasts came stalking out of the darkness, as if to have been waiting for the scraps of the kill. But it had prey of its own now. This mystery woman.

Steven’s heart fell into his mouth, which wasn’t too hard seeing as he was still being held upside down by the creature.

“Run!” Steven called to her, though she seemed to take no notice of his cries, “Get out of here!”

But the woman stood still, head snapping to where the jackal walked forward, slowly and with a hungry grin on its face as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its chest. This thing was going to rip her to pieces, Steven thought numbly. And it was going to be all his fault for not giving the body back to Marc.

“Marc,” Steven said with a panic as the thing stepped closer to her still, her head tilting more at the sound of its approach, though that was the only inch she moved, “Marc- take the body- Marc- MARC-”

But he was too late. Steven winced as the jackal lunged towards her, jaws wide open and large enough to swallow her entire skull with one bite. He wanted to look away but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves off the scene, though he knew a blood bath was coming. He felt the bile rise already at the idea of it, though maybe that was the gravity talking.

But Steven’s heart practically stopped when his eyes caught another slight flicker of movement from the woman and he realised exactly what he was seeing.

The Jackal’s jaws were pried open, stuck in the moment the creature had leapt forward. It took Steven a second to realise the woman’s hands were the ones holding them ajar, her sharp nails latching into its snout and chin, blood already running down her hands at the sheer vigour at which she held onto the dead flesh. The beast gave a whine, its body jolting forward as it tried to overpower her, only to have no luck. She didn’t budge a single hair's width.

Steven’s eyes widened, the beams of light engrossed with the scene before his eyes. Who on earth was that? How could she see the jackals like he could, let alone wrestle one?

“Steven, give me the body,” Marc demanded from inside his head, though Steven caught the trace of nerves that rang at his voice like a church bell on a silent morning.

“Who is that, Marc?” Steven asked, his eyes widening when he saw the figure forcing the jackal to back down a step as she forced herself towards the creature, clearly stronger than the monster twice her size.

“Steven, I will explain everything later, just please give me the body or she’s gonna get hurt,” Marc said with the same edge to his voice that he had before. The way Marc dodged his question had sirens wailing in Steven’s chest, louder than anything else the American man inside him had said.

Steven’s voice cut out when he watched the figure grab the beast's jaws even tighter, yanking them apart with a sickening crunch as the joints popped out of their place. She didn’t stop there, not even as the creature gagged and squirmed, a yawp of pain echoing around the street as it scrambled to get out of her grip. But she was relentless. She tugged apart the lower mandible even wider, wider than could ever be natural, and a gut wrenching rip came next.

The creature stopped moving. Stopped crying. Stopped everything. It slumped to the ground in defeat, the woman standing over its body with no mercy as she held the wad of flesh in her hand, blood running from her fingertips as smooth as water.

The creature's lower jaw was thrown to the ground, its face a mush of exposed muscle, its throat torn cleanly open. It was then her gaze set onto the other jackal with a slow turn of her head and a low growl echoed through Steven’s bones.

It took him a second to realise it wasn’t the creature that held him that was making the sound. It was coming from her.

Layla and Steven were dropped to the ground as she approached the creature, the two of them gasping for air, their heads spinning with the blood crashing around their brains.

The jackal set its sights on her too, eager to avenge its fallen companion, the two of them circling one another for a moment. She made the first move, her black boots near silent against the cobbled street as she leapt with cat-like grace to tackle it to the ground.

She was able to get her arms around its neck as it met her in the air, her muscled arms quick to begin choking the thing, squeezing until they heard the sound of its shoulder popping out of place. The jackal gave a yelp similar to the other one, only it dragged out into an angry snarl as its huge clawed hand grabbed onto her by the scruff of her neck.

It threw her away from itself, desperate to get her strong hands off its body, and tossed her a good ten feet away, into the middle of a busy road where she bounced over the bonnet of a car and smashed its left headlight in.

Steven was quick to jump to his feet as the monster’s head flicked away from the woman, back to where he and Layla stood.

“Steven, you’re being dumb. Don’t do this, you can’t do this-” Marc protested, though Steven felt whatever bravery he had left collecting together as he clenched his hand together in a tight fist.

“I think- I think I can,” He replied, the Jackal stalking closer to him with its three good legs. It stepped forward, its confidence shaken by the woman that was now getting back up and pacing her way over to the two of them much too calmly for someone who had been thrown so harshly. “You want some more do you, you mangy, Macedonian mutt?” Steven tried to taunt, though he could feel the tinge of fear still quelling at his chest at the sheer brute size of the thing even when wounded.

The creature roared in response, gathering its hind legs up to lunge again, as Steven drew back his arm to swing.

But he was too late. The woman had returned with a silent agility. Steven saw nothing but a flash of black and gold as she dived for the jackal’s throat, clawing and snarling at its chest as she took the thing down with her in one swoop. Steven watched with an agape jaw as she lifted the creature up as if it were nothing more than a sack of grain, and threw the jackal into the same parked car already cracked from where Steven had hit it, the opposite window getting the brunt of the attack as it smashed and the door caved easily.

The creature lay still for a while, giving Steven time to confront the woman who had helped him, and hopefully answer the questions that Marc had dodged.

“Oh my god,” Steven started, approaching the woman from behind where she was stood, barely out of breath for what had just occurred, “Excuse me, who exactly are you, you’re just bloody amazing-”

Raising his hand to touch the woman's shoulder gently, Steven practically had the wind knocked out of him as she turned on her heel in less than a blink of his two white eyes, and threw him to the ground as easily as she had the creature. Kneeling over him, his body mushy underneath her sadistic strength, he felt his knees go weak as she grabbed him by his collar and brought him to her face where her eyes trailed over his own face, a horrifically deep snarl emanated from her chest, shaking his lungs with its power.

“WOAH, Woah wait. I’m not going to hurt you, though I supposed I should be more worried about you hurting me-” It was then that he actually took in what he could see of her face.

The colour of the hair that fell around her face as she leant over him, the shape of her face that wasn’t covered by the black muzzle that wrapped around her mouth and over her nose, thin and metallic and yet making her sounds all the more terrifying. Her eyes, the iris gone and replaced by inky black pits of darkness that blinked down at him with famine.

But that face. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in the thickest of fogs, the darkest of Winters. He could find her in any crowd, in any life. And if he was to go blind by morning, he’d know her by the way she breathed alone.

And he did. Despite the fact her breath was laden with grunts, he knew her. He knew her.

“Dove?” Steven muttered, hands coming to hold her face gently, his brows furrowed with confusion, “Dove, what happened to you-”

His hand had all but brushed her cheek, a gentle action that normally would have had her preening to his touch, had her snapping at the bit, and Steven was sure she would have taken his hand clean off had she not been muzzled like a rabid dog.

Steven jumped back as she came closer to him, an even louder rumble of fury damn near bursting his ear drums as she warned him off of touching her. She was not his dove. Not the girl he knew. Not the girl he loved. She was a feral beast untamed and wild, eager to hurt him as much as she had attacked the jackal were he to get too close.

“Dove?” Steven asked one more time, though he kept his hands in surrender as she manhandled him, pushing him to the floor more as she pinned him down, her black eyes empty and raw as she stared at him, “It’s me, Steven. Your Steven,”

Nothing. He gained no reaction from her, not so much as a blink. This was not her. This was a savage creature that knew no such thing as gentle touches and loving words.

She did nothing but stare at him, waiting for him to make a move out of line so she could tear him to shreds. And yet, Steven lay there as if to submit his body to her if she wanted to do such a thing. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t fight back. Could never lay an unkind hand on her even if it came to his last moments on the earth. He could die by her hands and he would still consider himself lucky to have been touched by such a creature.

She raised a clawed hand up to bring down on his masked face, a strength in the hit strong enough to tear clean through the ceremonial armour and likely leave him disfigured, if not cleave his skull in two on the spot. But she didn’t get a chance to strike. No sooner had she raised herself up to end it all, the Jackal launched its beaten body at her crouching form, the two of them tumbling away from Steven’s shaking body and rolling amongst one another in a flurry of wails and growls.

She flew off him spitting and yowling like a feral street cat, a sound no normal human should make as the creature bit down on her arm hard.

Steven felt two arms dragging him upwards and away from the scene, Layla could only imagine what was going on as the mystery woman’s arm sprayed her own blood over the concrete with every swipe of her claws.

“What is that?” Layla asked breathlessly, practically yanking Steven away as he trembled under her hands. She froze when Steven said her name, her name, the name of the girl she had left in that room to make her own way out. “What? Is this Harrow’s doing? Turning her into some crazy dog-woman?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said with a defeated tone, his chest aching at the way she had looked at him with no recognition of who he was. “I think…” Steven thought for a moment, “I think Marc will know how to help her,”

Layla nodded at him, her eyes taking in his broken expression, patting him on the arm gently, “Okay. Okay, bring him out,”

Steven turned away from her, sparing a small glance to the woman who held his life so closely in her hands, who had been seconds away from ending it, who he gave himself to entirely were it to be that he saw her in his last few moments of living. She scrapped with the jackal, two wild beasts gaining on eachother, drawing blood whenever and wherever they could.

“Marc,” Steven said, his eyes never leaving her blank face, spots of blood now sprayed over her nose like freckles. He felt his alter perk up at the name, his body already tensing up as Marc clawed at the reigns to take over now.

“Yeah, buddy?” Marc asked, though he could see everything Steven was seeing, and his heart already sunk at the unrecognisable thousand mile stare she had.

This was it. Seth had her now. “Save her,”

authors note: I used an AI to create what I think Dove looks like in her suit and-

These are the vibes we’re going for! Please feel free to imagine her as ANY shape, ANY ethnicity and ANY height however, these were just what the AI generated!

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

MCU

@blackcat420

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @nyctophile-moon-child

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #marc spector #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #moonknight x reader #moon knight imagine #moonknight imagine #moon knight x reader #khonshu #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely fanfiction #jake lockely x you #angst #fluff #layla el faouly

345 notes · View notes

tales-unique · 2 years

Text

THE SANDS OF TIME II

Chapter 2

This time, Khonshu comes during the middle of the day. Despite his nonexistent eyes he grumbles about the intensity of the sunlight to himself, septor clanging a metronomic beat that accompanies his words with each step upon the sandy ground. Ra be damned, the sun didn't need to be that bright! Inside, he easily singles you out of around a half dozen other clergy members, standing at the far end of the chamber. Before you is a beautiful mural painted upon the stone wall, spanning the length of the room. It’s clear to see that you’re but one of many working on it, but he cannot help himself in thinking that your talent shines through in its own way. "What do you think, Baahir?" You murmur to the elderly man at your side, setting aside your pigments and brushes to admire your handiwork. “Do you think Khonshu will be pleased?” You ask, unaware that the very God you speak of is standing at your side. “He will be, once we are finished,” Baahir smiles and you return the gesture warmly. Khonshu barely catches the expression before it’s gone, replaced with concentration as you return to your work. Smiles suit you, he notes. The way you expertly glide the brush across the stone renders compliments to fall alarmingly easily from the usually deprecative God, the attention to detail moving him. It’s almost loving , the way you ensure that the curve of his beak is done just right, the gleam in his dark eyes is painted just so. Your mouth boasts an admiring smile as you look over his painted countenance. I already am , he says aloud, though he knows the words fall of deaf ears. Not unlike when he watched your lyre playing from nights past, his observations go unnoticed. He is invisible and for once in his long, long life it stings to know it. Bitterness settles within him, until he gets an idea. And so he decides to do something daring, something that would most certainly get him in trouble. He doesn’t care — since when has he ever paid heed to the concerns and criticisms of the other? Taking leave of you, once again, proves to pluck awkwardly at the strings of his long gone heart, and it’s become a pestering sort of pull that riles him up unlike anything else. Like an accidental tug on stitches it has him momentarily stunned before annoyance blooms like an unwanted weed. Yet this weed is oddly alluring and beautiful and he finds excuses each time to avoid removing it, even though he really should. You’ll take over him at this rate if left unchecked and it’s something he can’t afford to allow. Calling on Chisisi is an easy feat, given that the woman is in his service as his current Avatar and Moon Knight. Convincing her to let him take over her body for reasons she need not know is, admittedly, a little tougher but no less achievable. Not that he enjoys this. Taking over the body of a human is akin to being wrapped tightly in hot, wet gauze and slowly suffocating. To feel their very mortality, so constrained and yet so fleeting, is a feeling that he’ll fervently deny repeating unless absolutely necessary. Just not right now, of course. Khonshu still wants to meet you, talk to you, and this is the only way it will happen for now. "Do you even know this woman?" Chisisi's voice echoes from the reflection of a bucket of water, dark eyes squinted in suspicion. "I, well— in a manner of speaking, yes," Khonshu replies in a voice that isn't his own. He pointedly avoids looking at her as he passes by. “You do not really know her, and I certainly do not!” Chisisi continues, this time in passing through the glinting blade of a tanners knife. “She will not understand, Khonshu.” Of course he knows that is likely going to be the case, but he’ll help you to understand and once you do you’ll be in awe as any mortal would be upon meeting the God they worship. At least, that’s the plan.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight Imagine #Moon Knight Imagines #Moon Knight x Reader #Khonshu #Khonshu Imagine #Khonshu Imagines #Khonshu x Reader #(IT FINALLY WORKS)

57 notes · View notes

thepaperpanda · 2 years

Text

The Neverending Love || Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: a brief visit during one of the nights transforms your life

Rating: explicit! (+18)

Warnings: unprotected sex, Khonshu being a dick & Sekhmet being a bitch (strange AU where Khonshu was romantically involved with Sekhmet) 🤭

Word count: ~6,3k

Pairing: Jake Lockley x fem!Reader, Khonshu & fem!Reader, Sekhmet & Jake Lockley, Sekhmet & fem!Reader, Khonshu & Sekhmet

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

A/N: green italics indicate Khonshu, blue italics indicate Sekhmet & orange italics illustrate Jake speaking Spanish. If you'd like another part, please let us know in the comment section below the fic, we'd love to hear your thoughts :)

The loud banging on your door that night was the last thing you expected. This has ruined your plans for a peaceful night of sleep.

Groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and walked to the door, only to be met by a battered man barely standing on his own feet. Another thing stood behind him was a massive figure with a bird skull for a head.

"I need your assistance, Sekhmet!" Figure yelled, slamming the staff to the ground. "Don't pretend you're not here! I recognize this tiny human as your avatar."

This was when your Goddess decided to enter the picture. Her sight wasn't anything out of the ordinary; you were used to seeing a large human-like figure with a lioness head. "What's the point of bothering us, Khonshu?" She growled, exposing her fangs as you cupped the man's cheek to examine it.

"He's been seriously injured. I can't let him go to the hospital or any medical facility, we need to keep our heads down," Khonshu responded by tilting his head. "Will you assist us? Or are you going to let this poor thing bleed to death right now in front of your door?"

"Do you not have your robes? You can heal him by yourself. There's no need to bother me or my avatar," the goddess frowned as she spoke.

Khonshu hit the floor of a staircase with his staff a few times, one hand on his hip. "Suits are for other people. This one didn't get any, so I can't keep him alive. Do you still have any questions before the man bleeds? Maybe a form to fill out? I require your assistance."

Sekhmet laughed sarcastically. "You always lacked even the most basic manners, Khonshu. This will never change," she said as she bowed her head and looked down at you. "Y/N, take him in."

Nodding, you took the man's arm and draped it over your shoulder to assist him in walking into your flat.

Jake could barely move his legs; he felt as if he had lost control of his body, but he managed to follow you inside, grunting with each step.

Khonshu nodded to the goddess as a thank you.

Goddess ignored it and disappeared, only to reappear inside with you.

You assisted the man in getting on the couch and immediately began to examine his body to determine what you were dealing with.

Jake couldn't help but grumble when you touched his belly.

"You poor thing," you said quietly, standing up to get your first aid kit.

"Who'd have guessed Khonshu would choose someone like this as his avatar?" Sekhmet muttered as he leaned over the couch to look at Jake.

You quickly returned to him and moved his shirt up to treat the wound first. "There is a reason for this. You don't pick avatars at random."

"He's my vengeance's fist," Khonshu said. "And he's a natural at it. What did you mean by that, little person?"

The lioness laughed loudly. "If this is how he looks after delivering your vengeance, you made a bad decision. You have to be desperate."

Khonshu yelled, "Apologize! Take a look at your avatar! I won't apologize to you!" She declared proudly, "Right now, your avatar's life is in my and her hands, so behave."

"PLEASE!" You yelled loudly, looking at both gods. "I want to help him and the two of you arguing over my head make it hard to concentrate.”

"She's right," Khonshu pointed his staff at you. "Smart, little worm."

Jake groaned when you started cleaning his wound.

"You are like a wind," Sekhmet said, sighing deeply. "The soon she is done, the sooner you leave."

With that, the goddess was gone and you sighed deeply, finally being able to focus on man's injuries.

"Who is she?" Jake asked looking at Khonshu.

"She's the avatar, just like you are," the god replied.

"Hi there," you said with a smile. "Bad news, whatever happened, you got it really bad. Good news, you'll survive."

"Yeah, if you'll patch me up and not him," he pointed at the god, "Then I'm more than sure I'll survive, doll."

"Positive fella, I can see," you chuckled and took the bandage to finally wrap his stomach. After that you were a bit closer to cleaning the wound on his forehead. "Other injuries aren't too serious. You will be back on your feet in a few days."

Jake pressed his palm against your cheek, his calloused thumb rubbing the softness of your skin. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't get any blood on me," you smiled and gently pushed his hand away from your cheek. When you finished with his forehead, you stood up and went to the kitchen to get a wet towel to clean and wrap his knuckles.

"Where did you get such a beautiful friend, Khonshu?" Jake asked, his brow furrowed and he hissed slightly as he felt a sharp pain spread across his chest and stomach.

"Long story. We won't get into that right now. Maybe I'll tell you a bedtime story one day."

"She is just an avatar of an actual friend, human," Sekhmet said, leaning over Jake as she appeared in the room again. "You should be grateful for our assistance, you pathetic man."

All you could do at this point was sigh deeply while gently washing Jake's hands.

"And I was certain that nothing would surprise me after speaking to a bird skull. Nonetheless, es curioso que aparezcas ahora," Jake retorted, a little harshly.

"Show some dignity, you pitiful, little thing. You ended up at our mercy because of him, and you dare to speak to me like that?" Goddess snarled.

Jake turned around to face you. "I hope your goddess is kinder to you. You deserve to be taken care of."

Khonshu poked Sekhmet in the ribs. "May we talk? Allow them to do their jobs."

"For now, only my avatar is doing any work, but fine, let's talk," she gave a nod.

You laughed when they both left the two of you alone. "She's nice to me. I have a feeling she isn't pleased with Khonshu's presence. If this is the state Khonshu has led you to, I should be more concerned about your well-being."

"Knowing his nature, I'd be surprised if he had other friends among gods. They all hate him, he's a misfit," Jake chuckled a little, a strong cough followed. "And this," he pointed to his body, "It was just an accident, that's on me, not him."

"He should look after you no matter what," you explained simply, putting away the towel that had been used to clean his palms. "You'll stay with me until I'm confident I can let you go."

"It's unnecessary? You've already helped, and believe me, I don't want to hear your goddess's whining."

"It wasn't a request, sweetie, it was a statement," you said, smiling. "You stay here until you're ready to leave."

He supported himself on his elbows. "Gracias."

Meanwhile, Khonshu and Sekhmet went to another room. "Is it really necessary for you to behave in this manner? In my direction?"

"You barge in, demanding my assistance and insulting my avatar. Do you expect me to submit to you?" Sekhmet inquired, crossing arms over her chest.

"I came here to seek assistance. You were the first to spout insults, as you always are."

"You should be grateful that I welcomed you here. Like others, I should condemn you and let your avatar die," she snarled.

"Is there anything I've ever done to you? No, I don't believe so. Besides, our avatars appear to like one another."

"Like," scoffed Sekhmet. "Y/N is overall a nice person, she works as a nurse and helps people, she's fond of everyone."

"Jake doesn't, and it's unusual for him to be nice to anyone, so I can already say he detected goodness in her."

"Someone is rescuing his ass. The last thing he'd do was try to be mean. Particularly to my avatar," the goddess sighed. "I'm actually surprised you decided to come here."

"What else could I possibly do? He's far too valuable to me."

"So valuable that you let him get to this point. Do you still believe someone is attempting to resurrect Ammit? Is that why you're dragging this poor soul around?" Sekhmet inquired, intrigued.

"I don't think so, I'm certain this is what it is, and I'm at least trying to do something about it, to prevent many innocent people from dying. Of course, you and others have different opinions, I'm aware, but you're mistaken."

"You know I can have a different opinion but it doesn't depend on me, sadly."

Khonshu nodded, confirming he understood.

Meanwhile, you were fully done with taking care of Jake's injuries. "There. All done. You should try and sleep now to let your body rest."

As his hand caught yours, he nodded. "Muchas gracias."

Since his hand was so bruised, you squeezed it gently. "No problem. I will get you a blanket. If you will need anything, call me."

"You already helped me, I don't want to overuse your hospitality."

"I mean it," you said, covering him with a blanket. "It should keep you warm and cozy. If you feel unwell or something is happening, just call me. My door will be open, so I will definitely hear you."

"Sólo quería decirte que ni siquiera sé tu nombre," he protested.

"It's Y/N," you smiled. "Khonshu! I'm done with your friend. Check to make sure he does not try to escape."

Khonshu glanced at Sekhmet and thanked her. After making it to the living room, he decided to look at Jake on his own. There was no doubt that his avatar looked weak, bruised, and exhausted. "Lockley, next time, be careful. Only you have left for me."

Seeing you, Sekhmet said, "You should rest. I can tell you're tired."

"I am going, I am going. Don't worry," you said, walking to your room.

Khonshu sat in the chair and crossed his legs. "Rest, Lockley. You're much needed. Gather your strength for what's ahead."

Jake opened his eyes after some time. He looked at his watch and discovered it was only 5 am. In an attempt to find a bathroom, he reluctantly sat up and got up from the bed.

Despite the fact that you were still asleep in your bedroom, the doors were open just as you had promised. Usually, if someone walks around your flat, you'd wake up, but Jake's visit was so late that you really needed sleep.

Jake, noticing the open door, peered in and, seeing you sleeping, tugged on your sheets. He took a look around and decided to limp around the flat. He found the bathroom in the process.

In the end, you sat up and rubbed your eye, a tiny bit awoken. "Jake... Are you okay?"

He stopped by your door as he was returning from the bathroom. "Lo siento, bebé, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's fine. I don't have a good night's sleep. You shouldn't be walking like this," you said slowly.

"The patches you applied yesterday made me feel fine."

As you walked up to him, you sighed deeply. "I'm glad you do, but the wound on your stomach didn't look good. You should be very careful when moving."

His breath hitched a bit as he said, "I am. You should also return to bed to get some more rest."

"First, I will help you get to the couch, but I don't like you sleeping on it with an injury like that," you said grimly. "Maybe I'll put you in my bed."

"Don't bother yourself, por favor.”

"If you say so," you sighed, letting him lean on you. "Even so, I don't like that you sleep on the couch."

He remained silent as you brought him back to the living room and let him nestle on the couch.

"Do you need anything? Nothing hurts?"

"Just the stomach. Overall it's alright."

"Well, it wasn't the smallest wound..." You said as you walked slowly to the kitchen. After a short moment, you returned to him with a pill and a glass of water. "This should help you."

He accepted both and easily swallowed the pill, downing the glass of water immediately. "Gracias. I have no idea how I'll repay you. You're so kind."

You shrugged and explained, "The most gratifying reward would be not showing up here in such a state again. This is how I am. Guess it's coming from being a nurse."

"So you're a nurse? That explains your medical knowledge and the gentleness with which you treat others in need."

"Yeah, it does explain some things. Additionally, Sekhmet gives me more opportunities that are more like a curse... But they do help sometimes."

"Lo mismo con Khonshu."

"We both are cursed in some way," you joked before patting him on the shoulder. "Rest some more, Jake."

When you returned back to your bedroom, Jake slipped one hand under his head to feel more comfortable. The wound on his stomach didn't give him a second of rest so he rethought everything that had happened to him.

In the morning, he overslept for the pain vanished sometime after the pill you administered to him.

You slept more than usual, thankfully it was your week off. The first thing you did after getting up was check on Jake, making sure he was fine. The man was fine and still asleep, so instead of disturbing him, you headed to the kitchen.

"Y/N, you've known me for a while, and you know how difficult it is for me to say that but I'm grateful for your assistance," it was Khonshu, peering into the kitchen.

You squeaked loudly and twitched in your place, almost dropping the bread you were holding in your hands. Being used to Sekhmet was one thing, you were not used at all to another Egyptian god hunting you. "Y-You are welcome, Khonshu, but please, don't scare me like that anymore."

He assured, "It wasn't my intention, little human. How did you and Sekhmet get along?"

"Apparently she was lurking around the hospital where I work. She picked me, for some strange reason," you explained. "Why are you bothering this man? He is not well.”

"He's strong and due to his personal issues, I can say he's easily manipulated, it's useful for my purposes."

"He is not mentally stable. I can feel diseases because of the abilities Sekhmet provides me with. His mind is like... One... But varying in three different ways," you shook your head. "What you are doing isn't fair."

"Vengeance is not always fair, my little human. Sometimes it requires a real sacrifice which Jake provides perfectly. The universe isn't a fair place."

"You truly think anyone will believe your silly accusations while your avatar is in such a poor state?” Sekhmet asked, appearing in the room.

"You again? I'm speaking with your avatar who at least knows how to be respectful."

"I am respectful when I have a reason to be respectful. Right now I would hit you so hard that your stupid skull would break," you growled. "You are using this man."

"And it started. Time to vanish for a while," and with that, Khonshu disappeared.

Shaking your head, you began to prepare breakfast and coffee for yourself and your patient. You felt angry and really wished you could do something. With a heavy sigh, you walked to the living room once everything was ready. You set the plates and cups on the coffee table. Then, you sat on the couch next to Jake and gently stroked his hair. "Hey. Time to wake up."

Reluctantly, with a loud gasp, he opened his eyes and looked directly at your face. "Buenos días."

"I didn't expect to have a guest in the middle of the night. I apologize for the simple breakfast."

"I apologize for bothering you."

You scolded him, drinking your coffee. "I'll smack you if I hear something like this again."

He nodded, sitting up. " ¿Dónde ha desaparecido? Nevermind, wonderful. I don't even know where he left me."

"In safe hands. Don't worry. Eat up, you need to regain your strength," you advised Jake to focus on the breakfast and he didn't ask any further questions.

An entire two weeks have passed.

Jake was under your strict care and you nursed him back to life. You were troubled by his mental state, but there was nothing you could do about it. The most difficult part was that Sekhmet's worst dream happened, and you fell for Jake.

"You're back to normal. No bruises, no more wounds, and no scars," you smiled and touched his stomach to make sure he was fine.

Nodding slowly, he looked down at your palm pressed against his abdomen; he was indeed afraid of scarring, but on the other hand, he already has a few so one more would not make any difference to him. "Would it be possible for me to repay your hospitality in some way?"

"I said the night you got here. The most appropriate repay would be not showing up all beaten up," you responded and decided to add a small joke, "And a date maybe."

A frown appeared on his face as Jake fixed his eyes on yours. "A date? With you?"

You blushed deeply, looking at him. Of course, he wouldn't want that. "Oh, it was just a joke," you waved your hand as you walked away.

As soon as you disappeared into the kitchen, Sekhmet lean over Jake. "Don't even think about this human," she huffed angrily.

" ¿Qué tienes en mente? " He frowned, looking directly at the goddess.

She warned, "If you get any closer to her, Khonshu will need to find a new avatar."

"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about or what you're thinking."

"You must know what I mean, pathetic human. I can feel how you look at her and this disgusts me," Sekhmet growled softly.

"Your avatar is pretty, so what can I do? You could have chosen one that was uglier."

The goddess snarled, "Men. All the same. Touch her and I'll bite your head off."

"If she wants this, I can't stop her. I thought all the goddesses were slightly gentler, but you aren't superior to Khonshu," Jake grinned nastily and decided to join you in the kitchen.

"Is everything fine?” you asked, noticing him in the kitchen. "You don't feel well?"

"When would be a good time for us to meet up? Are you available next week?" Jake asked simply, looking over your shoulder at the dishes you were cleaning.

Blinking, you looked at him again, blushing. "Jake, I was just joking. There's no need to, you know..."

He spotted a small magnetic board on your fridge so he approached it, took a marker, and wrote his address down. "In case you change your mind one day, chiquita."

As you watched him, you were able to do nothing but nod.

His belongings were soon gathered and he left.

Such an opportunity couldn't be missed. You wanted to see Jake, talk to him, or simply spend more time with him for some strange reason. Despite Sekhmet's growls and warnings, you packed your bag, wrote down the address, and headed there.

Jake was surprised when he heard an intercom ring - he was even more surprised when he heard your sweet tone. After opening the door for you, he proceeded to put on a simple t-shirt.

You walked up the stairs and along the narrow corridor.

”You are making a serious mistake, Y/N! Khonshu and his avatar should not be associated with us!” The goddess growled, trying her finest to turn you around.

You simply explained to her, knocking on Jake's flat door, "It's not happening. I am just a human. I have my needs too. Please ignore all the stupid arguments you gods have between yourselves right now. Now, leave me alone."

Jake opened the door, smiling mischievously. "Well, well, I didn't expect to see you here. What a pleasant surprise," he shifted aside, letting you inside his flat. "Forgive me, it's a wee bit messy."

As you stepped in, you waved your hand happily. "I couldn't say no since you invited me here. So, here I am!"

Your body was lustrated from bottom to top. You were so sexy that the only thing he could do was a smirk. "Drink?"

"I'd like some tea if it's not a problem. Would it be okay if I stayed maybe a few days? It's a bit of a ride for me to get here."

Jake informed with a sweet tone, "I will prepare the room for you and make you tea."

"Room? Shouldn't I sleep on the sofa, as I made you?”

"You're too precious to sleep on a simple couch," Jake replied before disappearing into the kitchen. "Make yourself at home!"

"Thank you for your kind words," you said as you sat down on the couch, putting your bag down.

Soon, he returned with a cup of tea.

After accepting the cup, you took a sip, humming happily. It was a delicious tea. "Missed me? And I hope Khonshu doesn't mind me being near you."

"Khonshu told me you'd come, but I didn't believe him."

"Surprise!" You giggled. "Sekhmet didn't want me to come here, but I wanted to have a bit of my own life."

"What did she tell you?"

"You make a colossal mistake! We shouldn't be associated with Khonshu! He will ruin your life!" You shouted, trying to mimic Sekhmet's voice. "Am I the only one who thinks that there was something between them in the past?”

"For fuck's sake, I already thought they were ex-couple who hated one another because of their breakup."

"Right! They act like this so much! Perhaps she doesn't want me near you..." You said slowly, tapping your cheek, "Because if we got together, possibly, they would be stuck together again.”

"Us together, huh? Suena perfecto. Khonshu wouldn't have anything against her, since she jumps on him all the time. Isn't she?"

You laughed loudly and nodded, shrugging. She is a woman and a big cat packed in one body, so I guess that makes her a deadly combination for men."

"And he is a man and... well, a dead bird, so I have no idea what to expect."

"I have no idea what to expect as well, but they are gods and we all know that they are always a bit messed up," you whispered.

Jake walked to the kitchen and returned with an ashtray and a bottle of cognac.

The two of you simply started talking while the two gods watched.

"Pathetic," Sekhmet scoffed, seeing how you giggled at Jake's words.

"Lovely. She is happy," Khonshu commented. "He's able to make her giggle like a little girl."

"I know what she feels in him. He is twisted. He will play with her and leave, breaking her heart," the goddess concluded.

"Apparently, he likes your avatar. As soon as he's happy, I'm happy as well, even though it's a struggle."

She scoffed once again deeply, annoyed by Khonshu's words. “Since when are you happy with your avatar? They are nothing more than sacks of meat for you. I don't care if they like each other, just as you didn't care all those centuries ago."

"Maybe you could finally shut up, huh?" Asked Khonshu in a mocking tone.

Hersing, she pointed right at him and asked, "Shut up about what? Did you forget your faults? How did you abandon me and my feelings?"

Khonshu turned his skull head away. "You were always grumpy. What did you expect? Always demanding, never giving anything of yourself."

"I was giving you a lot. You always demanded more than I could give you so don't put the blame on me," she muttered, crossing arms over her chest.

"You know I had some significant feelings for you. You were the one to always push me aside."

"This is simply a lie! You pushed me away!" She roared.

At this point, you were sitting on Jake's lap with your arms wrapped around his neck as the two of you listened to the gods. You couldn't believe anything you heard. "I don't think they are aware we hear them..." You whispered with a smile dancing on your lips.

Jake massaged your hips, smirking wryly. There is no way I can imagine Khonshu having an affair with Sekhmet. Is it even possible for someone like him to fall in love? I was told gods were above us and ordinary human feelings."

"Well it's difficult to believe, but most gods have their positive and negative sides," you hummed softly. Despite always being above all, they tend to fall for the simplest things."

"Hard not to agree with you, preciosa mía."

"Do you like me? Despite me being her avatar?" You asked shyly, getting more comfortable on his lap. "Or do you see me more as he sees her?"

"I like you and have liked you since the beginning."

Blinking surprised, you smiled softly and cupped his face to pull him into a gentle kiss.

He groaned in the kiss and his grasp on your hips tightened. "You taste so sweetly."

Once you pulled away, you giggled, "You taste like alcohol and cigarettes. I think we are giving them another reason to be angry, but I don't give a damn. Not in the slightest."

"We have known each other for less than a few weeks, and I already have you on my lap, clingy as a little kitten. I like it," said Jake, smirking.

"Maybe it's because we are avatars? They were together so now we feel it, in some strange way?" Humming, you moved your hand up his chest. "Or perhaps it's just because you're handsome and my type."

"¿Soy tu tipo? " He teased. "How come?"

"Oh, don't make me say that!" Whining, you blushed deeply, moving on his lap. "You are handsome and I love your voice."

"Is that everything, chiquita? "

"The way you speak..." You sighed dreamily.

"Is calling you some sweet nicknames turning you on, chica bonita? "

Feeling that your cheeks were burning, you covered your face and nodded. This was a bit too much and you tried to slip off his lap, but Jake didn't let you do so.

"Where do you think you're going, gatita? "

"Away. I'm burning like dry wood. It's stupid since I don't even know you that well, but I can't help myself," you sighed.

It might be true what you said before. They were close centuries ago, and because of that, we feel a common attraction," Jake's hand ran over your waist.

"Yes..." You nodded slowly, getting lost in his dark eyes. "But in the end, you know what?"

"¿Qué?"

As you said this quietly, you moved closer to him. "I have nothing against it. I just don't know how you feel about it."

Stroking the curves of your waist, he let out a deep hum. "Aún no lo sé."

With a soft smile, you cupped his cheek. "Let's maybe try then, cariño," you hummed before kissing him.

"Try what?" He kept on teasing you.

"First, you could try and stop being a tease," you giggled, tapping his nose playfully. "Can we be together? Because I really want you, if I may be honest."

"You're so quick to jump to being bold about things."

As you kissed his jawline, you moved on to his neck soon after. "Oh, please. Is that so bad? Please, Jake, please. I need you..."

"Oh, mi pequeña, you need me? Need me in what sense?"

Smiling, you turned on his lap to finally straddle him properly. Using a quiet hum, you moved your palms down his chest and soon under his shirt. "I need you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me hard. I want everyone to know that you fuck me and that you are doing a fucking good job."

When Khonshu heard you say the things you did, he looked at Sekhmet. “I think your avatar is very bold regarding her needs. Cute. If they ever end up together, their babies will be very beautiful."

Jake smiled at you and stroked your cheek with his thumb. "Mírate a ti mismo. Such a pretty girl, such a filthy mouth."

"Please..." You whimpered and turned your head to wrap your soft lips around his thumb, sucking it.

"She will be heartbroken just like I was," the goddess groaned and vanished, tired of the show she was witnessing.

"Maybe she will be the happy one. I already can tell Jake is into her," Khonshu replied before vanishing as well.

Jake observed you carefully. “Eres una perrita mala, Y/N."

"Maybe..." You replied, letting go of his thumb. "I just feel the urge to have you, to fuck you, to be close with you, as close as possible."

"You barely know me," he teasingly said, pulling you off his lap so he could get up. As he did, he took his t-shirt off and tossed it on the floor.

"Despite that, you undressed for me and kissed me," you teased him back, copying his moves while removing your own shirt.

"Did I let you do that?" He asked, his eyebrows cocked.

"I barely know you. "You think I'll wait or listen to your orders?" You asked, raising an eyebrow with a cocky smile.

"If you want to have your tiny pussy fucked, I'd suggest you obey or act like a real slut I know you're hiding beneath the facade of reticence."

"I will be a good girl," you promised with a cocky smirk still on your lips.

He cupped your boobs and gave them a solid squeeze. "I like them. Take your fucking bra off."

As you let out a gasp, you slowly unclasped your bra in preparation for throwing it aside.

"Take your jeans off."

Obeying once again, you got up from the couch and slowly removed your pants, making sure to proudly show off your curves.

"Good girl. Now, tell me what you would like me to do. Leave the panties on, linda."

As you leaned over the couch, you showed off your round ass. "I'd like you to fuck me hard until I can't whimper your name anymore. Oh, Jake!" You moaned his name.

During Jake's tug-of-war with his jeans, you could hear a buckle being undone and some fabric shifting. Soon, his palm palmed your buttock, lightly slapping it.

Gasping loudly in surprise, you looked over your shoulder. "So this is how you like it?" You asked, shaking your butt.

"Shut your sweet mouth, gatita," he spanked you harder and soon grabbed your hair, pulling on it.

"Fuck," you whimpered, biting your lip to prevent yourself from making another remark.

"Who had been a naughty, little nurse, huh?"

As much as it was possible for you, you nodded, looking at him as much as you could. "I was a very naughty, little nurse."

In the process of massaging your ass, Jake finally slipped his hand between your thighs and rubbed viciously the damp stain on your panties before catching them to push the fabric aside. Suddenly, Jake pushed himself into you with full force. But fuck, you were so wet that there’s no resistance, his cock slipping through your soaked cunt all the way down to the hilt with such ease it nearly pulled him to his orgasm simultaneously. It’s apparently all he needed for the final tether of his resolve to snap because he’s slamming into you with such force that the entire couch rocked along the thrusts.

You let out a loud moan, then you exhaled a heavy gasp at the feeling of his cock spreading you. It was a long time since you fucked with anyone, and how you missed it! Trying to steady yourself somehow, you grabbed onto the couch.

Jake rocked in and out of you at a brutal pace that had your thighs trembling already. The hands on your hip bones were pulling you back onto his cock to meet each thrust, somehow pushing him even deeper against something utterly devastating inside you.

Whimpering his name, you grabbed hold of the couch and moved your hips to meet his thrusts. Your bending over the couch made it even better, making you feel his every move. "Fuck, Jake!"

Then he was pressing his forehead to your shoulder blade, back arched over you, and his curls tickling the curve of your neck. He found a different angle at which to hit that blinding spot inside you. His lips were pressing against your skin in gentle kisses underneath your ear. It felt feather light in comparison to the harsh grind of his hips against your own.

You reached out to touch him, simply wanting more of him. The way he pounded into you and hit all the right spots made you see stars. Soon, your walls started to tighten around his cock as you neared your climax.

Suddenly, Jake pulled out of you, knelt on the couch, and attacked your exposed sex with his mouth; the urge to taste you was unbearable.

"What the... Fuck!” You moaned the last part loudly, grasping the couch to steady yourself.

He kept on eating you out, humming from time to time, massaging your ass. "What? Did you think I'd skip tasting that cunt of yours?"

Humming, you looked down at him as you said, "I hoped you wouldn't, but I hoped I could cum around that thick cock of yours. Could we move to a different spot because my legs won't hold me any longer?"

He pulled back and grabbed your hips, pulling you to himself, waiting politely for you to take a more comfortable position.

You sighed deeply as he pulled you away from the couch. As much as you loved him fucking you, this wasn't the most comfortable position. "Time for me to have some fun. Sit on the couch, sweetie."

With an eye-roll, he followed your instruction and sat on the couch.

"Don't roll your eyes, love. Because I can finish myself any time," you said, falling on his lap, clutching his member. Your palm started to gently stroke the thick shaft.

Lockley bit his lower lip to muffle a moan that was about to escape his lips.

"You like it, don't ya? I bet you like it when I play with your tip," you whispered, using your thumb to tease him.

"Stop fucking teasing," he rolled his head back, grunting, his palms grasped your hips strongly.

Of course, you didn't stop. Instead, your other palm moved to his balls. You worked on his cock while massaging his balls. "Make me, baby."

He whined loudly, the sound he made was almost animalistic.

At the sound he just made, you chuckled and sank down onto his shaft. The sweet feeling of him filling you up again made you moan.

One hand was placed on your waist, while the other cupped your buttock and squeezed it slightly.

"So good. Fuck!" You gasped, moving up and down, rolling your hips from time to time. Your hands rested on his shoulders.

"¡Dios mío, eres tan sexy!" Jake gasped and pulled you tighter to his groin to buck his hips into you at a rough pace.

Moaning his name over and over again, you soon reached your climax, cumming around him.

You kept getting fucked until he finally pushed you off, got up, jerked himself several times, and shot his thick cum at your boobs.

Using your finger, you scooped some of his cum and hummed loudly as you put it into your mouth, whispering, "We have a tits lover here."

He leaned down and kissed you, tasting himself on your tongue.

You purred into the kiss, kissing him back. Once he pulled away, you smiled at him sweetly. "I liked it and I want more... In the future."

"Ya wanna stay here?" He asked casually, grabbing his jeans and putting them back on.

Watching him you blinked, surprised by his sudden offer. "Stay? You mean like permanently?"

Rather temporary, just so we can get to know each other first?"

You nodded, laughing softly. "I will gladly. I planned to stay a few days anyway, remember? Or did blew it outta your mind?"

"There will be plenty of nights to fuck things from me.”

"Oh, I bet," you nodded once again and sighed deeply. "Khonshu and Sekhmet will be pissed as fuck."

"You think?"

Suddenly, Khonshu appeared right next to you. "As far as I can tell, the intercourse turned out well and you were happy with how he treated you."

Just as suddenly as Khonshu, Sekhmet appeared as well, but right in front of Jake. Snarling, she said, "Dare to break my avatar's heart and I will snap your neck like a twig."

Jake looked directly at the goddess. "I'm sure you heard her singing for me, dear. We're adults and you gods don't understand something as basic as love, so don't try to stir the shit. ¿Tengo razón?"

Goddess poked Jake's chest, then turned to you, saying, "You don't know what love is. Not with Khonshu by your side. And you better be careful."

Jake reached for your jeans and offered them to you, wrapping a protective arm around you. “We'll soon fuck the shit out of them."

Humming, you nuzzled him, nodding a little. "The only thing that matters to me is being with you, regardless of what they both say."

2K notes · View notes

heartthrobin · 10 months

Text

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit.

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length.

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights.

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

comment and repost <3 mwah!

822 notes · View notes