#I'm having a moment

[mlqueen89]

OMG.

FEEEEEEN! STAAAAAAHP. This is such a like, crazy fan moment for me you have no ideaaaaaa. Thank you so much! I'm so so happy you love it! ♥♥♥♥♥ YOUR WORK IS SO AMAZING TOOOOO!!!

fandom: hurt!jake lockley (moon knight)  

rating: 14A

warnings: descriptions of injuries, swearing. very small bit of sexual tension. not beta read, srry! 

word count:  3,778

summary: jake lockley never goes to the hospital. he has people for that. 

A/N: this one almost wrote itself. Thank you to @sejanusxfan for the prompt/request! chapter two of (i love you) it’s ruining my life is in the beta reading phase. should be out soon! in the meantime, i’ll be completing those requests that came in through the november prompts. still have a few prompts left so shuffle on over and request if you want to see more from me!

❥ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ requests ❥  

Jake Lockley crouched in the shadowed doorway, his back pressed against the cool brick, hands steady despite the pain coursing through him, as he attempted to open the antiseptic he’d picked up from the pharmacy a few blocks over. He’d slipped out the door without paying when he’d realized the blood was seeping through his fingers, squelching under his dress shoe on the greyed tiles as Closing Time played through the tinny speakers overhead.

His side burned with every touch of his clothing against it, and he gritted his teeth, peeling back his leather jacket just enough to see the gash along his ribs in the dim light.

He knew where it had come from, a brush with a young thug looking to prove himself as Jake quickly dispatched his associates. It had been easy, maybe too easy, and that was why he had been slow to take care of the threat of the young man. He hadn’t even needed Khonshu’s armour and maybe that was why he was where he found himself now, huddled in a doorway, bleeding like a dog because of his own cockiness, courtesy of a baby fucking knife.

Lucky for him, the bleeding had mostly slowed, but it wasn’t a clean cut, the fucking punk hadn’t even had the decency to try to attack him with a sharp knife. Clean cuts were easy to heal, easy to repair—this one made every shift or breath sharp and painful.

This would be a valuable reminder for Jake: level heads prevailed. Don’t underestimate stupid punks with dull knives, too much fucking balls and not enough brains. Not that it mattered now. He’d left none alive. Khonshu demanded it—Jake complied with too much gusto. This was why it was him and not Steven, not Marc.

Jake was so lost in his work, pressing gauze against the wound, when he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. He tensed, muscles coiling, ready to move if needed, but the figure that rounded the corner was… different.

The woman, caught off-guard when her gaze fell on him in the darkened doorway, stared with widened eyes, taking him in. For a fraction of a second, Jake assessed, watched as she looked at him with a mix of something between concern and caution, her hand that wasn’t holding a bangle of keys hovering near her jacket pocket, as if she meant to reach for her phone.

“Are… you alright?” she asked carefully, her voice soft with the edge of wariness Jake recognized, as if she couldn’t decide if he was a threat or someone who needed help.

“Yeah,” he muttered quickly, allowing his clothing to fall back over the wound, straightening as he pushed the bottle of antiseptic back into his jacket pocket. “Just a scrape.”

Her eyes moved to the dark stain on his light shirt, her brow knit together as she assessed the blood already seeping through the hasty bandage job. Jake watched as she hesitated for a moment, and then took a small step forward, her gaze sharpening, focused on his wound. “That’s not just a scrape.” There was an authority to her voice, a quiet but certain confidence he recognized. “I’m a nurse… I can help you, if you let me.” Her eyes flicked up to catch his in a way that most would avoid, but she didn’t, holding his gaze.

Jake shifted, breaking the eye contact, his jaw clenched as he weighed his options carefully, his side throbbing beneath his shirt. Part of him wanted to tell her he was fine, that he didn’t need anything from her, from anyone. But she was still standing there, watching him with a focus he wasn’t used to—a focus that was without the suspicion or judgment he often saw.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move to leave and she didn’t stop looking at him.

With a short nod, she moved toward him carefully and Jake tensed as she reached past him, using the keys clenched in her hand to unlock the door behind him, pushing it open with a creak.

Tipping her head inside, she sighed, almost as if this happened to her on a routine basis. “Come in. At least let me get that cleaned up.”

She stepped inside, entering the darkened space and quickly flicking on a light, a warm glow seeping out onto the paved stoop where Jake stood, watching.

He hesitated, but something about her calm aura made him follow, his steps cautious at first, hands twitching toward his pocket, toward the small switchblade he kept there. When someone had lived a life like he had, one could never be too careful.

As he stepped over the threshold, he quietly closed the door behind himself, his eyes assessing the space. In the corner, a small sofa sat wedged between a side table and a large bookcase, each book aligned perfectly, colour coded and she guided him to it without a word.

Lowering himself into the cushions, he watched her as she moved away and buzzed around the small space, opening cupboards here and there, reaching and crouching to gather supplies with quiet efficiency.

Everything in the space was small, neat. Soft lighting, a cozy throw blanket draped over an arm chair, a few photos in frames on the floating shelf above the darkened television across the room.

“Okie dokie,” she murmured, bustling back to sit beside him with her assembled first-aid kit. Jake’s body sunk toward her naturally on the small sofa, “let’s have a look.”

Jake watched her carefully as she began her work, lifting the torn fabric of his shirt to uncover the wound and his patchwork job, too much medical tape and too little gauze. Her movements were sure and careful, her expression focused and unreadable and Jake found himself relaxing, if only slightly, as she cleaned the wound. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry or press, just did what needed doing. She dabbed the cut with antiseptic, the kind that looked professional, not the kind that sloshed around in his pocket, pressed the gauze to it with a steadiness that made him almost forget the pain.

When she glanced up at him, through her eyelashes, Jake thought he caught the faintest flicker of something—concern, maybe? But she didn’t hold his gaze long, refocused on securing the gauze, snipping the tape carefully instead of ripping it with her teeth like Jake had done many times before. Carefully, she pressed the tape on, pulling her hands back as if the next words she would have said in any other situation would have been ta-da!, a satisfied nod pulling her chin down. “There. You’re good to go now. See, not so painful, right?”

He only grunted in response, pulling his torn shirt back down, feeling the strain of the bandage that held his side together. He wanted to thank her, but he caught himself, staying silent instead, his features hardened into a mask that yielded nothing.

“Take it easy,” she brushed off her hands theatrically before she folded her arms, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “Try not to get yourself hurt again, mysterious stranger, I might not be home next time.”

Jake gave her a short nod and rose to his feet, the ache of the wound flaring as he did. “Thanks,” he murmured, meeting her gaze for just a moment, seeing the calm intensity in her eyes that lingered longer than he was used to. He took one last look around the apartment, feeling a strange pang at the warmth of it—sometimes he wondered if this would have been nice in another life. “Jake. My name.” He offered quietly and he was thankful that she didn’t respond.

With another nod, he slipped out the door and back into the shadows of the quiet street. As he disappeared in the night, he found himself thinking about her, the quiet warmth of her space and the feeling that, just for the briefest moment, he’d found a simple peace.

Jake’s knuckles were already sounding a single rap on the peeling blue paint of the apartment door before he knew why he was here or what he was thinking that brought him here. Still, here he was, bloodied knuckles leaving a smudge of rouge against the port, his breath sharp from the ache tearing through his side. He leaned against the doorframe, the feeling of his relatively fresh wounds pulsing pain out from his center until he felt it in the tips of his fingers, all the way down to his toes. This was the last place he wanted to be. Hell, he’d meant to patch himself up in some dingy bathroom in the back of a shit hole pub, teeming with germs waiting to infect his wounds, or limp up to the back door of a clinic that didn’t ask questions in the face of cold hard cash or a shiny trinket.

But here he was, leaning on her door, watching the light spill out from a small round window above the door. She was home. Right now, she was the best option, and somewhere, deep down, he trusted her, though he wasn’t sure why and he wouldn’t willingly admit it. Not in words, anyway. This second visit, was telling.

Just as he thought she might not come to the door, it swung open, wide, and she stood in the threshold, her eyes widening when she saw him. No words, just a faint intake of breath, a flicker of surprise that she quickly pressed down. He could feel her gaze sweeping over him, taking in the blood, the ripped shirt, the bruises forming on his face, his jaw swollen.

“Jake?” Her voice was soft, calm, but he could hear the concern that was thinly veiled underneath her carefully composed self. It felt strange to hear, to have someone looking after him, like he wasn’t some reckless, disposable vagabond, living in the shadows.

“Got a little banged up.” He forced a grin through a bloodied lip, one that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “’fraid your door’s the only one I thought to knock on, querida.”

She stepped aside without a word, a silent invitation. He stumbled a bit, catching himself on the wall as he moved past her, trying to hide the wince that flickered across his face. Every step sent pain reverberating through his body, clenching his jaw, his teeth gritting, unwilling to let her see just how much he was hurting this time.

“Sit,” she motioned toward the armchair with the blanket folded over the back, her voice steady and laced with a firmness that brooked no argument, left no room for petulance. Even if it had, Jake wasn’t sure that he had the energy to fight back. A thrill passed through him as he complied, quietly slumping into the chair, his fist balled as the wound pulled from the movement, a new gush of warm blood leaking down his side.

She knelt down beside him, her first aid kit already in her grip, moving quickly and efficiently as she pulled on blue medical gloves. It was almost unnerving, the way she slipped into the role of caretaker so naturally, not shying away from the way he presented—rough, broken, bloodied.

He looked away as she lifted his shirt and he let her, staring at an unmoving spot on the wall, an old nail hole beside what looked like a divot from where a hammer had missed hitting the missing nail on the head. Her touch was gentle, methodic, but even the slightest pressure on his wound made him flinch, and he cursed under his breath.

“Hold still,” she murmured, her fingers carefully pressing around the wound, probing, her brow knit together in concentration, fresh blood already coating the blue rubber of the gloves.

“Is this how you treat all your late-night visitors?” He chanced the question and though it sounded like a bit of a joke, Jake was curious. Was there someone else who graced her doorstep, coming to her broken and bruised, bleeding and alone? Or was it just him? If anything, it helped to ease the tension he felt creeping into the space between them. The pain was manageable, raw in its simplicity—it was vulnerability that bothered him. Vulnerability meant weakness and Jake Lockley was not weak.

She scoffed before shooting him a look, just a flash of exasperation mixed with something softer, just behind it, “only the reckless ones who end up bleeding all over my carpet. Serves me right for getting a white shag, right?” There was a bit of humour behind her words, her eyebrow quirked up as she continued to focus on his wounds, trading and swapping tools and aids to patch him up, a tapestry of pain, accentuated by marks of her care. Despite himself, Jake felt his lip split open anew as he grinned, thankful she wasn’t looking at his face just then.

As she continued to work in silence, the occasional huff breaking the silence, Jake allowed his mind to drift, lulled by the steady movements of her care. Something about this seemed safe in a way he hadn’t thought he could be before. He was always the protector, the muscle, the devil called in to do the dirty work Steven or Marc couldn’t, wouldn’t do. Jake was the one Khonshu relied on when Marc’s conscious got in the way of the sensible path. Jake wasn’t ever meant to feel safe—so here, now, at his most vulnerable, it was strange, foreign, that he did.

He was shaken roughly from his drifting thoughts when she pressed a bit too close to the wound and he jerked away, reflexively, his next words little more than a growl, rough as they ripped from him. “Careful, cariño.”

Her eyes snapped up to his then, and the slight smirk he saw on her lips stirred something low in his gut, something primal. “You’re a big boy, Jake. I think you can handle it.”

“Hmm—that so?” Jake’s eyes narrowed, feeling the violent part of him bubble up, just under the surface, ready for the fight, always ready. It softened again under her touch, the pull of her hands lulling the beast within him into submission again, her fingers weaving the song that quieted his inner darkness as she met his darkened gaze with a steely, determined, unwavering resilience. Behind her eyes, there was a familiarity, a warmth he wasn’t accustomed to and maybe that scared him. More than anything he’d come across in all his years. Maybe it scared him that she didn’t back down, didn’t shy away from his roughness.

With a shake of her head, she was back to work and he allowed himself to relax, to breathe through the pain. It was strange, allowing someone outside of his own body have so much control—even if, just for a few stolen moments, he found peace in letting go.

Then, just as it had begun, it ended too quickly.

The feeling of her hand on his shoulder shook him from his relaxed state. When his eyes found hers, her concern was evident. “Jake,” she quietly constructed his name and it sounded sweet, but serious. He could feel her eyes studying him, as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t quite piece together, a piece wedged in at a wrong angle. “You can’t keep showing up like this.”

“Guess I’m bad at stayin’ outta trouble.” The reply was easy, a brush off. He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t be back here, falling apart in a new way, just to feel the warmth of her hands, putting him back together.

The blue gloves snapped as she peeled them off before adding them to a pile of bloodied gauze, cleaning up their pop—up triage. The sigh that escaped her was deep, but she shook her head, her eyes reaching his. There was no judgment there, only something else—something that made his chest ache with another unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.

Jake hadn’t remembered much of the walk to her apartment, his vision framed by a blurred vignette.

He’d lost more blood than he wanted to admit, and every breath made his ribs ache, the pain sharp and relentless.

This time, it was bad. He knew when he stumbled into an alleyway closer to her apartment, careful to make sure that, even in his altered state, he wasn’t being followed.

When he reached her building, the warm glow from her window propelling him forward, pulling himself up the steps with the help of the railing, his fingers slipping on the metal, his hand coated in a layer of cold blood. Mostly his own, some that wasn’t. When he reached the door, his vision was tunneling and shifting, and as he found himself standing there, staring at the paint chipping, he couldn’t remember if he’d knocked or not. He was leaning on the doorframe, eyes closed for only a moment when he heard the door unlock.

“Oh my god, Jake…” her voice was soft, steady, even as she reached out to guide him in, tucking herself carefully under his arm to support his frame that dwarfed her own.

She helped him through the space that was now familiar to him, carefully lowered him to the couch, her fingers brushing his bruised arm, delicate but firm. As he lowered himself, a sharp exhale escaped his lips, the pain washing over him in waves that threatened to pull him under. She left from his line of view for only a fraction of a moment, returning quickly with a glass of water and her first aid kit that had grown steadily over the last month or so since their first encounter.

Reflexively, she moved through her usual motions, dabbing at the visible wounds first, a deep laceration across his cheekbone this time, as she sighed, almost frustrated. “You’ve been here more times than I can count now, Jake. Each time in worse shape. What—what are you doing to yourself, Jake?”

He held her gaze, saying nothing, though he could see the concern etched in her expression, folded in the lines of her furrowed brow as she searched for something, anything that might tell him what he did in the night that left him like this. He didn’t respond and she didn’t push, so she moved to remove his shirt entirely, the white of it almost entirely red now. Her hands skimmed his abdomen, leaving trails where her hands wiped away the blood and he hissed when she pushed a bit harder than necessary against his side. She let up slightly, but her eyes met his with a directness that left him feeling unusually exposed.

Grabbing a cloth, she dipped it into a bowl of warm water he hadn’t remembered her getting, the sound of the water wrung out and returned to the bowl filling the silence between them. She wiped carefully, cleaning his skin delicately before returning the cloth to the bowl, now tinged pink from his blood and repeated. She did this quietly for a moment before she paused, swallowing hard, as if she meant to measure her next words carefully.

“Is your name really Jake?”

The question caught him off-guard and his eyes flashed to the side of her face, immediately cautious.

Still, she continued. “I saw the IDs in your pocket last time…. There’s Jake. And Marc. And Steven.” Her hand drifted up to motion to her brow and Jake knew what moment she was talking about.

A week or so ago, when he’d come to her with an injury that hadn’t really needed her attention if he was being honest. The moment where she offered him the use of her shower because she couldn’t figure out where all the blood had come from because he didn’t have any other visible wounds. The answer, simply, was that it wasn’t his blood.

Instead, he accepted the offer of her shower, relaxed for a just a moment under the warm water as he closed his eyes and imagined what it would have been like to have her under the hot spray with him. Imagined what it would be like to thank her in a way he wanted to thank her. A way that didn’t involve words.

If it was then that she’d seen the IDs in his pocket, she hadn’t let on.

“What’s the truth?” Her soft voice now, brought him back to the present and she looked at him, steady, unwavering.

When he met her gaze, feeling a flicker of something tense just below the surface, something he couldn’t quite pin down, he searched for a moment, looked for fear, doubt. “You afraid, muñeca?” His voice was low as he leaned in, despite the pain, his words laced with the edge he knew people backed away from. But she didn’t flinch.

Instead, her lips curved slightly, into a small smile. “If you wanted to hurt me,” she began, her voice measured, calm, “you would have by now.”

A beat passed, a moment or two when he didn’t back away, and she moved a hand to his cheek, her fingers brushing the bruises, tracing them softly as if she could erase them with her touch, feather light. Jake didn’t pull back, letting her touch linger, feeling a comfort in the contact that pulled him in closer, a gravitational pull and the space between them grew smaller, more charged. The air shifted, thic with tension he knew had been building long before this moment.

When he leaned in closer, he hesitated for only a moment, testing the unspoken trust between them before he allowed his lips to brush hers. She didn’t hesitate in closing the rest of the distance, her lips warm against his, gentle, steady in a way that made him ache. His hand found her waist instinctively, pulling her closer, flush against his body and she sunk against him easily.

His hands, rough and steady, were up her shirt, pressing the thin cotton up until it caught just under her breasts and she sighed into his mouth. Jake moved to pull it off completely when she leaned, hard, against his wound, sending screaming pain through his body. He flinched without thinking, hissed against the unwelcomed feeling. 

“I think we’d better slow down….” she whispered, pulling herself away as if coming out of a haze, straightening her pajama shirt as she stood. When she moved back, it was only to slide the folded blanket off the back of the couch onto his shoulders. “But you should stay, at least for tonight.”

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

[cellgatinbo]

:catJAM:

[caramelizedpopcirn]

The only thing that keeps me from breaking shit up after that horrible WiFi disconnecting

[izvmimi]

i can't stop thinking about the act of getting creampied pls

the slowing and disjointing of a previously brisk, brutal pace, the deepening and hoarsening of breathing in your ear and that groan that comes with the first pulse

man, the tingle of the first few spurts of cum bursting inside you, the tightening of arms around your body, the way they'd just cling for dear life as their body moves on its own

or maybe if they're more bold and more controlled, they only push themselves deeper, making sure the head of their cock is flush as far as it can go inside you, so that any last drop goes in and stays in

[captainhunnicutt]

[new-november-moons]

I think a lot about how Luke was really Anakin's son when he was younger. Isolated on Tatooine, offbeat and unhappy, isolated. He had that wild spirit craving to run until he couldn't run anymore, staring into the suns and letting them burn his eyes because he was so lacking a thrill. He was building his life on sands he could only wish were shifting, trapped with people he loved but bitterly resented. And then how he matured into Padme when he was able to step into himself. Calm and kind and experiencing the world with vision realistic, but also eternally optimistic. He was finally at peace, with the ghost of Padme holding onto his shoulder, as he reconciled with his father, as he shook hands with a galaxy that had dealt him an extraordinarily terrible life.

THEN when I think about how Leia was pressured to be Padme's daughter as a child, already at odds with her planet as an adopted princess. She was out of place on a planet she loved, a beautiful malapropism. The pressure hung on the edge of every compliment she was fed. She was expected to behave like perfect royalty, with all the elegance of her forgotten mother, when in reality, Anakin's desperate fire was eating her from the inside. Even if she exceeded at her role as princess and politician, it always felt like gritting her teeth every hour of every day. And then she joined the Rebellion, after all of her gut-wrenching losses, and unleashed the part of her that was always her father. The part that never forgave him but always saw his shadow in the mirror, the part that echoed his devilish grin and his impossible dreams.

The twins may have never known their mother, and one of them never shook her hatred for their father, but they paralleled them in every way. Padme and Anakin's tragedy was the question, Luke and Leia were the answer.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Feeling so sane and normal about this, 100%

[absolutebl]

[blanketforcas]

oh tagging each other on the heart we're really in it now

[kuppikahvia]

do you ever stop to think how amazing the multimedia aspect of alan wake is, like do you ever just stare into the void and take a moment to appreciate how they actually filmed so many live action scenes that work perfectly with the whole narrative and how the game has so many songs specifically made for it, singing about the events in the game, and don't even get me started on gods of asgard and the live performance of herald of darkness at the game awards that was identical to that musical part of the game LIKE HELLO??? a literal masterpiece

[murderofsomeone]

haha wow I really like lemon demon *smashes glass bottle on my head* anyway have you ever read the wikipedia page for. snails

[comic-sans-chan]

obsessed with julian asking "what did they do to you? is it some kind of punishment device?" in the wire because my god if this man didn’t go from "this is garak my super cool spy pal who i go on secret missions with and sometimes fuck teehee but also yeah his planet’s kinda fucked up and he’s got some weird ideas but we’re working on it" to "this is garak he's my precious little angel babyman who has been horribly traumatized and brainwashed by his government but it's okay because i'm a doctor and i will fuck and suck the fascism out of him if it’s the last thing i do" in just two years. shit's wild

[jusst-you-race]

u posted abt oscar being sandwiched between the hassbands is making u think thoughts... so may i ask that as an occ snippet prompt?

love the fic btw! <3

okay i should be writing other prompts but this was just... too tempting... sorry not sorry everyone... anyway please enjoy possibly the most unhinged thing i have every written you're all welcome <3 for the ccc snippet prompts

Oscar I’m panic texting you from the bathroom

Logan Regular occurrence 

Oscar I need your help trying to work out intentions 

Logan Not my forte but go on…

Oscar you’re better than me

okay so Kevin and Nico are here as well 

Logan Like coincidentally at the bar? Or actually at Mark’s birthday drinks?

Oscar at Mark’s birthday drinks 

Logan Oh that’s nice

I told you not to worry too much about not knowing anyone 

Oscar yeah no not worried about that 

I’ve mostly been chatting with them 

it’s been nice they’re pretty chill 

but then at one point Kevin went to get them both more drinks and Nico decided he wanted to sit down so we went over to the booth and Nico like…idk encouraged me to sit next to him?

I mean it’s loud so like it would have been hard to talk across the booth 

so it sort of makes sense 

but he was really insistent 

Logan Fascinating… I mean like you said he probably just wanted to continue the conversation 

Oscar well yeah but when Kevin came back with the drinks I was like okay I’ll get up so he can sit next to Nico 

yknow his husband 

Logan Yeah… and?

Oscar well Nico just shuffled further into the booth 

and pulled me with him

Logan Pulled you with him how?

Oscar like… by the waist 

Logan Oh I see

Okay I’ll reserve my judgment based on how Kevin reacted

Oscar well he just kind of grinned and sat down on my other side 

Logan Yeah that’s what I suspected 

Oscar the booth was kind of crowded so like it made sense to squish in a bit 

but we were really squished in 

Logan Uh huh 

Oscar and then Kevin put his hand on my thigh

and I uhhh I panicked 

and said I needed to go to the bathroom 

and now here I am 

Logan Okay well they aren’t being very subtle 

Oscar do you think so?

Logan Yeah I’d say there’s a good chance they want you to be their third buddy 

Oscar you really think so?

Logan Pretty sure 

Oscar huh 

Logan I’m sure they’d back off if you weren’t into it 

Just tell them they seem nice 

Oscar well 

Logan Well?

Oscar I’m not … not into it 

Logan Then why are you panic texting me! 

Go get laid idiot!

Oscar I just wanted to be sure? 

Logan Well just go with the flow!

Respond to whatever they’re doing

You’ll be fine 

Oscar thanks Logie 

Logan I want details later 

Oscar yeah okay okay 

wish me luck 

Logan Good luck!!! Have a good threesome!!! 

Oscar yeah I won’t be home tonight 

Logan GET IT OSCAR 

Be safe!

Oscar 👍

Logan Morning champ you coming home soon?

Oscar?

Oscar sorry yeah coming home now 

Logan Bit late… it’s afternoon already  

Oscar uhh

we were busy 

Logan Lmao 

So it was good?

Oscar best sex of my life 

Logan Tell me everything when you’re home 

Oscar nosy

yeah okay 

be there in five 

[chestcongestion]

More chest cold An/gel ft. Hu/sk's feline hearing coming in clutch

[loopyren]

The way Inuyasha always says Kagome’s name with such love always throws me into a glass case of emotion fjladkfjjlsdkf

He’s in love with her name as much as he’s in love with her huuuuuu

[fuzzypuppybuddie]

Kitty cat kitty cat cat meow kitty michi meow kitty kitty meow