#jake lockley hurt comfort

[romanarose]

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Jake Lockley x fem!reader

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Summary: Jake is trying to relax at a bar when a woman won't leave him alone. Confused as to what's happening, Jake isn't sure how to react. Men don't hit women, right?

Warnings: Depiction of sexual assault (over the clothes gentile touching), reader gets aggressive with other women. Jake has old fashioned, patriarchal notions of paying for women's drink, that he shouldn't assert his boundaries, that he can't be assaulted because he's a man and she's a woman, blaming himself. Men have a right to protect themselves from violence of any sort with proportional means. Protect men. Reader mentions trauma, illuding to rape. Reader isn't exactly "safe" with going out, but neither am I know I'm "supposed to" go with friends, no walk off with strangers etc. but I won't live my life afraid. My assaults have been from people I was supposed to trust, every single time. Strangers don't scare me.

Immersabily: Fem reader. Reader mentions past sexual trauma. reader mentions working with children. At one point, Jake mentions reader being shorter than a woman taller than Jake so??? IDK if that's anything lol. Could mean anything IG.

*************

Jake Lockley respected women. Jake Lockley didn’t hurt women. Jake Lockley wasn’t rude to women.

That made his current position complicated.

He’d just come to this bar to drink for a bit, to get away from his alters for a bit. He loved them and he loved the new relationship with Steven and Marc, but he needed peace and alone time. Well, not totally alone. When he was totally alone, Khonshu liked to talk to him like they were friends or something, that’s not what he wanted, so Jake went to a karaoke bar.

 He liked it, honestly. It was fun seeing people’s personalities come out in the songs they sang, he liked watching people get more and more drunk, strangers becoming friends, people singing way out of their key as the night went on. Some people hated watching others do karaoke but Jake thought it was fun. It was people’s truest selves. He liked to watch the show, drink a little but also keep an eye on things. No one was getting roofied or assaulted on his watch.

As people got drunker, a very unsteady woman got on stage (barely) and tried to rap to Without Me by Eminem. It did not go well. It wasn’t terrible, she knew th lyrics down pat but 1. She could not rap for the life of her 2. She was very giggly and kept laughing. The smiling DJ kept taking the second mic and filling in for her while she laughed. It was adorable. 

That was his first impression of you.

The night went on and he noticed you weren’t with friends. A bold move, going out alone. You were brave. He liked that. He tried to keep a special eye on you but it was proving difficult and you were beginning to stress him out. You’d leave drinks with random people asking the girls to watch it. How did you know they could be trusted? He followed you outside when you stumbled off with people you were talking too, only to find you smoking in an alley. What the hell is wrong with you? You were going to get yourself killed. Right now, you were his main focus.

Until you left to use the bathroom, leaving your drink on a table and Jake attempted to walk toward it to make sure no one spiked it when another women intercepted him. “Hi handsome, what’s your name?” She smiled at him, looking down a bit. She was tall. Jake didn’t mind his women taller than him; he liked his women however they came, but she seemed to be positioning herself to intentionally intimidate him.

“Jake.” He needed to get over to watch your drink, but when he tried to step to the side, she stepped along with him and blocked his path. It was when she put a hand on his chest he grew uncomfortable.

“My name’s Cas, why don’t we head to the bar and you buy me a drink?”

Jake was about to object. He needed to get to you, but he didn’t have much of a choice when she grabbed his tie and pulled him. She ordered two vodka cranberries. Jake didn’t like vodka. Why was he paying? That’s what he did, right? He was supposed to pay. He was supposed to entertain beautiful women -and she was beautiful for sure. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how she got him in this position, but he wasn’t doing much to fight it. He was backed into corner and the woman was kissing him. He didn’t like it. Jake’s stress was compounded by the anxiety that he couldn’t see your drink, he couldn’t see you. Did something happen? Did someone spike the drink because Jake wasn’t watching? He wasn’t watching because he was horny? 

He didn’t want to kiss her, but when she ground her body against his, the natural reaction was to get hard. He fought it, fought it, fought it but his will power was no match for biology. Jake felt like fucking shit. His body was stiff, he wasn’t kissing back, he kept trying to move away but his efforts were weak. She was strong, and it wasn’t like he could push her or hit her. Only weak men hit women, right?

When he turned, he locked eyes with you. Little did he know, you had been watching much of the scene play out. It wasn’t entirely clear what was happening, as the crowd of karaoke fridays kept blocking your view, but you’d grown concerned when you saw him in a corner and went to investigate. One of the girl’s you’d met and had been chatting with told you not to worry about it, that the man could handle himself… but after all you’d been through, you never wanted someone to go through that.

Then you see it. The woman’s hand went to cup his crotch, and the panic on the man’s face that had locked eyes with yours was clear. He tried to gently nudge her away, to squirm out of her grasp but she didn’t move. So you did.

The violation on his body got him moving a bit, disgust at himself for letting them happen. Not because it was his boundaries, his body, his autonomy, but because the body was Marc and Steven’s, and he was letting someone touch Marc and Steven. He wasn’t protecting them, he was failing them, but he still couldn’t manage to get her off him without hurting her. 

“I don’t-” He tried to protest, but she shushed him.

“Yes, you do.”

Did he?

Before he had time to think more, Cas was ripped off of him, and another body was placed in between. 

You stared the woman down, glaring daggers into her eyes; although shorter than her, you show no fear. All night, you’ve shown no fear.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You shout at her.

“Me?” The woman gahawfs. “You’re interrupting a perfectly good-”

“He’s clearly uncomfortable!”

“He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

“Well he doesn’t have to, because I’m handling it, now get the fuck out of here!”

Cas looks at Jake, glaring at him and flipping him off before walking away. Jake wasn’t entirely sure what he did, but whatever it was, it was wrong.

Once she left, you turn to the man again. He looks in shock. “Can we step outside?” 

Silent, Jake nods and you take him hand, carefully guiding him to the alley where you pull up two crates for you both to sit on. Both his hands are in yours now.

“I need you to breathe with me, okay, in your nose, out your mouth.” Your voice calms him. It’s only then that he realized he wasn’t calm. Jake was having a panic attack. You continued instruction. “I’m going to squeeze our hands as I breath in, but if you need to squeeze at any time, you can. Hard as you need to, you won’t hurt me.”

You did just as you said. As you breathed in, You gently squeezed his hands, letting go as you breathed out. It helped him keep in time when the panic made blood rush to his ears. He couldn't hear you, but he could feel you. Jake certainly wasn’t going to squeeze as hard as he could -his strength could actually hurt you, despite what you said- but he did give a few good squeezes and although his were random and erratic, yours remained steady. Jake latched onto that steadiness, beginning to squeeze in time with you until he was calm.

After a few moments of silence, Jake spoke. “Where’d you learn that?” He didn’t fully look at you, but you could hear the smile in your voice.

“I work with preschoolers. It’s a great way to teach them to manage their emotions…” You pause a little before adding. “Well, I guess I learned it from myself. Breathing exercises were the only way to calm myself down for a while.”

With that, Jake locked eyes with you. “You’ve had… you’ve felt like that before?”

You nod. “Yeah. Especially when random people touch me. What happened to you, has happened to me, so touch can be very triggering.”

That caught his attention. Jake was no stranger to rape victims; he’d killed plenty rapists in his day… but this still mad him feel pity. You were kind, and it made him sad to think that you’d felt like he did now.

“Someone did that to you?”

“Multiple people.” You confirm. “Sometimes it ended at a bar or a party, sometimes it ended… much worse.”

Jake felt anger in his confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to track down every single person who did that to you and end them, violently. “Is that why you…”

“Stepped in? Kinda. I’d hate for anyone to feel like I did.” Your smile was kind and warm. “But I’ve always been like that. A little crazy.” Crazy is how you’d put it.

Jake nodded, only then realizing he was still holding your hand. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” You reassure him before finally telling him your name.

“Jake”

“Well Jake, I assume after all that you don’t want to go inside. Can I walk you home?”

Absolutely insane, you were just trusting him like this… but he really didn’t want to be alone right now. “I drove. I only had one drink… if you’d like I can drive you home?”

You smiled. “I’d like that. What’s your last name?”

“Lockley.”

“Okay, Lockley. Stay here.”

You went inside, coming out and handing him his ID.

Now Jake was confused. “I- what?”

“Your tab.” You explained. “I paid it.”

Jake had never had a woman pay for his drink before. The only person he ever let get away with it was Matty, and that was on a good day.

“But-... I can pay my own tab?” He tried to protest, as if it wasn’t already paid.

“I’m sure you can.” Gathering up his hands in yours again, you pull him to his feet. “It’s just one drink, no big deal. I didn’t want you to have to see her again.”

Having a woman pay for his drink should make him embarrassed. A woman assaulting him should make him feel embarrassed. But you? You calmed all that. A drink wasn’t a big deal to you, but most importantly, you validated his feelings. You didn’t make him feel weak for feeling how he did. 

It was okay to be human with you.

You protected him, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life returning the favor.

***********************

I just wanna protect Jakey and make him feel saaaaaaaafe.

he deserves it.

@missdictatorme @ahookedheroespureheart @whatthefishh @runa-falls @del-ightfulling @eyelessfaces @fandxmslxt69 @pikapuff-316 @mikaelak @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @campingwiththecharmings @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @steven-grants-world @boysddontcry @harriedandharassed @lokisv7lkrie @scarletthefierce

[pygmi-cygni]

envy - jake lockley

envy - jealousy of somebody's success and a desire to have it for yourself.

cw: smut, feelings, body worship, jake is a little emotionally stunted, he learns to chillout a bit, nothing really kinky.

a/n: I know you guys were expecting some dom angry jake or something but i just want to kiss him tbh.

It had been a blissful few weeks. Khonshu had gone under for a while, meaning the boys had a long stretch of rest and relaxation. Marc had taken full advantage; slept almost every hour he fronted, honestly. You had some good snuggles on the couch together before bed. Steven was picking up a hobby of painting, and you loved to sit with him at the kitchen table and watch his creations.

Your relationship was glowing. There hadn't ever been such a long time that you could just be together, without worrying about Khonshu or anybody else.

Although, you couldn't help but feel something was wrong. Jake had always been the quietest alter, but he made sure to pop in at least once and say hello or dive for a kiss. He'd leave notes on the fridge or send flowers to your work.

Recently he'd been nearly silent. You could hear him in the morning; his footsteps were by far the heaviest, and he always hummed Sinatra while he brewed the coffee. But as soon as you'd go over to say good morning, Marc would blink back at you.

You hadn't said anything the first few days. Maybe he's catching up on sleep. But after a week, you'd started to feel hurt. it wasn't just his absence.

He looked at you differently. His eyes were cloudy and he didn't make eye contact. His jaw was clenched tightly. He looked...mad?

Jake hardly ever ignored you when he was upset. He was a little conflicted but he'd always apologize, showering you with affection.

The thought somersaulted in your head while you stood by the sink. Your cup of coffee had gone cold as you thought. Had you said something? Did you forget an important day? None of the valid reasons you could think of applied.

"You alright, dear?"

Steven's gentle question broke your reverie. A wistful smile flitted across your face.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, thanks, Steven," you nodded, kissing him on the cheek. "Just thinking."

He rubbed your shoulder and nodded towards the television. "Marc's been wanting to watch a new show, you wanna join?"

"Is that even a question?"

Laughing, you both curled up on the sofa, an old quilt tucked under your feet. It was a crime show, of course, but even with the gruesome details you found yourself drifting off, wrapped in warmth in Steven's lap.

Some time later, you woke to a jostling. Rubbing crust from your eyes, you pulled the blanket tighter and tried to find Steven. He was halfway off the couch, one leg still trapped under you.

"Why you leaving?" You mumbled pitifully, reaching out. He paused, before lifting his leg and stepping away.

"'M not Steven."

"Jake!" you sat up, suddenly awake. "Baby, where've you-"

"I'm gonna go to bed. He'll be back in the morning." He leaned forward and brushed the barest kiss to your hair, before stalking off.

You felt like you'd just been slapped. In your eight months with the boys, Jake was by far the most intimate, craving touch whenever possible. He'd cry if you didn't kiss him before work. And all of a sudden, he balked at a couch snuggle?

What?

The blanket trailed behind you, slithering over the cold floorboards as you padded after him.

He'd already shucked Steven's jeans and pulled the covers up to his chin, facing the wall.

You knew better than that. Jake's shoulders tensed when the mattress dipped. Shifting close, you tucked your hands around his waist and locked your legs around his hips.

He was stiff as a board, hands firmly under his pillow. You huffed, nudging your nose into his neck. He twitched at the ticklish feeling and you tried again, flicking your tongue out. Jake grunted and turned over, nose-to-nose with you.

"Hey," you whispered. His eyes glittered dark in the low light. You so badly wanted him to lean forward and brush your lips with his, but he stayed a few inches away.

"Steven and Marc are asleep," he whispered back. "You can see them later."

"I don't want them."

Something about your tone, soft and clingy, made his brow furrow. There was that look again; frustrated and cold. You leaned in to hide the cracking of your hurt.

He pulled away. You whined quietly, eyes welling. Jake's chest burned when he saw your tears, but he kept silent.

"Are...are you mad at me?"

He'd never heard your voice so shattered. It cleaved a hole right through his heart. Words got stuck in his throat. No, he wasn't mad. How could he be mad? You did so much for them, all of them. Maybe more for Marc and Steven, but...

"Mariposa..." he lifted a hand to your cheek. You leaned in, fisting your hands at his chest. Jake reluctantly held you back, tucking his chin over your head. You burrowed as tight as possible, squeezing against him in a way that made his heart hurt.

"Why did you leave?"

The question met his ears and he sighed. The complicated slurry of emotions hung heavy in his chest. Taking a laborious breath, he shrugged.

"Didn't want to interrupt the show."

"No. Why did you leave?" You pulled away, brow set. He looked away, exposed. That raw nerve that entangled his heart was throbbing with alarm. He was too open, too vulnerable. Both of his headmates were out, cutting off the exits.

A soft rub to his chest. He'd been hyperventilating. Your eyes were wide and worried.

"Jake?"

It was too much. He wanted to get away. This was too hard to explain. It wasn't supposed to be this difficult, why did you have to ask? Your curiosity was adorable but it disrupted his brooding intentions.

The bedroom began to fall away as the tight thrumming of his anxiety took over.

He shuddered in a breath, raking a hand over his face.

"I..." The rest of the sentence was gluey on this throat. He coughed and tried again. "I didn't want to interrupt...you."

"Interrupt? What do you mean?" You were still stroking his shoulder gently. Tears threatened to fall. this was going so badly.

"You. And...them."

Another slap to the face. You gaped at him, more in hurt than in shock. "Us? You mean - Jake, what the hell are you talking about? You're not interrupting anything-"

"Leave it, amor, forget I said anything," he muttered, cowering behind his walls again. You wrenched his head to yours in frustration.

"No, Jake Lockley, I will not forget it." Your eyes softened. "Why do you feel like that?"

"It's not-"

"It is important, mister."

Feeling like a child, Jake shuffled to face you and harrumphed.

"It...it seemed like you were in the middle of something," he mumbled, neck heating. Frowning, you shook your head.

"So? You're not banned from participating. I'd love to watch something with you."

You weren't getting it. This was why Steven did all the talking. Frustration churned in his chest. He just wanted to sleep and shoulder this off to Marc. You liked him better anyway.

"Just stop," he hissed, backing away, "you have your things with them, go enjoy that. You don't need me."

You were dumbfounded. What?

"Don't need y- Jake, what the hell?"

His claws were out, shielding the raw emotion pulsing in his heart. Just stop.

"You like them better, si? I know you want Marc, just let me sleep and he'll be-"

You yanked his head to yours, scowling at his bitter tone. A mix of torrential sorrow and dumbfounded irritation tore at your ribs.

"Jake Lockley," you seethed, "you've said that once and I won't settle for a second time. You are not nothing."

He met your anger with his, but a shining film of tears diluted the rage. "No," he whispered.

"I love you too, idiot," you said indignantly, tugging his hair. he bashfully ducked his head, wanting to hide the watery tears bubbling up.

"You know that, right?"

He didn't move.

"Jake."

You carefully lifted his chin, peering into his glistening eyes. A tiny, imperceptible whimper.

"Oh, honey."

He collapsed into your hug as you stroked his back, murmuring soothing reassurances as he choked back a sob. He'd never felt so exposed. The delicate flesh of his chest was flayed open, revealing the timidly thumping cavern of his heart. Red and tender, too soft to cope with the dangers of out there. it felt like you'd reached in and grabbed it, cradling it like the sun. Jake curled into himself, head dropping onto your chest.

"You- you just seem so right with them an' I didn't know if you actually needed me or if I was just there an', an-"

You pulled him to your chest, shushing the sobs that wracked his frame. Internally, you were a mess. He'd never shown this much of himself. How long had he been thinking this way? Thinking you didn't love him as much?

"Of course I want you," you said, shocked. "Of course, love, you're all important to me. Equally," you said firmly. Jake choked into your shirt and you rocked, side to side.

"Why would you think that?" you asked gently when he'd gotten his breathing back to normal.

He avoided your gaze, hot shame curdling his stomach. This wasn't how he expected this to go. He wanted you to brush him off, give him the predictable air of nothing. Clean apathy was easier to live in.

Jake felt like a baby deer, stumbling around in the throes of love, trying to get his feet back under him. This was new. this was different, he wasn't used to being so unsteady. He was the strong one, the big bad Jake that had everything under control-

"It's okay," you whispered, kissing his cheek, "I understand. Just let it out for a bit."

His hands curled at your hips, pulling you tighter as he hid in your neck.

Your shirt was soaked when you pulled away. He still wouldn't look at you, but you could feel his grip tighten on your wrists. Don't go.

Still kissing his face, you gently rucked up his shirt and stroked his chest. Jake sniffled and held you tighter, mouth connecting messily with your neck. The wet warmth of his tears mixed tenderly with his soft lips.

Carefully, like calming a spooked animal, you kissed down his jaw, laving your tongue on his neck and shoulders. Jake stuttered, unsure of how to handle the raw emotion. This was his thing. He did that, not the other way round. You kissed down his sternum, cradling his hands in yours.

"Pretty," you whispered into his warm skin. "have I told you how pretty you are?"

His chest was seized with emotion so thick he could barely breathe. 'I-I look the same as the others," he gritted out, trying to salvage his exterior. A petulant mewl when you sucked a bruise above his heart.

"I know, but you're lovely in your own way." You hovered over the mark, blowing gently and smiling at the prickling goosebumps. Jake didn't know up from down as you continued your slow descent. The heady mix of lust and adoration was making his head fuzzy.

The apartment fell away while you held him. He had started crying again; a silent barrage of warm tears trickling down his cheeks. You licked up the salt, pressing the taste of his yearning onto his tongue. Jake moaned weakly into your mouth, pawing at your shirt.

"Patient," you whispered, returning to your task.

He hiccupped and raked a hand through your hair. The thumping of his heart in your hands was harder now, glistening with newfound love. You continued to wrap him in a protective cape of encouragement, coaxing his shoulders to relax.

You stopped above his waistband, moving to straddle his lap. "Follow my lead," you instructed gently, looking into the dark well of his gaze. Jake Lockley was at a loss for words as you rocked against him, tucking is head in your neck.

The pure intimacy was stifling. He couldn't breathe around the weight of the affection you carried for him. Something had burrowed into the pores of his skin, tearing down the stone barricades around his mind.

The exposure didn't feel so bad. You were right there next to him, keeping his soft frailty from crumbling.

"You've got such nice eyes," you murmured, your own sweet gaze shining with kindness. Sniffling another wave of tears as you kissed his eyelids, Jake felt another wave of emotion.

The comments continued, praising his hair, his mouth, his skin, his strength. Each word rebuilt a piece of his armor.

Softer, better. Like flexible cotton rather than strangling iron. Somehow it felt stronger. Like he was soaring above the Earth, unstoppable.

"you're strong, Jake," you licked into his mouth, "you do such a good job with Steven, keeping him safe."

Alto. no, no, no he couldn't no this. too close to his sensitive middle. caught off guard, he reflexively pulled away, hackles raised. You crept higher on his lap, refusing to let him hide.

"marc knows too, sees how patient you are when he's mad." Another warm kiss and Jake was a mess.

His heart had been pounded to a bloody pulp with every praise, shuddering and pulsing weakly on the floor. your hands were stained, but you still held him lovingly. How did- how did you-

Another shuddering breath, and you blessed him with a reprieve from the attention. Your coaxing, tender touches never stopped, still petting the tension from his bones.

Jake was at the top of the tower, staring down into the abyss of this. This new thing; the drowning mass of you.

jump.

jump, he could do it. just dive in.

Your eyes met his again. "te amo."

the wind whistled by his ears. it's okay, it's okay, he'd-

he landed safely in your embrace, diving forwards to devour your mouth with his. This time you didn't push him away, but pulled him on top of you, running your hands over his sides. He desperately grabbed at your hips, wanting to mold into you. to grow into one body, every cell touching and twining until nothing could pull you apart.

"It's okay, hey," you cooed, helping him burrow into your chest. The warmth of your breasts surrounded his face. This was familiar, he could do this.

A shuddering sigh drifted musically through the room as he kissed and sucked, hoping to drive you even close to the pleasure you'd brought him.

His kisses were needy, harsh and desperate. thank you, they said. thank you thank you thank you.

Gently, softly, he licked down into your folds, pulling aside your panties. The soft tang of your sex made his heart flutter. Your hand was fisted in his hair, tugging and raking delicious rows of arousal into his core. Rivers of lust poured from every inch of him, fueled by the intensity of your affection.

"Good," he moaned into your folds, licking up your slick, "g-good God please-"

You trilled a pleased sigh, thighs tightening around his ears. Jake was engulfed in you; your sent, your softness, your everything. He didn't want to leave. How could he? The syrupy trap of your honeyed attraction had ensnared his heart and wasn't letting go.

"I love you," you panted at your climax, "Iloveyousomuch oh-"

Jake groaned when your wetness met his tongue again, drinking from your well like a parched soldier.

He climbed up your body, diving back into your mouth. You shuddered and wrapped around him, hand traveling to stroke slowly at his hardness. Whining softly, he positioned you to sit on top.

Another powerful punch of lust knocked the air from his lungs as you slipped him inside, face contorting with pleasure. Pride swelled, knowing he could do that to you. Him, not Marc or Steven or anybody else. You moaned and writhed for him.

Your kiss-swolled lips were slack as you rolled your hips, hands planted firmly on his chest. Jake brushed the hair from your face, gazing darkly into your hazy eyes.

"Mariposa," he breathed, capturing your lips in his. The shift made him slide deeper, stroking a heavenly spot deep inside. You cried out against his mouth and he swallowed the sound greedily, rocking harder and harder.

"Need," he moaned, "need you to f-feel good, baby, need ah-"

You clenched around him, hands digging into his back. The fluttering, trembling warmth that surrounded him was intoxicating. Jake slumped against the headboard, bucking his hips as you draped over him. Your warm, slick bodies rolled together, riding waves and waves of pleasure.

Not an inch between you wasn't completely smothered by the other. Jake felt hot arousal peaking in his core, sending a rush of adrenaline through his shaking muscles.

"Amor," he heaved, "amor, oh, please cum, please please I need you to cum," his voice pitched higher. You whimpered, shuddering as his thick girth stroked your walls perfectly, caressing every spot inside. He pulled you tighter, clutching you to his chest.

The sheets were twisted tight around your limbs, rucking and rutting harder and faster into each other. A sinful moan ripped your throat as you bounced on him, soft flesh glowing with the orgasmic halo. A final mewl and you were finished, pulsing hot and tight around him.

Jake bucked once more and thrust hard, shooting his climax as deep as possible. Your velvety folds greedily flared around him, drinking in his spend as you shuddered and keened. Before he'd even finished, he'd tucked you under him, greedily pressing his mouth against your sweaty neck.

I love you, he slurred, I love you so much, baby.

Your fingers limply entertwined with his, finally at peace.

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine taglist, comment to join!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I have a request if you're taking any. A Jake Lockley x fem!reader. The reader is dating them but is kind of scared of Jake (is very quiet and weary around him, doesn't like his physical touch) because he was cold and mean to her when they first met (he wanted to "protect" Steven) but now all he wants is to hold and love her. The opportunity finally arrives when she's sick and needs his help. (He forcefully fronts bc he's not letting this opportunity go to waste)

Of course! Thank you so much for the ask!

Ahhh, this one got away from me a bit. (And did a bit of it's own thing) I went in to write some angst with Jake and just ended up writing soft!Jake (again, because I can't help myself.) I hope this is okay!

Embrace

Jake Lockley X F!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: Overuse of railroad sentences, typos, hurt/comfort, previous Jake & reader not getting along, sick!reader, fluff, implied Steven x reader and Marc x reader, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 1789

_______________________________________

He can’t stop playing it over and over again in his mind. The image looping in a relentless merry-go-round. 

A light touch. His gloved fingertips barely skimming your skin as he tapped you on the arm. A gentle warning that he-they were back. 

You’d had your headphones on as you did the washing up, miming along a song whose beat bled out into the air around you. 

It was like you had known it was him on some subconscious level even before he reached you. 

Your reaction was etched into his skin, carved behind his eyelids. The flinch. The instinctive movement away from him. It was like a knife hacking the flesh away from his chest. 

You had looked at him as you paused your music. Your eyes a little wide and weary before you gave him a small smile. “Am I in the way?” 

The air had stuck in his throat, crushing him under the weight of his breath.

Jake didn’t trust his voice, not in that moment. He swallowed and shook his head. 

You nodded, looking at his hands instead of his face and went back to the washing up. You didn’t turn your music back on. 

.

It had been his fault. Jake knew that. He had been more than distant, cold, purposely keeping you further than an arm’s length and trying to drag Marc and Steven away from you as well. 

You had been a stranger. A danger. A variable that he couldn’t keep a constant eye on. 

There was a small mix up, some bad intel when Jake went out of his way to check on your background - just in case - by the time he realised that he had been working on the wrong information the damage was done. 

.

Jake watched in the background as Steven travelled home, keeping quiet as Marc and Steven talked. They had taken to wearing large over the ear headphones so that they could speak freely in public and look like they were just on the phone. Not that anyone in London would even notice if they were talking to themselves or not. 

He had stayed quiet as Steven showered and got changed, as Marc hoovered and then washed the leftover morning dishes. 

He didn’t even interject in the discussion of what to make for dinner, which was quickly becoming a squabble. 

It was only interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and you shuffling into the flat. 

But your doorsteps, they sounded… wrong. Too heavy and laboured, missing the normal bounce to your step. 

Marc was about to call out a greeting when Jake pushed to the front, cutting off his words before he had even opened his mouth. 

‘Jake!’ Marc’s voice was loud, but fading as he fell back. 

As Steven spoke at the exact same time. ‘Mate, you can’t just do that-” 

“Something’s wrong.” Jake muttered, his muscles tense. He moved towards the front door, keeping his footsteps light and making the minimal amount of possible sound. He stopped when you came into view.

You were slouched on the settee, crumpled up and drawn in on yourself. Your work bag was still on your lap, your coat and shoes on. Eyes shut. 

There was a horrible twist in his stomach, a wave of panic that buzzed across every nerve. You were hurt. 

He rushed forward, all previous grace forgotten.

You didn’t open your eyes until he put a hand firmly on your shoulder, an action that was worrying enough, “where are you injured?” He frowned deeply, trying to scan you over for any bruising or open wounds. 

“What, I’m not,” your voice came out all stuffy. Bunked up and a little garbled as if you’d just been woken from sleep. 

Realisation dawned.  You were sick, not hurt. He should pull back. He should get Steven or Marc, let them help you. That’s what you would want. 

“I’m just a bit,” your eyes were glassy, your reactions a little delayed. You motioned to your head with your hands. “Cotton wool-y.”

Jake put his hand on your forehead, you were burning hot.

He tutted and knelt down on the ground and began to take off your shoes. Quick and precise in his movements. 

You frowned. Your mind slowly catching up. “Jake?” 

He didn’t pause, didn’t answer. But swallowed when you stiffened slightly. 

“You don’t need to do that.” You whispered.

Jake continued, focused on his task, his warm hand on your calf as he eased your foot out of your boot and placed it carefully on the side before he started on the other. 

You cleared your throat. “You don’t have to.”

He set your other boot next to the first and slowly stood. His movements were slow, precise, careful to not surprise you. As if you were some wild skittish animal that could be spooked by the smallest thing. 

Jake took your work bag from your lap and hung it up on the side, where you liked to keep it. You followed his movements, nerves eating into your stomach. He didn’t have to do this. You were sure he didn’t want to do this. You were nothing more than a burden to him, an annoyance that he had to put up with for Marc and Steven’s sake. You-

“Come on,” he spoke softly, his eyes still downcast as he lent down towards you, gently taking your hands in his to help you to stand. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

“Jake,” the urge to pull your hands back, away from his touch was so strong, but you let him help you up. 

He ignored your words, wrapping one arm around your shoulders, his other hand on your arm as he began to guide you to the bedroom. 

“Jake,”

He stared at his feet,his lips pressed together into a tight line. His long, dark eyelashes were almost kissing his skin in his determination not to catch your gaze. 

“Jake.” You stopped, forcing Jake to as well. Your voice cracked as you spoke, your throat sore and aching. You swallowed. “I don’t need you to do this.”

He looked at you then.

You were expecting to see relief on his face. A nod. For his hands to leave you so that he could go about his evening without having to carry the burden of caring about you for his alter’s sake. 

Instead, his expression made a sharp cut of emotion sink into your chest. 

He stared at you with glassy eyes, his mouth slightly parted. He looked crestfallen. He looked heartbroken.

You didn’t know what to do.

There was a long moment before he spoke. “Please.”

You frowned in confusion. 

“Please,” he repeated. “Please let me look after you.” “Please don’t,” he glanced down again and screwed up his eyes, clenching his jaw and dropping his arms to his sides. Your skin was cold without his heat.

Slowly, you reached out and took his hand. A light touch as you tentatively wrapped your fingers around his. He squeezed back tightly. 

“Please let me look after you.” Jake whispered. “Please.”

You cupped his cheek with your free hand and he lent into it without hesitation, closing his eyes and breathing out heavily. As if the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders. 

“Jake?” 

He opened his eyes, a painful vulnerability dancing in them. 

“Please look after me.” You whispered. 

He smiled, the expression lighting up his whole face in one glorious moment. You’d never seen him smile like that before. 

He led you to bed, only leaving so that you could get changed into your pyjamas. He came back, calling out to you at first to check that you had finished changing your clothes, with his arms full. He carefully placed a new box of tissues and a packet of strepsils on your bedside table, along with some paracetamol and a cooling gel pack that was intended for headaches - explaining that it was Steven’s and he didn’t know if it would be helpful. 

You beamed at him as you sat up in bed, but didn’t get a chance to thank him as Jake rushed out of the room again, coming back quickly with your favourite mug. Steam wafted out of it. 

“It’s ginger,” he said, adding it to the collection on your bedside table, and making sure it sat perfectly in the middle of the coaster. “With some honey, it should help your throat. I can hear that you're a bit croaky.”

The honey touched your heart. There was only one pot of it in the flat, Jake’s vitamin honey that you had never touched. The honey that he refused to share with Marc or Steven, even going to the extent of hiding it. It was one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. 

“Jake,” you spoke so softly you were surprised he heard you. “Thank you.”

He fiddled with his hands, another little smile pulling at his lips. “It’s nothing.”

You shook your head, leaning a little to reach out to take his hand. He reacted straight away, moving towards your touch so that you didn’t have to disrupt your comfort. He sat lightly on the very edge of the mattress when you urged him to, taking your hand in his and running your thumb over his skin in a soothing pattern. 

Jake watched you, mesmerised. Your touch was for him, he wasn’t watching through Marc or Steven. It was his. 

“I’m honoured you know.” You said with a smile. “Letting me have some of your honey.” 

A small flush crept along his skin. For a moment he thought about lying, about saying that there was another jar. He swallowed and spoke quietly. “You’re more important than the honey.”

You didn’t know what to say, words wouldn’t form. 

Slowly, so carefully as if he was now the easily startled wild animal, you leant forward and wrapped your arms around him. You gave Jake plenty of time to move away, to back off. Instead he rushed towards it, quickly embracing you back and just melting into the hug. 

He tucked his head into your neck and breathed out a shaky breath. 

You could feel the tension in his arms, the strain running just under his skin as he fought the urge to hold you tighter, to press you closer to every inch of his body. 

You shifted backwards, laying down, and pulled him with you, urging him to follow. He clutched you tightly, and moved, shifting only slightly so that he was laying next to you and not on top of you. 

He let out the sweetest sigh of content as you coax him to lay his head on your chest and ran your fingers through his hair, still holding you tight. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[vintagegirl01]

Loving you is a losing game

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Steven and Jake are mentioned briefly)

Summary: Marc meeting you was one of the best things to have happen to him. However, the demons of his past make him feel otherwise. You help him see that the love you share is one that should be fought for.

A/N: This is what I thought while listening to the song Arcade by Duncan Laurence. Of course with a happier twist.

A/N 2: Purely for entertainment purposes, so please don’t come after me. As I said, I'm still getting used to writing pieces like this.

Marc Spector’s life has never been easy. From the trauma of his young brother’s death to everything he’s during his time as Khonshu’s avatar, he’s felt like a ticking time bomb. Though he’s tried to use his time as Moon Knight to right his wrongs, it never feels like it’s enough.

When he meets you, he begins to see that there is more to life than vengeance. Marc begins to let himself enjoy your presence when he and you hit it off at the gym.

You weren’t a gym rat by any means but you had started a membership in the hopes of getting in shape and learning self-defense by using their punching bag. Seeing you hit the bag by yourself catches his attention and he begins to give you some pointers on how to improve your stance. Over time, this leads to you becoming sparring partners and eventually exchanging phone numbers. Although,this leads to you all regularly hanging out outside your sparring hours.

The day he asked you out was a shock for him because not only did he actually let himself be brave enough to ask the question but you eagerly accepted his invitation. It’s even more surprising to find out that one date led to another. Then another until you both have officially unofficially started dating.

Despite everything going well, he knew that there were things he needed to tell you. About his DID. His past. Being the avatar to an Egyptian deity in exchange to right the wrongs from his ugly past.

This then leads him to begin feeling self conscious about himself. His inner dialogue begins to consist of questions such as: What if he didn’t deserve this chance at happiness? What if she thinks I’m crazy or thinks I’m making this up?

Marc then begins to hear his mother’s voice. Telling him that he is unworthy of receiving love and will only continue to destroy all the lives that he surrounds himself with. Steven and Jake try to snap him out of this but Marc is paralyzed. At this moment, Marc only thinks one thing.

“I have to break up with her before I hurt her”, Marc thought.

_____________________________________

“Marc, this isn’t funny. Stop joking, you say.

“I’m not joking. I think we should break up,” said Marc.

“But why, Marc? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course, you didn’t. You’ve been the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Then why are you doing this?” You take your hand in his, looking at him sadly. ���Please, tell me why you’re acting as if I’m a disease.”

“Imthedisease.” He says as if he’s trying to rip off a bandage.

“What, baby?”

“I said, I'm the disease. I seep into innocent lives and destroy them.” He looks at you tearfully.

“Marc, that’s silly. What are you talking about?”

Marc then begins to explain everything. From the death of his younger brother to the lives he took during his time as a mercenary. He also makes sure to mention that he is the vigilante, Moon Knight, and has two other individuals living within his head. He concludes all of this by saying, “Loving me is a losing game.”

Once he’s done explaining all of this, Marc is waiting to see your reaction to all this. Will you call him crazy? Run away from him? Scream?

Instead, you take his hands in your own.

“Loving you isn’t a losing game, Marc,” you tell him. I love you and long as we have each other, we can face whatever life throws at us.”

At this, Marc pulls you into a big hug. He lets himself break down because he knows that you’re here to stay and love him. For his strengths and weaknesses, through good and bad times. He knows you will be there for him.

As you two are still embracing, he starts to believe that he is worth loving after all.

[ladywynne]

One of Us

Jake Lockley x Dylan (Moon Knight), Jake Lockley & Steven Grant - Rating G - Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Summary - Jake wants to love, and he finds that the end of one relationship may be the beginning of something even better.

Based on a hurt/comfort request from @sejanusxfan. Thank you! I hope you don't mind the angst or that I snuck in a Jake reveal. 🫢

Lovely divider by @samspenandsword

It started as a casual thing. Jake saw Dylan through Steven's eyes and he was immediately drawn to her. How could he not be? Dylan was confident and gorgeous and kind. She never treated Steven poorly like so many others did. When Jake finally spoke to her, he found out she was also smart, passionate, and funny. That's when he knew he was done for.

After Cairo Jake managed to patch up the mess Steven made of his relationship with Dylan, and he courted her with all the pent up romance in his vulnerable heart. He was still Jake, confident on the outside, decisive, reserved, but inside Dylan filled the gaping hole that longed for connection. She seemed to heal the bruises of violence and loneliness and the secret fear that he wasn't worthy to be known. The sharp little cuts that formed as Marc and Steven continued to ignore him, as they connected without him, Dylan healed one by one with every smile, every kiss, every touch. She saw him. Or so he thought.

It was a cold November night. Jake drove carefully through the flurries of snow that sparkled and shone in the twin beams of his headlights. He hadn't seen Dylan in nearly a week, and he couldn't wait to take her out and pamper her. He had a surprise planned, a private booth at a jazz club, and he knew her smile would be dazzling in the intimate lighting. Jake pulled up outside Dylan's building and grabbed the bouquet he brought for her, going up to her door like the gentleman he was. The door opened before he even knocked. The first thing Jake clocked was her face. It was closed off, not alive with intelligence or pleased to see him as it usually was. The next was the clothes. It was obvious that Dylan wasn't planning on a night on the town.

"Carino, are you okay?" His first thought was for her well-being. If anyone had upset or hurt her they would wish they hadn't.

Dylan sighed and opened the door wider, "I'm fine Jake. Come in."

He handed her the flowers with a tiny smile, hoping to see an answering one even though things were clearly not okay. No luck. Dylan took the offered roses without a word, dodging his kiss and moving aside so he could step inside. When the door closed she placed them on the entry table and turned to face him.

"We need to talk. Want to sit down?"

He shook his head silently, suddenly unable to take a breath.

"Jake," Dylan wasn't a gentle woman, so the soft tone rang more alarm bells in his head. "This isn't working out."

"Isn't working out?" He managed to ask.

"I can't depend on you. You disappear for days at a time. And-"

She hesitated and Jake clenched his jaw, "And?"

Dylan took a breath and faced him squarely, "And I met someone else."

Even as he admired her grit he was stunned by her statement. "What the hell? Who?"

"His name is Eduardo. He works in accounting."

Jakes fist clenched as he steadied himself. "What the hell?! We're so good together. I- you know I adore you, mi vida. I love you, mi sol." He felt a little pathetic, but damn it, he meant every word.

Dylan reached out and for a shining second he thought she would put her hand on his arm. Instead she reached past him and turned the knob on the door.

"I don't love you, Jake. I need more than chemistry. I want a life with someone. Goodbye. Lose my number."

He swallowed, wanting to say more, feeling his heart begin to crack. But he pulled himself together, straightened his back and his hat and walked out the door like it wasn't killing him to do it. The click of the lock was as loud as any pistol report he had ever heard.

The few steps back to his car felt like wading through a sea of sand. Each step took eons as he tried to process what happened. He shook his head sharply when he felt the threat of Steven's waking. Get ahold of yourself, Lockley. Get it together. He stumbled to his car and got behind the wheel, trying with all his might not to think about the little velvet box hidden in the center console. He flexed his gloved hands on the wheel, forcing himself to drive away. He wouldn't be a creep sitting outside her window.

But when Jake parked and cut the engine he didn't move. He sat, hands still on the wheel as the engine cooled and snow formed an icy crust around him. He sat, alone, tears on his cheeks. Until he was as cold as the world outside. He sat, feeling each little cut on his heart reopen deeper and wider and he couldn't take it. Couldn't take being alone, unwanted. Until he thought he would die.

That's when he heard it. Marc?

His eyes traveled slowly to the rearview mirror, already knowing what he would see. His face, but not his reflection.

His voice came out gruffer than he intended, "Not Marc."

Not Mar-. Oh, I see. Steven took a moment to gather himself, swallowing nervously. Not Marc. Okay. Well, I'm Steven. Nice to meet you mate.

Even in his current state Jake appreciated Steven's ability to adapt, his quick wit. It was something he admired in Dylan- oh fuck. Another treacherous tear slid down and he choked back another. "Jake. Name's Jake."

'ello Jake. You don't seem surprised to see me. You're not new, are you?

This made Jake huff a derisive laugh, "No Steven, I ain't new."

Steven nodded, absorbing this information as easily as he did all knowledge. He twisted his hands for a moment before asking. May I ask what's wrong? I think that's why I'm here.

"Nothing wrong."

Posh. It's all over your face.

Jake swiped his cheeks roughly. "Don't worry about it."

Jake. It's Jake, right? I know we just met but we share a head. You can tell me. I want to help.

"You want to help?" Jake stared, suddenly angry. And suddenly it was about so much more than just Dylan, "NOW you wanna fuckin' help?"

Steven flinched. What do you mean now? We just met.

"Yeah yeah. Right. We just met. But you knew about me. You both KNEW!" Jake's dam broke. "You left me! You left me in that sarcophagus. You ignored me when I helped you. You were s-scared of me. Both of you."

Steven shook his head in denial, but Jake barrelled on, scoffing cynically.

"Maybe it was meant to be. Marc made me dark. Brutal. I ain't nothin' more than that Steven. I ain't worth your notice. Your-" he choked, unable to voice the word love. He bent forward, forehead against the hard steering wheel, hands twisting around it as he hid his contorted and tortured face.

Bruv...No... Steven didn't retaliate in anger. He didn't argue any more. He was gentle. Kind. Patient.

Steven drew close to Jake, wrapping his consciousness in warmth and support unlike anything he had ever experienced. That's not true. We're one, ya know? One soul, bruv. And I know already that you're not pure darkness. You're one of us. I see you.

It was everything Jake had ever wanted. He stiffened at first, but in only moments he sank into the warmth of Steven's regard. Sank until he was tucked into their brain, small and safe and, finally, known.

[trickster-jpeg]

Cracked At The Line In The Air, I feel safe.

Summary: Steven accidentally breaks his childhood teddy and it triggers a meltdown.

Warnings: Steven hits himself as a stim during his meltdown. Not sure of that warrants a warning but just in case.

Word Count: 1607 It's On AO3 -> Here

A/N: 'Ricitos' is just a term of endearment (usually for a partner, up to you how you interpret it) that means curly hair/small curls.

It’s broken. It’s broken. Oh my god, it’s broken.

Steven was laying in bed. It was the middle of the night and he was just settling down to sleep. It had been a good day. Nothing bad had happened, he’d been rather at ease, enjoying going about his day with minimal interference. He’d rolled over to lay down on his side and seen his childhood teddy tipped over, having fallen onto the floor. It was a fuzzy small elephant called Nellie. The stuffing distributed unevenly and one of the ears slightly worse for wear than the other due to constant chewing as a child, but it was still whole. It had small black beads for eyes, a stubby little trunk, and two tiny white mounds either side of its face for tusks. Not wanting her to be lonely, because he still had a tendency to anthropomorphize things, he went to pick her up and place her back on her spot on the bed.

Despite having had it for decades, it was still in relatively solid condition. He’d put effort into maintaining its state and was rather chuffed with himself at having had her for so long with minimal incidents. Which is why it was all the more heartbreaking when one of the seams on its neck had stuck out and gotten caught in the floorboards. He had no idea how, but it did, and when he grabbed her to pull her upwards it started to tug. Something he had realised far too late to stop it from happening.

The seam had stayed wedged firmly in the crack and as soon as the force of pulling the toy was applied, it started to unravel. In an instant, the body started to separate from the head, the old stuffing starting to tip and pile out onto the floor beneath itself. The stitches snapped as the neck stayed stuck to the ground, disconnecting from the main body and tugging a front arm off along with it.

His brain stopped dead in its tracks, physically incapable of processing what had just happened. It was almost as if time had slowed as Steven watched the events unfold in absolute horror. He froze instantly, eyes bulging as his mouth hung open with shock. A tremble immediately started to zap through his hand as his fingers loosened from a firm clasp around the worn but soft body of the toy, to a lax and limp claw that was just barely holding it. It was only as it tumbled out of his grip to lay with the rest of itself, surrounded by the stuffing that was once inside, that Steven lunged at the broken object, his heart pounding out of his chest as he frantically tried to gather all of the pieces together in his arms.

“No. No, no, no, no- NO- NO!”

His lungs constricted as his breathing instantly got caught, fractured breaths intermingling with the rising nausea and swirled around like the ocean in a storm. Broken sounding words flooded from his mouth as he stuttered to get them out in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the crushing pressure growing like a lump in his throat. They got muddled and stuck, his tongue getting in the way as he tried to stammer anything new, but was unable to get them out in a way that felt right. His mouth quickly flooded with the crimson metallic taste of blood as he bit down on his cheek, his jaw crunching down in a moment of shock as he tried to process what just happened.

Fat globules of tears poured down his face as he desperately willed the pieces to form back together, to undo it all and fix itself. His breaths heaved as he continued to work himself up, bawling harder and harder as he grasped the pieces impossibly closer to him. The sudden heartbreak was painful, physically painful and even more so psychologically. He felt the disparaging familiarity of dissociation grip him, his brain disconnecting from his body as he started to heave strangled sobs, whimpering pleas for the elephant to be okay. For his Nellie to be all better again.

He couldn’t lose her, she’d been there for him since he was a kid. She was the only thing that could calm him down when things got too bad, something not even his headmates could fully manage to do. Meltdowns, flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks. Even just giving him something to cry into when a character he liked in a film died, or just something to fall asleep with when he needed to. He didn’t care that people might see it as childish, after everything the system had been through when they were supposed to have been a child, he thought they should almost be owed it to make up for lost time. But Nellie was something from his childhood. Their childhood. Which is why it was all the more painful that she was now broken apart and torn in his arms.

Gradually, he felt his body begin to rock back and forwards, his breathing trying to match the motions frantically at the sudden awareness he really wasn’t breathing right. How could he have been so careless? How stupid could he have been to just destroy one of his most treasured items? One of the only truly, wholly good things they had from their parents, from their little brother, and he’d gone and broken it. Bringing the main body of the teddy to his face, he pressed it against his skin and started to muffle his cries, the pain steadily shifting into a burning anger. Anger that he could blame no one for but himself.

His brows furrowed in irritation as a swelling burning flashed in his chest, his grip tightened around the material painfully as the rage towards himself grew. The feeling began to burst through his limbs as he clenched his jaw almost painfully, grinding his teeth in annoyance as tears kept trickling down his face. Through huffed breaths, a guttural rumble rose in his oesophagus and tore up his throat in a furious roar.

“FUCK! HOW COULD I BE SO FUCKING STUPID? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? FUCKING STUPID- USELESS- WORTHLESS FUCKING- FUCK-”

In an instant, he raised his arms up with fists balled and started to bash them against the side of his head. The motion was repetitive and a bit painful, but soothing in a way. He carried on letting random, frustrated words and whines fumble out of his lips as his body took over. Tears and snot dripped down his face as he continued to hit his temples, sobbing in bitterness as a crash of self-hatred pooled in his chest. Briefly, he thought he heard someone speaking to him but he couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

There was a new resistance in his arms, something that pulled them back and made them feel not quite right. That made him almost struggle to do the thing that was soothing him. That was helping. Made it feel like it wasn’t helping. Like it was almost worse. He didn’t like it, it felt restraining. So instead moved them away and sat on his hands, trying to mitigate the uncomfortable feeling that stopped them with pressure. Continued to rock back and forth, to make the noises that climbed up his throat.

“Steven. It’s going to be okay. We can fix it. It’s alright.”

He shook his head disparagingly at the words, too overwhelmed to be able to form anything comprehensible. His legs bounced rhythmically as he tried to convey what he wanted to say, tried desperately to grasp at words and throw them out in a way that made sense. That helped him explain that it wasn’t alright and that it couldn’t be fixed. That he couldn’t fix it and it was too late for anything to be saved. But in some way he felt as though the speaker understood his thoughts regardless of whether or not they were spoken, and the gravelled voice spoke again. Accompanied by someone else.

“It might not feel like it, but this’ll pass and we can stitch her up. She’ll be fine, it was an accident, Steven. You’re not stupid or useless, it was a mistake.”

“He’s right, ricitos. We can fix our fluffy friend. Maybe even get her some new stuffing and fill it out properly again.”

As the voices spoke, they projected feelings of warmth. There was a contrast between their comfort and the gradual dimming of the burning that had been exploding in his chest. Whatever it was, it was nice. It was kind. Caring. And they said they could fix it. They could fix Nellie. He just needed to try and calm down so that they could. Gently, he felt himself move off of sitting on his hands. Felt them start to lift and snake up to wrap around him and hold him in a way that felt good. That felt safe. Protected. It felt like he could just let go.

He didn’t want to feel this way anymore. Didn’t want to feel any of it. And somehow he knew they would be able to help him stop feeling that way. They’d be able to fix it for him, they could fix Nellie. Stop him from causing more damage to their belongings and their body. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he never meant to hurt them, never meant to hurt himself. But he just couldn’t help it. So, that’s what he did. He let the pair take his place, and went into the back.

[winniethewife]

It's undeniably real (Layla El-Faouly x The Moonknight system x Reader)

Chapter 7: And we kissed, as though nothing could fall

Warning: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort (yet), gun violence, abduction

Last Chapter ~ Next Chapter

Words: 1093

Sometimes I swear that in the silence I can hear everything come crashing down. I can see them, their loving deep brown eyes looking at me, they know I didn’t mean to, I can’t control this. Our life hangs in the balance, I just have to tip the scales…

This was not how I expected my return to Egypt to be. I thought about going through the markets with Marc and Layla, eating snacks and laughing, going on tours of temples with Steven as he told me everything I could ever want to know about everything, andI’m sure Jake would have taken me dancing anywhere music plays, his hands on my body as we moved to the music…But that wasn’t the case. Instead we were here to take out a dangerous cult, “The cult of the Jackal” they seem to barely have a goal or mission stamen besides causing chaos and attempting to assassinate anyone with a decent amount of power. They claim to have some Tie to the God Anubis but Khonshu assured Marc that the god of funeral rites had nothing to do with them. They just have delusions of grandeur.

I lay on top of the building sniper rifle in hand as I watch from a distance as Marc and Layla talk with an informant. Waiting for a signal. I feel the edge of the numbness in my mind. I was learning to ignore it but it wasn’t easy. I watch through the scope of the rifle as they argue. I have no idea what’s happening but Marc is managing to keep his cool, I can tell he’s not pleased with something they said. Layla however is unreadable, her fake plastic smile fools most. I take a second to scan the area for threats again, as I scan I hear something behind me I turn around to see one of the cultist’s gun aimed at me, I move as quickly as I can but as the shot rang out I feel a sharp sting in my shoulder, my hand goes to the spot where I felt the sting feeling the wet gush of blood. As I pull my hand away, I see the blood on my hand. The dark red color burned into my mind as I feel myself start to loose consciousness, in the distance I hear yelling, Layla…Marc…I hear them, but I can’t focus, I feel my body lifted over someone’s shoulder. Everything goes dark.

~

“You said you knew where they were located. And now you’re telling us you have no idea where they are?” Marc was sick and tired of these people and their ever changing information. As the guy starts to speak and make excuses that’s when they hear it, A gunshot. Marc turns towards the sound and watches in horror as the scene unfold. He watches as the cultist lifts her over his shoulder and turns to leave.

“NO!” He shouts as he starts to run to her. The voices of his alters fill the back of his mind with panic but he manages to block them out as he runs at a break neck speed. He hears Layla scream her name behind him as they boths start on the chase following the cultist with their partner over his shoulder. As they move through the city just as they think they are going to catch him, the cultist throws her into a car and they drive away.

“Fuck NO!” Marc stops in his tracks and feels his heart breaking.

“Give me the body amigo, I’ll get us a car, I’ll get her back.” Jake urges and Marc can’t find a reason to argue. He watches as Layla starts to chase the car and he feels the weight of everything.

“Go, Jake go.” He mutters as he feels himself fall back into the headspace letting Jake to the front.

~

Jake followed the car furiously through the streets of Cairo, Layla swears she’s never seen him this mad before and she’s been the one he’s been mad at more than once. She’s has a death grip on the seat underneath her. This was her best friend, the wonderful woman that she had spent her whole life by her side and all she could do was pray that Jake kept on the car in front of him, and that she was still alive.

Layla races to the back seat to find her, pale, eyes rolled back as she breaths shallow fading breaths, Layla pulls her in, not caring about the blood, pulling her down as bullets fly around them. She looks at her wound, Clean shot straight through the shoulder, shattering her collarbone and shoulder blade. She’s gotta get to a hospital as soon as possible. Layla ripping her shirt padding the wound, trying to stop the bleeding as quickly as she can.

“Please…Hold on for me Habibi…Hold on…” She mutters as they speed along the street. To her surprise Jakes hand slipped into hers, He gives him her a quick glance before refocusing on the road, she catches a whisper on his lips.

“Voy por ti mi amor. Haré que esos bastardos paguen.” Jake looked determined like nothing in the world will stop him. However on the inside He was scared as hell, thinking a mile a minute. They wouldn’t take her if she was dead, but they’d been driving around in circles for too long, depending on where she was shot…He couldn’t think like that. He squeezes Layla’s hand before letting go and turning the wheel as they follow the car down an alley before they finally stop. Jake doesn’t think twice, jumping out of the car and summoning the suit in one fluid motoion as he races to the driver’s door.

“I’m here, we’re here, it’s going to be okay…It has to be okay.” Layla softly croons as she tries to not let the situation get to her. “I love y-you, God Damn it I Love you. You can’t leave us like this. We’ve got so much to do habibi, So much life left to live. Damn it live!” She cried as she holds her lover in her arms. Finally the bullets stop flying and Jake appears.

“Let me take her, Let me take…Layla we have to move now! Vamos!” Jake insisted as he takes their lover in his arms and rushes to the car. They only had so much time. He looks at her frail body in his arms. They have to make it, He’ll never forgive himself if they don’t.

~

Translation:

Voy por ti mi amor. Haré que esos bastardos paguen.: I'm coming for you my love. I'll make those bastards pay.

Vamos!: Lets go!

Masterlist

Taglist: @redeyerhaenyra @summonthesoups

[thesnakeslibrary]

Promise?

Pairing: Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley Type: Angst and Fluff Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, They have seperate bodies, mentioned Khonshu, Steven has abandonment issues

As a sort of...Reward for being my Moonknight, I have a proposal. I could provide you with separate bodies.

That blessing from Khonshu was something Marc, Steven, and Jake had wanted for so long. They wanted to be able to hug, kiss, and just  see  each other without the barrier of a reflective surface. And now they were able to because of this pigeon god. It was bizarre, but most of their life has been strange.

With separate bodies, they could live separate lives now. Steven was terrified that was what would happen. He didn't want his alters to abandon him. He knew they wouldn't, but he nonetheless felt a pit of unease in his stomach as they all walked back to Steven's flat.

Jake and Marc were on either side of him as they walked, holding his hands. He felt a need to ask for assurance that they would stay, but fear prevented him from being able to. He stayed silent as they walked.

Once they had arrived and walked inside, they all decided to go to bed early, the separation and creation of their bodies having drained most of their energy. It was wonderful to be able to properly hold each other.

Jake let out a content sigh and tenderly kissed the back of Steven’s head, squeezing his waist gently. "I love you, mis queridos. (my dears/my darlings)" You wouldn't expect such softness from Jake, but he has his moments. Only with Marc and Steven.

Steven, caught off guard, lost his train of thought and impulsively voiced what he had been thinking about. "Will you two stay?" Marc looked down at him, confused. "What do you mean, baby?" Steven sighed and sat upright, Marc and Jake soon following suit.

"I just- We have our own bodies now, so we can live our own lives and I'm... I'm just scared you’ll leave me now that you can." His partners frowned, moving closer to pull him into their comforting embrace.

Jake lifted a gloved hand to direct Steven’s anxious eyes to his own. "Amor (love), we wouldn't dream of leavin' ya. We love you and want to stay with you." Marc nodded in agreement, placing an affectionate kiss on Steven’s cheek. Before he could ask for confirmation, Marc gave it to him. "We promise, Steven." He nodded and wrapped his arms around both of his boyfriends.

[loki-hargreeves]

Okay so I was building the mk apartment in the sims and I had to build that bathroom. Then I decided to renovate it to how I picture it in fics. Because my mind refuses to accept Steven doesn't actually have a bathtub

I didn't want to change absolutely everything... but I kinda did

I think they deserve a bathtub and Steven deserves to be able to read in the bathtub.

And a sink in the bathroom would be nice

this bathroom does not exist in my fanfic imagination but it's a vibe

[ashes-writing-corner]

I know, I know, I said I wasn't gonna write fanfiction in the month of November. I kinda lied.

Look season 2 of Moon Knight has been announced and I am a sucker for any and all things Oscar Isaac and the moon boys. That all being said, please enjoy this Jake Lockley and Steven Grant angst fest! If it gets enough likes/reblogs/comments, I'll do a part 2 with Marc. He was supposed to be in it but I ran out if time to write more.

TW: mention of the thought of self harm, somewhat accidental self harm, possible oocness, and probably very badly translated Spanish (yes, I used Google translate sue me....seriously don't I have nothing XD)

Perfect Little Punching Bag

Love.

Hate. 

There was always such a fine line between them. Was love always so fickle? Was hate always so non linear? Not helping matters was that all too often, the two emotions blended in a painful mix for him. 

It used to hurt. It used to hurt a lot…

At least Steven had been sold some kind of illusion that someone gave a rat's ass about him. Happiness based on a lie was no way to live, sure, but he had it. He believed someone cared about him, the person who was supposed to care for them the most. 

The same person he was created to protect their body from: their own mother. 

The two had their roles, and while they were close, they never actually met. Steven protected Marc Spector's heart, as in the center of the innermost feeling. Jake was created with no such blissful delusion. No. There was no comfort, no care for Jake Lockley. He was created to protect the physical body from all means of harm. 

When Wendy screamed, he would hear without truly listening. When she whipped or beat him, he'd feel it without reacting. No. He could not, and would not, let her win. Although his young throat would burn with the urge to roar and fight back, at the time he knew he stood no chance. He would lay there in the aftermath, wide eyed, his back and everywhere else burning and welted. But she did not win. 

She never won when it came to Jake. She did not see his tears. She wouldn't ever see them. And if she didn't, no one else surely would.

Where had he found his first blade again? Oh yes, he had taken it out of one of Marc's old pencil sharpeners. Jake had snagged the smallest screwdriver he could find so he could take it out. After every beating, every screaming session, when Jake felt strong enough again, he'd lift the rug in his alter's bedroom and carve another tally into the floor. Jake didn't know why he had kept track, there wasn't a point, but even now, he kept track of the many times he won, the times he cracked but never shattered. He had thought of using the blade several times on himself, but knew that would go against his purpose. Why cause more damage to a body he was supposed to defend? No, no…the floor was covered under that rug with evidence of his wrath.

Hate was an easy emotion. He was born in and from it, molded by it. If he felt it most of the time could he really call it hate? Hate at his abusive mother and enabling father. Hate at his alters for their closeness from which he was excluded. Hate at the world for molding him into this…this monster. He understood this was his lot in life, to be this hated and hateful monster, and for the longest time Jake never objected. It was his job in life and in the system. He knew his place. 

But overtime, it began to slowly take its toll. 

Jake was all too aware of the hole in his heart, if he could even call it that anymore. It was more than that now. A gaping, bloody maw that roared to be fed or else it would consume him. It was why he did what he did as brutally as he did it. Feed the maw, kill the pain inside. That was the deal. But no matter how much he did, or what he tried, it would come back with a vengeance eventually, angry at its suppression and hungry all over again. Longing consumed him, and icy loneliness gripped at his heart. It was bearable, but only to a certain extent. Again, it was his lot in life. 

But then Marc met Layla, falling in love. Oh Jake hated him for that. Marc had the nerve, the gall, the AUDACITY to attempt to be happy while Jake rotted in the excess of HIS despair?! He could stand it when one of his alters was happy. He was okay with either Steven or Marc being happy but not both of them at the same time! How was that fair?!  Even if Steven's happiness was built on illusion, he still HAD it. He felt a semblance of it, a taste of it. 

But there was no such thing as that for Jake Lockley. Never. He wasn't created to be loved. He was never meant to BE happy. He was the monster Marc created for his own darker tendencies, a way for him to subdue his conscience to do his mercenary work. 

Sometimes, Jake would think about trying to approach one of or maybe both of them. Jake would imagine it, talking himself up a bit, trying to think of what he would tell them, and hope that the two alters would find something in him worth accepting.  But oh no Khonshu couldn't let that happen. The moon god poured poison in Jake's ear, which dripped slowly to the maw in his heart…

“Do you really think those two idiots care about you? If they did, wouldn't they have freed you in the Duat? Wouldn't they have added your heart to the scales to be weighed? Wouldn't they have gone back for you? You know exactly how they would react” Khonshu pointed out and would fill Jake's head with horrid illusions of their reactions. 

Steven was always afraid of him, no matter what he tried. Marc was disgusted most of the time, and unsympathetic, like a cold and uncaring master kicking his dog. Well, a kicked dog could only take so much before lashing out, seeing enemies everywhere. The moon god had succeeded in turning Jake against the other two…

Or so he thought. 

It was in a deep state of meditation that he was found. In the darkest corner of Marc Spector's mind was Jake Lockley's own personal hell, his domain. No longer in that damn sarcophagus, it was replaced with a dark room, a small closet more like, with tally marks all over the walls. Countless numbers of them. Jake couldn't keep track of them anymore. 

Some ‘victories’ they were indeed.

Of the alters, it was Steven who found him first. Sweet Steven Grant with his damn heart of gold…why did it have to be him?! Sitting in that corner, wallowing in his despair, with the maw begging to be fed again. It was always so damn hungry now…

Steven looked at the wretched place, concern etched into his features. But he knew they both needed answers. Who the hell was this and what did they want? There was blood all over the floor and tally marks carved in all four walls from floor to ceiling. A shadow sat facing a corner, uncaring about the horror around him. A single light bulb on a string was the only light in that room and it was dull, fading. It looked like something out of a horror movie. Steven trembled as he approached the shadow in the corner. 

“Hey…hey there, you okay?” He managed to speak out despite what he was looking at. 

Jake let out something that sounded like a growl. “Salir…”. (Go away)

“I'm sorry wha-”. 

“Get out…¡ahora!”. (Now!)

“Whoa! Whoa…whoa….okay! Someone is very protective of their space-”. 

“Salir! No volveré a preguntar!” Jake found the small pencil sharpeners blade close by. (Get out, I won't ask again!)

Steven squinted trying to figure out what it was he was holding. “Okay first of all, English please, and second, I have no idea what that is but I'd appreciate it if you put it back. I didn't come here looking for a fight” he said, trying to keep his voice stable and somewhat gentle. 

“Go away, Steven. This isn't where you belong…”. 

“If I dare say it, you don't belong here either”. 

Jake scoffed. “I'm a part of this too”. 

“What do you-no! I meant you don't belong in here you big doofus!”. 

He hardly gave any mind as he walked along the bloody floor to approach Jake, still facing the corner with the small blade in his hand. Steven felt this oddly familiar feeling with this shadow, this thing. He looked at all the tally marks, and gently brushed his hand against them. 

“What are these?” Steven asked. 

“Victories…” Jake answered, though he didn't dare look at him, not directly. 

From his peripheral vision, however, he could see the man with a softer version of his own hardened face frown, his eyes soft with sadness, not fear. Why wasn't he afraid? Khonshu said he'd be afraid! 

“Victories over what?” He asked, “cause from where I'm standing this doesn't look like victory”. 

“Would you prefer if I said they were kills?” He asked  in kind, keeping his tone dark, even if inside he was trembling. 

The maw was quiet. Deathly so. 

“No…no i think we can stick with victories for now” Steven answered and looked around nervously, unsure of what to say. He decided that skipping the limbo would probably be the best way to go. 

“Are you a third one? Are you like me?” He asked. 

“Podrías decirlo…” Jake replied bitterly, his hand clenching around the blade, not caring about its sharp sting. (You could say that)

Steven frowned. “I don't like the sound of that but I'm assuming that's a yes…and a very angry one. Hey…you don't have to stay here, you know that right?”. 

Jake scoffed, attempting to ignore the pain in his palm. He wanted to turn the blade on Steven, to at least give him a taste of his pain. Maybe it would even piss Marc off enough to get his attention! Oh…wouldn't that be fun? Because as much as he despised and envied Steven, he absolutely hated Marc for his wretched existence. And hurting them both would feel amazing in the moment... 

“This is where I belong” he answered simply. 

“Who says?” Steven asked, “you don't deserve this. What's your name?”. 

“It doesn't matter”. 

“It matters to me, and it definitely matters to Marc-”. 

Jake scoffed louder at that. “He doesn't care about me. He doesn't give a damn about me. Nadie hace…”. (No one does) 

“That's not true! He just doesn't know about you! Look, if I can get us all here at the same time-”. 

“Not on our life! It's bad enough you're here!”. 

Steven frowned deeply at that, looking quite hurt. “You didn't want us to find you, didn't you? Why?”. 

The look on the alter's face was bitter and angry. His eyes, one brown and the other a deep red, were sharp and could cut deeper than any knife. He looked so much like them and yet was so distinctively different. Something in him looked…tired. Tired and sad. Like all he wanted to do was rest. 

Despite everything, deep down Jake didn't want to hurt either of them. Looking at Steven now, it made that long suppressed longing come back in small waves at first. Years of telling himself he didn't care about their approval, their “love”, came back to bite Jake in the face in the most vicious way. 

He didn't hate his alters.

No, in fact, something in him loved them, which was why he still did what he was meant to do. 

So no, hate wasn't what he felt. 

To his surprise, Jake realized that he didn't hate them. What he felt was envy, a deep seated, rooted jealousy aimed at them. Sure there was some resentment there as well, but envy was definitely the stronger of the two. Since their excursion to the Duat, this envy had only grown, the roots taking a stronger deeper hold of Jake's heart. He was jealous of the bond they shared, even if it seemed out of whack in the beginning. When they all took down Harrow together, despite having done most of the work, he wasn't included in that victory. Since then, Jake had been a shadow on the outskirts of their peaceful life…

“A stress ball…”. 

Steven looked confused. “What?”. 

“You asked Marc if you were some kind of stress ball or something not too long ago…”. 

Steven looked at him and squinted. “Wait…the Duat? You were there? Hold on a minute! Was that you in the other sarcophagus?! The one trying to get out?!”. 

His nod hit Steven like a freight train. They had left him there. They abandoned him. 

“I'm so sorry. If I'd known-”. 

“Be lucky you were that. An emotional fucking stress ball. At least you were fed an illusion she cared about you”. 

Steven's hurt turned right away to offense. “Excuse me?! You think I liked learning about that?! I feel like the truth-”. 

“If you knew the truth you would've never survived-”. 

“I survived just fine thanks! If there's something you wanna say then say-”. 

With the utmost viciousness he could muster, Jake hissed back: “Te odio!”. (I hate you!)

Steven almost flinched back. He barely understood a lick of Spanish, but judging from the harshness of his tone and the anger on his face, it didn't take a genius to know what he meant. Not helping matters was the sadness in Jake's eyes. More than anger, more than bitterness or envy, he was just sad.

“I don't hate you” Steven told him, “even if you hate me” he put a gentle hand on Jake's shoulder. 

Jake brushed it off, trying to keep his angry and hateful glare. Steven wasn't falling for it, as he again put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don't hate you” Steven repeated, “a little wigged out but…no, I don't hate you. I want to help you, and I know Marc does too-”. 

“He. Doesn't. Care. He used me as his shield! I'm nothing to him! I'm just a…a punching bag. That's all I've ever been!” his voice broke, as his sadness took a hold, “just a perfect little stoic punching bag!”

It wasn't fair. It wasn't! He deserved to be loved, at least just a little. He deserved to have a life outside this hell his alter condemned him to. He'd do anything for it, to be more than just…well…this! He dropped the blade from his hand, hissing in pain as the cut was deeper than he thought it would be. It fell to the bloody floor with a soft clink and Steven was quick to kick it away before Jake could grab for it again. The softer alter hugged him tightly, the same one the moon god told Jake would be afraid of him, catching him entirely off guard.

“No more…none of that. It's gonna be okay. I'm here for you…I'm here” Steven hugged him tightly, a hand going through the others hair. 

Jake clung to him like a man drowning, like Steven was his only support. Then it got worse: the tears came. Tears of anger, sadness, envy, and frustration, it was a horrid mess of emotions. Ones he didn't like feeling, ones the maw threatened to swallow him in. His body wracked with sobs as Steven hugged and comforted him. 

“I'm so sorry…we never should've left you. We didn't-”. 

“You didn't know, I know. I was…I was s-scared”. 

Steven looked confused. “Scared? You?”. 

“Something-something like that” he managed to say, “I just wanted…something. I-I don't know-”. 

“It's alright. You don't need to tell us yet if you don't want to. I'm glad I found you” Steven parted from him briefly, “never did tell me your name”. 

“Jake…my name's Jake”. 

“Jake” Steven smiled warmly, “well…we gotta see about getting you and Marc in the same close headspace”. 

Jake shook his head. “I can't. He won't…he'd never accept-”. 

“None of that now. Look at me. I'm not a stress ball. You're not a punching bag. It's gonna be okay. We're a part of each other”. 

The softness of his tone and his reassuring words tore down what was left of the wall around Jake Lockley's heart. A wall he'd been building since he formed in Marc Spector's mind, many were the times he wished he could take it down without fear of rejection. 

“Don't be afraid. We'll talk to him” Steven assured him, “he's gotten a lot better at listening”. 

His nerves were a bit fried but Jake nodded. “Alright…I trust you”. 

He could only dare hope his trust wasn't misplaced…

[romanarose]

You Are Not Alone

fem!Reader x The Moon Boys

Summary: After a halfhearted attempt, you check yourself into the hospital for a stay in the psychiatric unit, and as always, your boys are there to help you.

WARNINGS: Suicide attempt (not shown), self-harm (not shown just talked about), blood mentions, depression, bulimia, eating disorders, food mentions and eating is shown, some self-ableist language from Marc and reader (marc calling himself crazy, reader saying she didn't 'do' and eating disorder right). neither of these are correct, but sometimes mentally ill (including myself) have these thoughts. Marc is kinda anti-treatment. not like, completely but he's hesitant, got trauma from the duat. shitty medical professionals, so much fucking crying, sex jokes, dark humor, mentions of rough sex/ass eating in joking context. If I missed anything lmk.

a/n: In my head Marc is a secret Star Wars nerd and I only have one single piece of evidence for this, but it's my Marc Spector and he and I are the same so I'll make him however I want to

*******************

“Hey baby” Marc gently nudged you as you slept on his lap. “They got a room for you.”

You stir, forgetting for a moment where you were. The white room, bright lights and exam bed confused you until you remember. God, what time was it? How long had you been out? You remember falling asleep on Marc’s shoulder as the ER room you were in tried to find you a bed to stay in on your mandatory hold. You look up at Marc’s tired, sad face, and knew he must’ve moved you, staying up while you slept on him, and you felt the pang of guilt you had been feeling in different forms all month. Of course he was tired, dumbass, you woke him up at 1 am halfway through an half-hearted attempt at suicide.

The panic on his face was seared into the back of your head, as were his frantic rambling of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ ‘Show me everywhereyou hurt yourself’ and ‘Baby, why?’ That he didn’t really give you a chance to answer. You simply stood there crying as he took care of you, wrapping you up in a few bandages, a few more than probably necessarily, telling him you were sorry, over and over and over until Jake took Marc’s panicking body to hold you, steady you. Steven insisted on the hospital stay. They had all noticed you spiraling lately, and had tried to help; picking up your slack on the cleaning and cooking, dragging you outside to get air, showering you in affection, but it didn’t help, as much as you were grateful. Steven packed a bag as you silently continued crying as you laid on the bed. Your favorite squishmellow, lots of fuzzy socks since your feet get cold, baby Yoda pj bottoms (with the drawstring taken out), and Carrie by Stephan King, which he did not look at but was the first book he grabbed. 

They had taken you into the ER, helping you filling out the paper worker and telling you how proud they were of you for coming to them for help, Steven a bit more frantic and rambling, and Marc quieter than usual but you couldn’t stop feeling bad. Were you just being dramatic? Over reacting? You had barely done anything, you could’ve just wrapped yourself up and stuck to long sleeves for a while. You thought about the first time you tried. Highschool, in the bathtub, listening to a P!nk album on the CD player. It didn’t work. You had just sat there, waiting… waiting… waiting… and it didn’t work. You hadn’t done enough. But by that point, you were just exhausted, too exhausted to make a second go of things. So you cleaned up, and walked out into the living room like nothing happened, and watched Community with your mom and brother. You had felt rather stupid then, as you did now. 

“Baby?” Marc started, as you didn’t reply to him. “Are you…” he almost said ‘are you okay?’ but considering where you were, the answer was pretty obvious. 

You get up, looking at the EMT’s, then back at Marc confused.

He clarified for you. “They have to take you in the ambulance, it’s just procedure”

“Oh… can you come with me?”

He looked at the EMT’s and got his answer brushing your messy hair down. “‘fraid not, honey. But we’ll be in first thing visiting hours okay?”

You are suddenly very nervous, very tired, and very overwhelmed. You want to be asleep in your own bed, with Marc holding you. “Marc” You mumble, turning into him. “I wanna go home”

You hear Jake’s calm, assured voice. “I know, bebita. But I think this is what you need right now. We’ll get you the help you need, you just need to rest for a bit, okay? We’ll call your work, take care of everything.” He sounded to sure, you trusted your Jake.

You nod, too tired to fight it “Okay”

Marc held your hand as you sat on the stretcher, feeling ridiculous, but you had convinced them you didn’t need to be restrained, thank god. When you got to the ambulance, one got in the drivers seat and the other took a few steps back to allow you a moment. Marc held your head, his beautiful brown eyes shining at you as he tried to smile and hold back tears. “It’s gonna be alright. Do whatever they need you to do here, and you’ll be out in a few days, a brand new start, okay”

“You’re gonna visit me, right?”

Marc looked a little broken when he heard that. “Baby, of course we’re gonna visit, we’d never leave you alone like this, ever”

“It’s just… when I went in college… no one visited me, the whole time…”

He cradled you close to his chest, the EMT motioning they needed to get going. “That was before. You have us now, and you’ll never be alone.”

But riding in the ambulance, checking into the bright hospital, having the sympathetic nurse checking you for weapons or other injuries… you hadn’t felt so alone in a long time.

Marc was not thrilled about Steven insisting on the hospital. He had never liked hospitals much, and after his time in the duat, the thoughts he had of psychiatric hospitals weren’t great. Steven had to tell him again and again, the duat was not in a real psych ward, real psych wards aren’t like that. ‘Frankly mate, I’m not entirely sure psych ward is politically correct anymore’. Marc insisted they were all you needed, he didn’t want to leave you alone, and he certainly didn’t think these people knew better about taking care of you than he did, and he told you as such when he visited.

“Places like this are meant for people a lot worse off than you.” He grumbled, holding you on the bed you in a room you thankfully got alone. 

Idiota, that’s not what you’re suppuosed to say!

Marc, please, places like this can help a lot of people, at least allow her to try.

“I’m sorry” You mumble, still tired from the previous night, where they had woken you up to take a blood sample and you had fallen back asleep with the needle in your arm. You start crying again, something you had done on and off all day. 

Marc quickly realized his mistake, holding you tighter and turning you to him. “No, no baby I don’t mean it like that, it’s not a bother, it’s just… these places are for crazy people, like me”

Your eyes widen at that, face drastically changing to serious. “Marc, stop that, you know I don’t like you talking about yourself like that” You may be a mess, but you will not stand for your precious boyfriend to call himself names. “You are not crazy”

Marc wouldn’t let up. “If they heard me talking to Jake and Steven, they’d throw me in a straight jacket and toss me on that empty bed” He smiled, trying to joke.

“No” You shake your head. “Don’t talk like that, I mean it. Other people might think that, but that’s because they don’t get it. I know you, and I know Jake and Steven, and none of you are crazy, so please stop saying that.” You pleaded with him.

His face softened, kissing you on the forehead. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

You nuzzle into his chest. “And straitjacket, Marc? What is this, American Horror Story: Asylum? I don’t think they use those anymore” But you’re smiling now.

“Of course, how silly of me.” He laid with you for a while, just to take you in. He missed you.

“It’s probably a good thing I’m here” You say quietly, and he looks at you again. “I’ve been thinking about doing it all day.”

When it was Steven’s turn, your favorite nurse printed out some free Star Wars coloring pages for you and Steven to color on. 

“I feel like a child” You say, but you're secretly enjoying yourself.

“Healing your inner child, that’s what they say, innit?” Steven was very very carefully drawing Luke Skywalker on Dagobah. 

“I don’t think it’s my inner child that needs healing, I think it’s my inner teen. I had a fun childhood, even if it was a bit crazy. I never really got to be a teen”

“Well love, if you want to be a crazy teenager, we can go drink vodka in a corn field if that will make you happy”

You laugh, remembering the stories your classmates would beguile you with on Monday mornings, wishing that was you. “Sounds good darling. I’ll call my friend next time we visit, she’ll be happy to let us live out my teenage dream on her farm.”

“Think she’ll let us have a quickie in her tractor?” Steven smiles cheekily at you.

“Steven!” You giggle, wondering if anyone heard you. “And the answer is gonna be no.” you lean to him over the table “but we don’t have to tell her”

Steven holds up his drawing "I'm making it for Marc, think he'll like it?"

You giggle, holding up yours "Oh my god baby, im making mine for Marc too!"

Jake laid on the bed with you, reading Carrie, she was just going batshit on the prom night. “Dios mio princessa” He checked the cover “This is what Steven packed you to read? You’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“Keep going!”

“I’ll bring you a new book tomorrow, something more appropriate” he grumbled, before finding the page again.

“Honey, most of my books are depressing YA John Green books, Steven King, or depressing adult books, none of them are fitting”

“The Handmaid’s Tale?”

“Literally about government sanctioned sex slaves”

“Count of Monte Christo?”

“Baby that books depressing as hell”

“The Fault in Our Stars?”

“Jake!” You laugh. “How can you even say that, I made you watch that movie with me!”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You know I feel asleep half way through”

“He dies in the end!”

“Can’t you just… read up until that part?”

You rest your head on Jake’s chest. “No, now read to me about the mass murder of a bunch of high schoolers to relax me”

You felt Jake chuckle, but he continued.

Due to covid regulations, visiting hours were shorter than usual, and they had to leave before diner time. “We’ll be back tomorrow, I promise. Same time.” Marc swore.

“And you’ll call tonight?”

“Of course. Make sure to call the numbers we gave you, if you’re feeling up to it.” Marc had been put in charge of letting your mom, brother, Layla, and a few close friends know. Everyone, unfortunately, lived in different parts of the county, but they wanted to talk during your stay so he wrote down the phone numbers if you wanted to call.

“Thank you, baby“ But you stayed wrapped around his chest. You couldn’t help but feel you were disappointing him still by being in here. 

“Love, we have to go, you call us any time you want to talk, okay?” Steven assured you.

Slowly, you pull off of them. “Okay.”

You get a phone from the nurse and call him as soon as the door closes. An The Office marathon was on ABC, so Jake turned the channel on the home TV to ABC. You didn’t talk, simply laying the phone beside you as you watched, knowing they were there “watching” with you.

“I think my psychiatrist thinks I’m lazy” You say the next day as Marc rubs your back.

He pauses, looking at you, concerned. “What do you mean?”

“Baaaabbbeeeee don’t stop that”

Marc couldn’t help chuckle, continuing his back rub. “Okay, now continue”

“Well, the first morning here, it was like 9 when he woke me up and he said ‘you’re still asleep’ all judgy”

Frown deepening, Marc fought the urge to march up to the desk and cause a scene like a helicopter parent. “You got in there at, what, 4 am?”

You nod. “And he did it again this morning. I just said ‘Oh, I’m sorry, do I have somewhere to be?’”

Despite his annoyance with your psych, he laughed. “Good one, sweetheart”

You smile “not my best work. I’ll come up with something better in a few days and call back”

“I’ll help you brainstorm” Marc promised.

“We’ll get him good. Jake and Steven can help”

“Oooohhhh no. Jake’s version of help is murder, and Steven would emotionally devastate him so bad he’d never recover”

You laugh, and it feels good… You wait for a moment before speaking. “I’m diebetic”

He stops at that, and you whine, but it doesn’t work this time. He looks at you with worry. “What? Baby, sit up, please?”

You comply, sitting up to look at him, and you can help but feel like you messed up again. “I’m sorry”

“No” Marc moved in on the bed, taking you in for a comforting hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong”

“But I did” You start to cry, and jesus christ how much are you going to cry in these three days. “I got it because I eat too much-”

“No” Jake cuts in before you can finish. “You do not eat too much. Please, don’t go down this road, we just got you to a healthy place with food, please don’t undo all your progress”

You had put in a lot of work into recovering from your eating disorder, and you could tell they were worried this would make you spiral.

Still, you argue. “If I was better at having an eating disorder, I wouldn’t have this problem.”

Jake looked horrified. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It mean I ate too fucking much Jake, if I had more control, I wouldn’t have!” You scoot away from him, annoyed at yourself. “Did I have an eating disroder or did I just eat too much?”

“Amor, bulimia is an eating disorder” He spoke carefully, but you were too angry at yourself to let him in.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

A pregnant silence hangs in the air before you speak. “Get out.”

“No” Jake was firm.

“Go! I know you’re all mad at me anyway so just leave me here!”

His face softened, and you felt sick at his pity. “Mi vida… you think we’re mad at you?”

“Yes!” You all-but sob out.

Steven broke through. “Heavens, love, why would you ever think such a thing?”

“Because I woke you up and you guys need your sleep and I scared the shit out of Marc and now you have to deal with me and now you have to deal with a diabetic girlfriend and-”

Steven interrupted you with a hug that nearly knocked you over. He let you cry in his arms until you calmed down. “My darling, you scared all of us, but we’d rather be woken up every night than for you to have to deal with this alone, we swear. You aren’t a burdon, you aren’t a problem. I’m no doctor, I don’t know if your bulimia had an effect on your diabeties, but if it did, then that is a symptom of an illness you suffered for years.”

“My psych… he told me to lose 20 pounds and then sent me on my way…”

I’m going to fucking kill him

“Tell Jake he can’t kill him”

God dammit

“Darling” Steven pulled back to look at you. “It was not okay that he said that. He is a psychiatrist, not a dietitian or a nutritionist, and he is not your doctor. He shouldn’t say those things, especially given your history with eating disorders.”

“You don’t… you don’t think I need to lose weight?”

“No.” Marc said firmly. “We don’t. Let’s get you set up with a specialist and see what you need to do to manage this, but we’re not letting you fall back into bulimia if we can help it”

“Okay.” You flop back on the bed, becoming him to massage you again. ”I’m gonna have so many fucking appointments. A permanant psych” you glance up at Marc “One who isn’t that guy, and a therapist”

“That’s good, you’re getting the help you need.” Marc affirms.

You wait for a moment. “I thought… I thought you were against all this…” 

Marc flops down on the bed beside you “Listen, I’m sorry if I was… unenthusatic. It’s hard for me to accept help, and sometimes I think I can just… if I love you enough and am there enough, I can fix everything”

Yo touch his pretty, stubbled face, you can tell he didn’t sleep much last night either. “You’re enough for me, enough for my love. My mind just needs a little extra help.”

“I just gotta… look at it different. The meds, the therapy, it’s not the enemy”

“It’s a sidekick” You smile at him.

He laughed. “Yeah, they can be or sidekick”

“I love you guys”

“And we love you”

You squeal, jumping into Jake’s arms as he came to pick you up the next day. “Jakey!!!”

He grinned at you, scooping you up. “Hola, muneca, como estas?”

“Bien!” You kiss him as he sets you down. “Y tu?”

“Bien, ahora que estoy contigo. Now, do you have everything?”

You open your backpack to double check. “Discharge papers, safety plan, prescription, appointments, doctors notes for work, grippy socks I get to keep, yup all here!”

Jake smiled, you seemed to be doing better. “And you finished the book?”

After the Carrie fiasco, Jake stopped by Barnes and Noble and picked up a copy of Jurassic Park for you too read.

“Yes! Can we watch Jurassic Park when we get home?”

Jake knew this would happen. You’d want to watch Jurassic Park. Again. You always made him put it on when you were drunk. On the plus side, Dr. Alan Grant would inevitably make you insanely horny. 

“Of course we can. AFTER, we safety proof the apartment”

You groan, loudly. “We don’t actually have to do all that”

“We most definitely do.” Marc had been there with your social worker, promised to de-suicide the apartment, as you called it. No one thought you were funny. “No ropes-”

“How will you tie me up?”

“No razors-”

“How will I shave my asshole for you?”

“No belts-”

“But what will you whip me with”

“No- Cielos! I never whipped you!”

“Not for my lack of trying” You wink.

“Hostia, what am I going to do with you?”

You take his hand as you walk, Jake carrying your backpack. “Fuck me right and make me food”

“And drive you to therapy” He teases you, giving your hand a squeeze.

You nudge him “I was born to sit pretty in the passenger seat”

Jake gave you a tender kiss on the forehead. “And sit pretty you do”

You wave to your favorite nurse. “Bye, see you next time!”

The nurse was not thrilled.

Marc kissed rought your hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “There’s my girl” Your hands were dry. You must not have gotten any lotion. You giggle, swinging his hand while you walked. “Are you feeling better, sweetheart?”

You turn to look at him, smiling softly. “I am, actually. Not perfect, but I think the break is what I needed.”

“How are the new meds?”

You shrug “Probably won't be able to tell for a while, on the anti-depressants. The anti-anxiety is great, haven't felt this relaxed in ages.”

“What was the other one?”

“Mood stabilizer. We’ll have to see on that one too.”

“Hm.” Marc opened the door for you, before letting Jake take over, since Marc hated driving.

You sit one the couch, eating your Taco Bell and drinking your McDonalds iced coffee. God you missed iced coffee. Jake grumbled the whole time at Taco Bell. He must really love you if he said the words “One mexican pizza, one crunch wrap supreme, and a baja blast, please” without dry heaving, and paid for it too. 

“Missed one” You point at a belt thrown in the corner of the studio apartment, taking a massive bite of your mexican pizza.

“This would be a lot easier if you put your clothes away” Marc said, with no real malice.

You take a big ole sip of your iced coffee. “This would be a lot easier if you didn’t undress me and bend me over every surface of the apartment”

“How can you wash down fake mexican food with iced coffee? That’s disgusting”

“How can you eat my ass, that’s disgusting”

Marc paused, holding the belt he was gathering. He turned to you with a rare, wide grin on his mouth, lips curled up a bit. “God I’ve missed you”

You talk with your mouth full. “I’ve been gone three days”

“No… I mean…” He looked a little sad. “You’ve been here but not… here. God that doesn’t make sense.” Steven took over, better with words. “You were different. Like you had mentally checked out, were just going through the motions. We were really worried about you, darling.”

You put down your Mexican pizza, fighting the urge to take another giant bite but knowing this isn’t the time.

“I’m sorry”

Steven set down the items, and joined you on the couch. He was going to take your hand, but you were double fisting a baja blast and iced coffee. “Don’t be sorry. We’re not going to make you promise to come to us if you are feeling down, I know it can be hard just… just know we’d rather be woken up before you hurt yourself, okay? We’re always here for you. You aren't alone anymore.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I know baby, I’ll try.”

Steven rested his head on yours and closed his eyes, taking in a peaceful, quiet moment for you. 

Well, quiet until he heard the loud slurp of you finishing your pop.

***************

A/N: I was hositalized summer of 2020. It was voluntary, and I didn't attempt yet. It had been a hard time as it was for everyone, im not special. I moved out of my grandparents basement and a week later lost both jobs to covid. My friend had already suggested I make a go bag (she had been hospitalized before). I got into a fight with my sister over BLM and her shit ass boyfriend, and that was the last straw. For various reasons, no one visited me in the hospital. My parents lived in another state (not that my dad would come anyway) my aunt who lived in town thought that visits were closed due to covid, and my grandparents in town absolutely could not leave the house since this was prevaccine. I texted my aunt to please let my mom know where i was going as I drove over there. she emmidetly called me and said she was on her way, and helped me check in. She picked me up when I got out and had me stay with her family for a few days to keep an extra eye out.

My uncle and little cousins all were so nice and sweet sharing their space, mom came and visited, as did my other aunt (my dad, interestingly, did not). At the psych ward i called a childhood bestie whose number i have memorized, and when i got out, another friend called me as soon as she heard. Had a lot of love an d support many don't have. but none of that is going to take away how lonely I felt in the psych ward. So i just wanted to write something to redue that expiernce.

Also, all the stuff the psych said to the reader in this, my psych said to me. yeah, just told me to lose 20 pounds and acted like i was wierd for sleepin in past 9. i deadass did ask him if i had somewhere to be. like wtf.

anyway, self indulgent as always. Hope you enjoy anyway.

taggging the usuals.

@howaboutcastiel @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @welcometostayingawake @in-between-the-cafes @lucianadraven32 @ninebluehearts @ahookedheroespureheart @jake-g-lockley

[starlight-writer]

Moon Knight

Fluff: 🌸

Angst: 🥀

Violence: 💥

Steven

Comfort 🌸🥀 fem reader

You have a bad day, but never fear! Steven is here!

Museum 🌸 gn!reader

Steven has a little surprise for you

Marc

Read 🥀 gn!reader

Read 12:45

All

“My life” 🌸🥀 gn! reader

Calling the Moon Boys your life

“You’re So Pretty” 🌸🥀 gn! reader

You call the Moon Boys pretty

First Kiss 🌸🥀 gn! reader

Your first kiss with the boys

You Get Hurt 🌸🥀💥 gn!reader

You get hurt

Period Comfort 🌸 afab gn! reader

The boys comfort you while you're on your period

Tummy 🌸🥀 gn!reader

Their reaction to growing a tummy

Magic 🌸 gn!reader

Steven knows magic, but what do Marc and Jake know?

Honk 🌸 gn!reader

You honk the Moon Boys

Divorce 🥀 gn!reader

You divorce the Moon Boys

Divorce pt. 2

You explain why you left (part 1)

Divorce pt. 3

You explain why you left (part 2)

Proposal 🌸

You both propose to each other

Random Cuddles 🌸

Randomly cuddling them

Fighting gn!reader 🥀🌸(?)

How they act during a fight

WIP

Medication

They Hurt You

Soulmates

[lovelyzealousangel]

Ginger and Cardamom

Summary: In the shadows of Marc and Steven's mind, Jake Lockley has always lurked, content to protect the body from harm while the others lived their lives.  

He never cared for having a life of his own like Marc and Steven, but everything changes when he meets Astha Mathur. As a former nurse working for the GRC, she makes Jake wish he could throw caution to the wind and get to know her better. 

But he knows it's not that simple. He tries his best to keep his existence hidden from the others in the system, especially as they suspect a mysterious third alter is causing gaps in their memory.

As Marc and Steven begin to fall for Astha, Jake must navigate his own feelings while also protecting them all. With the looming presence of Konshu, who Jake secretly works for without the knowledge of the others, the risks only increase. 

Will Jake be able to keep them all safe while pursuing his own desires? This is a story of love, betrayal, and complicated relationships within a fractured mind.

Pairing: Moon Knight System x OC

Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse, homophobic/biphobic family members, characters struggling with their mental health and canon typical violence. I’ll try my best to add individual chapter warnings.

Tags are open. add yourself to the list here.

01 | Jake

02 | Marc

03 | Astha

04 | Jake

05 | Jake

06 | Astha

07 | Astha

[nightskywriter]

Layla Meets Jake

A/N: This fic is also posted on Archive of Our Own under the same name! This is a fanfiction. I do not own any of these characters. Comments always welcome (and greatly appreciated)!

CW: This fic references previous child abuse, but doesn't actually show anything. It also shows Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). I did a lot of research on DID for this fic, but I could have gotten things wrong. Sorry in advance.

Characters: Marc Spector, Layla El-Faouly, Jake Lockley, Steven Grant (briefly)

...

Marc and Layla checked into the hotel and lady at the front desk gave Marc the key. Layla knew they were a sight. They were both covered in sand, Layla even more than Marc. They had been digging most of the day and they were both sweaty and gross. She had stayed mostly clean from sand until she got in that fight. She was pushed in the sand before Marc showed up. The man who attacked her hadn’t even been interested in the dig. He wasn’t there for that. He just saw her and thought she was alone.

But currently, Layla was fighting to appear amicable for the clerk. She tried not to look at Marc because she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop her eyes from narrowing and glaring at Marc. Marc and Layla always tried to appear to be getting along in public, but that didn’t mean they were actually getting along.

Marc put the hotel key in his pocket and picked up their luggage again. He insisted on carrying both of their bags.

“Am I just a liability to you?” Layla asked in a whisper once they were out of earshot from the clerk.

Marc didn’t look at her. He was focused on the dialog lights showing what floor the elevator was on. “We really doing this?”

“I grew up at dig sites. I can take care of myself.” Layla could feel the grit from the sand in her shoes and it was only making her mood worse. All she wanted was a shower. She felt like she still had blood on her from the splatter after Marc cut the man’s throat with one of his stupid crescent blades. It itched even though she knew she had wiped the blood off before they even came into the city. Blood splatters got the wrong kind of attention and the wrong kind of attention led to the wrong kind of questions from the wrong kind of people. Even though she knew it was gone, the itch wouldn’t be gone until she took an actual shower.

“Yeah. I know you can,” Marc said.

“I had that guy.” The elevator door opened, and they walked off together. “If you hadn’t gotten in the way, I could have knocked him out instead—” of you killing him. Layla stopped herself before she said the last part, but Marc knew what she was going to say anyway.

He opened the door to their room and set their bags down. “You don’t know what that guy was thinking.”

Layla crossed her arms, glaring at Marc’s back until he turned around. “I’ve got a pretty good idea. People like that man are why prisons are built. You didn’t have to kill him.”

“So what?” Marc threw up his hands. “You would have done the same thing.”

“No, I wouldn’t—”

“If he was going after another woman or a kid, you wouldn’t have killed him?” Marc knew she wouldn’t answer because they both knew the answer. Layla would have without hesitation. “We were there for the artifact. We were there on a job. But just because we were doing our day job of collecting artifacts doesn’t mean I get a day off from Khonshu. Khonshu wanted him dead and after Khonshu told me what that guy was planning to do, I agreed with him. Congrats, tonight you were a Traveler of the Night.”

Layla shook her head and scoffed. She ran her hand through her sweaty hair. Layla hated arguments like this. She wasn’t going to budge; she knew what killing people did to Marc and she hated him doing it. But she also knew Marc wasn’t going to change his mind. No matter how bothered he was, he believed he had done the justified thing and there was no convincing him otherwise.

“You need to learn when to stop,” Layla said, getting undressed so she could take her shower. She took her belt off and Marc froze.

Every muscle went rigid, and his eyes became unfocused. He blinked a few times, and his eyes softened a little.

“Marc?” Layla asked.

“Um, not right now,” Steven said. He looked around the room, confused. Marc had told Layla that it was hard for them to watch what was going on when the other was fronting and it seemed that Steven hadn’t been using the extra energy to listen in on their spat. “What happened? Marc just…left.”

Layla started to answer and took a step towards him—then Steven’s eyes hardened. Instantly, his postured changed to a more defensive stance. He cleared his throat.

Something about this change made the hairs on the back of Layla’s neck stand up.

“I wouldn’t come any closer, chica,” Not-Marc-or-Steven said. His voice was deeper than the other two and had an accent that sounded Hispanic. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Who are you?”

“Please answer the question. I’m being polite for Marc and Steven but everything in me is telling me not to.”

“I’m not sure, that’s what I was asking Steven. We were just talking.” This new guy didn’t say anything, just kept watching. “I wasn’t going to hurt him if that’s what you think. We disagreeing and then he just…switched with Steven and now you,” Layla said.

Layla and Not-Marc looked down at her hand that was still holding the belt. She dropped it and covered her mouth with her hand. “He didn’t… Did Marc— Did he think I was going to hit him?”

“Were you?”

The question was like a slap. Layla thought back to everything Marc and Steven had told her about their past. After the Harrow situation, Marc had decided to tell Layla everything. She knew about his past and why Steven developed but she didn’t know he was scared that she would hurt him until now.

Layla shook her head. “Never.”

“Hmm,” Not-Marc said. “I believe you.”

Layla was so focused on her own thoughts that she barely heard Not-Marc. She thought back to all of the arguments she had had with Marc over the years. He had always kept his distance from her, never getting within arm’s reach. She hadn’t thought much of it.

Peripherally, Layla saw Not-Marc walked over to the bed and sat on the end. “This sucks.”

Layla looked up at him. “What?”

“Cat’s out of the bag, isn’t it? You weren’t supposed to know I exist but now, now you know.”

“Why wasn’t I supposed to know? Why didn’t Marc tell me?”

“Because he doesn’t know.”

Layla blinked. Marc seemed to be so aware of Steven that Layla never considered others. “Who are you?”

“Jake,” he said, “Lockley.”

[trickster-jpeg]

I Haven't Slept In Days, But Who's Counting.

This is a sequel to another oneshot, so it'll make more sense context-wise if you read that first -> Here

Summary: Steven's tries to carry on hiding his nightmares from Marc and Jake, but after a particularly rough night Marc finds out and tells Jake. The pair confront him and have to comfort him after he breaks down.

Warnings: Nothing major. Brief descriptions of child abuse when Steven talks about one of the nightmares.

Word Count: 8524 It's On AO3 -> Here

A/N: 'Ricitos' is a petname that means 'curly hair', and 'Manitos' means something akin to 'little brother'.

“Steven- I just really think you should tell them. They would want to know, they would want to help you. If anyone can understand what you’re going through, it’s them.”

A few days had passed since ‘the incident’ as Steven was choosing to call it and, despite the continuing insomnia, things were going as well as they could be. Layla had offered to stay a few more days to keep him company, but he knew that there were things she needed to do and being on nightmare watch wasn’t one of them, so he declined. She’d been amazing the past few days, more amazing than she usually was, and as per usual she was like a rock for him to lean on for support which he was extremely grateful for. Regardless of how stupid he thought it might’ve been, she’d listened to whatever he had to say, and when he’d wanted to stay quiet she’d sit with him through that as well. The pair had gone out to spend their last few full days together just wandering around, visiting little cafes and book shops, taking walks for the fresh air. Just spending a moment to simply exist without the threat of the world collapsing around them, real or imagined.

Marc had been out at times as well, just to do his own thing and spend his own time with Layla. It was tricky for the pair at times, given their history, especially at the start once everything had been put on the table. When they'd had a moment to talk about the disorder honestly. But the pair were working or rebuilding things better than they had been, and made new room for Jake and Steven to be included as well if they wanted. Jake still wasn’t fully used to fronting the same way the others were, or for the same lengths of time, so he didn’t appear much. Especially when there wasn’t really anything to do. But after some encouragement from the three, he’d found a new motivation to spend time out and trying to relax after he’d started to realise he wasn’t being subjected to his typical nightmares. Steven had made Layla promise not to tell his headmates.

Which led him back to his predicament.

Telling the other two about his nightmares. It’s not that he didn’t want to, it was just… Maybe that’s exactly what it was in all honesty. How was he supposed to bring it up anyway? “Marc! Jake! Just the people I've been trying to subtly avoid, but you’ve probably noticed that by now. It’s aces that your nightmares have suddenly started to dip in frequency, genuinely so glad that you’re able to have a peaceful nights rest, but that’s actually because they’ve just passed over to me! Surprise!” He’d rather be shot in a pyramid and stuffed into a bloody sarcophagus. Again. But he knew it was only a matter of time before they found out somehow. Which is why he wanted to be the one to tell them.

They’d been trying to work on their communication. Trying to lower the daily amnesia barriers, get more fluid with switching and have more control over it, being able to sit down and talk as a trio. Steven had been doing more research on DID whenever he had the chance. Found it really quite interesting if he was honest, despite not being the biggest psychology buff, but he also had a tendency to fixate and overload himself with the information and that tended to trigger some doubt in him about the whole thing. Something he read was completely normal for people like him- them- but it was still frustrating to have to stagger his questions just so he could safely process basic information.

One thing in particular caught his eye during the deep dives though. Innerworlds. He read about how they were this visualisation thing, like the mind palace in Sherlock. That they could help to provide a space for communication, like properly interacting with each other in a way that wasn’t just staring into a mirror and hoping someone responded with the reflection. It had taken a while to work on actually putting the concept into practice, to actually try and visualise it in a way that didn’t make them feel like they were just daydreaming, but they’d done it. Slowly but surely, they’d started to make it work. Their innerworld was nothing fancy, at least not for now. In a way, they found it somewhat easier to simply have a replica of their flat as a hub of safety, or a meeting place to be used when needed. And Steven had reluctantly deduced that this was one of the times it was necessary to use it as a meeting place.

It would take him a while to gather up the nerve to start the conversation. Overthinking was a special talent of Steven’s and he could spend years trying to plan every single possibility. To sit down and focus, the build up to opening up to the people he always told shouldn’t feel ashamed to talk about their troubles. It really was easier said than done when none of them had really been properly taught how they were supposed to do that, but Steven tried to think of it as a learning experience. He could lead by example. Maybe. Hopefully.

However, like many things in their life, the choice was ultimately made for Steven and left him a complete lack of control over the circumstances that led up to the others finding out.

It had been a week since Layla had left their flat. A week of being alone in the empty darkness of his room. A week of looping audiobooks and fidgeting with rubik's cubes and leaning over books under a lamp only to pass out on the desk after succumbing to sleep’s cruel lullaby. He’d been coping as well as he could. Sometimes staying on the phone with Layla until he felt safe enough to sleep again. Or at least until he pretended to because he didn’t want to keep her up anymore than he’d already been doing. Eventually it had to come to a close. It always did. And this time it really was Steven’s fault.

As a rule, Steven tended to avoid drinking. Never really saw much of an appeal apart from some of the ones that tasted nice. He didn’t like the loss of control. Something about it just made him extremely uncomfortable, not that he understood why until he’d found out about their mum’s drinking habits. But he knew Marc drank, albeit sometimes unhealthily, and so eventually he concluded that they’d have the same type of tolerance given the fact that it was the same body. He was still getting used to it, finding it easier to just continue avoiding the substance without any qualms, but occasionally he’d partake.

This was one of those nights. He knew it wasn’t exactly the healthiest of ideas to start drinking with the intent of using it to get him to sleep, but it would just be a one time thing. Honestly. He just wanted to see if it would do anything. If it would help ease him into the action without hours of anxiety spirals to keep him awake. So, he picked up the bottle of hard liquor that he knew Marc had stashed in the back of one of the cupboards in the kitchen and took a large mouthful of it.

His immediate reaction was repulsion, the instant impulse to try and spit out the liquid that felt like it was numbing his tongue, but he powered through it and swallowed hard. The burning sensation that scraped down his throat was strong enough to cause his eyes to water almost immediately afterwards and he jolted forward to grab a half empty glass of water that had been left out on the kitchen top. He felt the alcohol settle heavily in his stomach, an empty feeling that made him realise he had forgotten to eat anything that wasn’t a small snack or two throughout the day.

Overall, it was an unpleasant experience that he would rather not repeat or continue doing. But the distraction of the alcohol scratching at his throat would probably be enough to draw his focus away from the anxiety his nightmares caused, which is why he made the great decision to take another few large mouthfuls from the bottle before setting it down and flopping into bed. Enough to make a small, yet notable difference in the contents of the bottle. He grimaced and coughed as the liquid burned down his throat again, pulling a slightly disgusted face as he realised he could smell it quite intensely on his breath.

After about ten to fifteen minutes of lying in bed, waiting for the pain to dull down slightly, he started to feel somewhat dizzy. Like a mild vertigo, almost like dissociating in a way. In an attempt to settle the feeling slightly, he closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, counting the beats between each inhale and exhale like sheep. His mind started to drift as he focused on the waviness of it all, the floating sensation creeping into his brain as he felt himself lean deeper into the mattress. Gradually, he stopped being aware of his behaviour, his thoughts, the waking world. Apparently a mixture of sleep deprivation, alcohol, and lack of food made a great recipe for sleep.

From Marc’s detailed experiences of drinking and sleeping, alcohol made dreams more vivid. It also made them way more memorable when he woke up from them. And usually, it was more likely to be nightmares than dreams when alcohol had a part to play in the events leading up to sleep. Sometimes it would be more trauma-centric nightmares, but usually 3.5 out of 5 times it was some random bullshit nightmare that most of the general population gets. Something mundane like accidentally yanking his teeth out and swallowing them or something. The point was, it was fairly easy to tell when a dream was influenced by alcohol or if it was just a typical, regular dream. Which is why he was so disoriented when he woke up with sweat soaking their bedsheets and his chest heaving painfully as he tried to draw in the breaths he didn’t even know he was lacking.

He tasted the liquor he’d bought himself, coating his mouth and mixing with the flood of saliva as he jolted to grab the bin they kept beside their bed to heave into, watching as the majority of his stomach contents turned out to be the alcohol. A sight not quite shocking to him, borderline familiar with the amount of times it happened to him in the past, but still confusing. Confusing because he could’ve sworn he hadn’t had anything to drink. That he hadn’t fronted for pretty much the entire day so unless he’d had a full blackout of his own memories, he hadn’t touched the bottle. And he knew that Jake hadn’t been the one to drink it either, simply because he knew that the man hated his choice of liquor and wouldn’t voluntarily drink it unless he was forced to, and even then he’d have tried to buy some before falling back on Marc’s stash. Which just left one other person to blame. Steven.

Why the hell would Steven be drinking? He hates drinking. Or at least hates drinking this stuff.

As Marc continued to retch into the bin, a worry started to overshadow the initial confusion he was feeling. It didn’t make any sense. The man never went out of his way to buy or drink, and when he did he always went for the softest stuff. The stuff that barely tasted like alcohol, just fruit or sugar. He’d made it clear time and time again that he’d hated the feeling of it, hated the taste, hated the aftermath. Hated everything about it. Which is why Marc just couldn’t understand why Steven would feel the need to drink so much of this stuff. Surely the Brit would’ve tried to speak to Marc or Jake if there was something going on, right?

Suddenly feeling unsure about his headmate’s transparency, he started to try and remember any signs in the past few weeks that something was wrong with Steven. Briefly, he got glimpses of the man falling back into his old habits of trying to avoid sleep. Of not eating as much as he usually would, or leaving the house as often as he did. Of watching their phone and waiting silently for it to stop ringing and for the familiar contact of Layla to disappear from the screen. Then he thought about last week. Something recent came to mind. Something hazy. They were sitting on the floor. Reading something- No. Being read to. Marc didn’t understand the words but he knew the voice speaking them. Felt the panic dying down as Steven realised who it was as well.

He needed to call Layla.

Without looking, he reached over to the side table to grab at the phone he knew would be there with one hand as he placed the bin in the other hand now that he was confident there was nothing left for him to throw up. The bright light from the screen blinded him for a moment as he scrambled to turn down the brightness, cursing the Brit quietly for his adamance at having the setting so high all the time. After a moment of letting his eyes readjust to the sight of it, he opened his contacts and hit the dial button over his wife’s name. A moment of regret and remorse flickered in his chest as he looked up at the time on the top of his screen reading ‘02:38’. Maybe he should’ve waited until the morning to figure this out rather than disturbing her sleep and waking her up at this time for such a petty reason-

“Hello? Steven? Marc?... Jake?”

A wave of familiarity washed over him as he heard her tiredly croak out a response over the line, clearly having just been woken up by the phone. He hesitated for a moment before realising he should probably start speaking.

“Hey, it’s me- Marc-”

“I may have just woken up but I can still tell that it’s your voice, Marc. You don’t have to tell me. We’ve been married for about ten years.”

He pauses awkwardly, mentally kicking himself for his stupid attempt at trying to help her as though she hadn’t spent a decade waking up to hearing his voice. Clearing his throat, still raw from the alcohol going in and then out of his system, he swallows before continuing.

“I know it's late, didn’t realise until i’d already hit the call button. I wouldn’t have phoned if it wasn’t important, or at least I’m pretty sure it’s important-”

“Marc, I love you and I'm listening but I'm still incredibly tired. Could you maybe skip to the reason you’re calling me at… two in the morning?”

He stays silent for a moment or two, apologetic that he woke Layla up at this hour, but also more apprehensive to speak the words out loud. As if the reality of the situation, of the things he’s thinking, will settle in and manifest. That it’ll be real once he says it. Taking another deep breath, his throat feeling slightly strangled as he forces the words out of his mouth.

“Steven was drinking. I don’t know why, I just know that I woke up in a pile of sweat, having one of the worst panic attacks I've had in a while, promptly followed up by me puking my insides out and seeing he’s barely eaten anything all day. And a nightmare that I know was about our childhood that I can’t even remember to top it all off. I just- I thought if he’s spoken to anyone about any of this… it would be you.”

The line was silent for a while, the only clue that Layla was still there and that it hadn’t hung up or frozen was her muttered swears that the microphone just barely managed to pick up. He heard a brief shuffling, almost as though she was moving around to sit up in bed or something. Another few moments of silence passed before she spoke hesitantly, her tone reluctant but much more awake than it had been. Much more alert.

“I promised I wouldn’t say anything… He said he’d- Never mind. I don’t really know how to say this, it’s not my thing to say but if he’s getting to this point instead of talking I-”

The confusion and worry in Marc’s mind only stood to grow even more at the vague words. What was Steven not telling them? What could be so bad that he’s made Layla promise not to say anything? All members of the system had the understanding that there was a level of confidentiality between some of their personal conversations with Layla. If they wanted or needed to tell her something, or just didn’t want the other two to know about it, then they wouldn’t ask her. A mutual respect that they wouldn’t pry into things or try to force their partner to talk about things that didn’t concern them unless it was important enough for them all to know. And to Marc, this seemed like it was something pretty fucking important for them to know about.

“What? What do you mean ‘not your thing to say’? ‘Getting to this point’? Layla, what's wrong with Steven? I mean he knows he can talk to us about things, he’s always going on about being open and honest and how things are better when we all work together to try and solve them so what could be so bad that he’s hiding things from us-”

“He’s been having nightmares, Marc. About your childhood. About your trauma. He’s been having nightmares and flashbacks.”

As Layla cuts his ramblings off and tells him the truth, he’s stunned into silent shock. It's almost like the words just don’t process in his mind. At least not for the first minute or so after he’d heard them. Like his brain just refused to acknowledge them as the truth, or even just as a possibility at all. He almost asked her to repeat what she’d said, to give her the opportunity to say something else. Almost hoping that what she’d said was a mistake, or that he’d just misheard her. Until they actually started to settle in his head.

Steven had been having nightmares. Their Steven. He’d been having nightmares. He’d been having their nightmares. Marc and Jake had finally been freed from them, celebrating and joking between themselves that they’d been given a ‘mini restbite’. And Steven had been forced to deal with them instead. The Steven that would take their place and stay up for hours after they’d jolted awake to reassure them they were alright. The Steven that would talk outloud and describe every single item and object in their flat, as well as the layout of the floors, if it meant that they could believe they were safe and in their own home, not stuck in that house with their mother. The Steven that once decided to make a crappy little blanket fort at three in the morning for Jake because the man had been borderline inconsolable after he had screamed himself awake as a result of a particularly brutal nightmare. And now the same man was trying to brave his way through it all on his own, and had been doing so for months, all while Marc and Jake had been none the wiser..

“You need to talk to him about it, Marc. All three of you. He thinks that- He doesn’t want you to see him as a burden. Thinks that if he proves he can handle this on his own then he can prove he’s ‘contributing’ to the system, taking responsibility. That you’ll stop trying to keep things from him or I guess treating him like a child.”

Marc sits in a stunned silence as he listens to Layla speak, thoughts spinning like a tornado in his head. That couldn’t- That couldn’t be right. Steven doesn’t really think that. Doesn’t really believe that. Right? He couldn’t. But it was true in some way, they did keep things from him. They did treat him like a kid. Even if that was never their intention, they did it all the same. Falling into old habits of trying to keep his innocent naivety protected, keep him protected. And it’d backfired and made the man feel like he had to prove something to them. That he had to suffer in silence to be treated the same.

The stark realisation made Marc’s stomach lurch with nausea as he swallowed back the urge to gag, trying to suppress the growing pit in his stomach that had opened up like a sinkhole. His immediate reaction was that of self hatred, of anger, of a need to punish himself for not realising sooner or for making his headmate feel like that. But he knew that was no good, and it was probably the exact reaction that Steven had being trying to avoid by not telling him.

He sat in silence for a moment longer, not being able to think of the words he could use to formulate a response. Layla knew him well enough to understand that, even over the phone. He nodded slightly to himself as he continued to process her words, a small hum escaping his lips. Mumbling a tired but appreciative thanks to his wife, he makes the promise to fill her in on the aftermath before hanging up the phone with a mumbled ‘love you, thank you’. As per usual, she was right. They did need to talk. Sooner rather than later. Now.

Usually he wasn’t the one to initiate the contact in the innerworld, meditation like things having never really worked for him, but drastic times called for drastic measures and what better time to put this into practice than now. He took a few deep breaths, trying to distract himself from his own thoughts and feelings on the situation. Steven needed stability, reassurance that he could talk. Having a major freak out and blaming himself would only make the Brit want to comfort Marc and focus on him rather than the real issue centred around him. He just had to fill Jake in on the situation before. He knew the man would appreciate the forewarning, plus it would give them a better chance at being able to help Steven in a way that didn’t make him feel cornered.

Leaning back in bed, he slowly took some deep breaths and closed his eyes, just like Steven had told him to do when explaining it all, and tried to reach out to Jake. The man hated the use of mirrors most of the time, hating how jarring it was to be perceived, but Marc also just couldn’t be asked to get up out of bed and walk to a reflective surface. It only took a moment or two for Jake to surface, the man always on the wings somewhere in case he needed to jump in at a moment’s notice. He blinked his eyes open as he adjusted to the shift in his surroundings, stood next to the sofa in their innerworld flat instead of laying with closed eyes in bed. Beside him, Jake sat on the chair polishing his boots with a calmed expression, glancing up at Marc once he noted the man’s presence. Awkwardly, Marc just stood there for a moment, looking around the room as he tried to figure out what small talk he should try and make before leading into the main issue.

How the fuck was he supposed to start this conversation?

“So… How’s the weather been lookin-”

“Just spit it out, Manito, I don’t bite.”

Instantly, Marc clenched his jaw and drummed his fingers on his legs ever so slightly in an attempt to combat the self-consciousness as he became aware of how he was just standing in the middle of the room. His eyes flickered back and forth between the other man, his boots, and the fish tank bubbling away in the background as Gus and Gus swam calmly as he tried to figure out how to formulate his sentences. They really needed to get better names for the fish. He bit his lip as he stood there in silence, chewing at the slightly cracked skin and trying to bite it off. As he tasted iron, he opened his mouth to respond.

“Steven’s been having the nightmares. Our nightmares. Having our flashbacks too. For months. He was drinking my stash before he went to sleep tonight. Layla’s seen him wake up screaming bloody murder after thinking he was still stuck in a dream.”

Jake’s hands stilled as he wiped the remnants of the boot polish over the material, his reaction perfectly frozen in a way that Marc assumed meant his thoughts had started to spiral immediately like his had when he’d found out. It also meant he was also trying to figure out what to do next. Just like Marc had. After a few moments, the cab driver gently placed the cloth down and started to nod quietly, processing the information he’d just been given. It was clear he was still trying to wrap his head around it, and so Marc spared him from having to try and speak, electing to continue his words.

“Apparently he said he’d talk to us, but I think we need to start the conversation first. She- Layla said that he’s trying to show his contribution to the system or something. That we’ve been treating him like a kid by trying to keep him safe from things. That we’ve been leaving him out. Making him feel like a- like a burden.”

Jake continued to nod, somewhat more forceful as Marc continued to talk. His eyes widened ever so slightly as his body language grew into a more spread out and tense defensive stance, his eyes scanning over the table back and forth as he did. Reaching up to remove his cap, he ran gloved hands through his hair and out of his face roughly, sitting back and looking up at Marc as he held the accessory in his hand like a lifeline. His jaw clenched a few times, his back cracking as he straightened his spine slightly. After a few more moments of silence, Jake took a deep breath and swallowed, staring off at the empty desk that sat tucked next to the stacks of books. A beat or two passed before he stood up, looking to the other side of the room as though staring at someone. As Marc followed his gaze, he had to mask his shock as suddenly sat in the uncomfortable desk chair was the main focus of their conversation: Steven.

The Brit was hunched over a book, reading as though nothing was happening until the confusion hit him and he looked up with a disorientated expression. Spinning around on his chair, his eyes immediately landed on the two men who were looking… worse for wear. That being said, Steven probably wasn’t looking so great either. He looked down at his clothes and realised he was wearing the black sweatshirt and joggers he had been wearing when they were stuck in the asylum. His hands were mostly covered by the sleeves being pulled up over them and as he reached up to brush his curled fringe out of his face. The dark strands felt greasy and knotted in his fingers, and he was suddenly very aware of how awful his face felt. He felt the weight beneath his eyes, dark circles sitting beneath them. His cheeks feeling somewhat sunken, and the rest of his face feeling oily. He felt like shit. He was literally projecting how he felt and he couldn’t get it to stop.

Suddenly, he started to feel extremely vulnerable as he looked at the other two men, his legs bouncing nervously. He felt like a bug under a microscope, like he was about to be pinned to a canvas frame. The more he looked at them, the more he realised he’d been brought here on purpose, the way the Americans were glancing at one another and back at him as if they knew something. Like they were trying to silently argue about something. Something to do with him. Why was he here? It’s not like they had anything important to Steven, they never included him with that kind of thing so why-

In an instant, his heart stopped dead, his spine straightening and body tensing as he frantically looked at the pair as if he’d just been struck by lightning. He felt himself rocking back and forward in the chair ever so slightly, counting slowly as he tried to focus on his breathing. Was it even possible to have a panic attack on the innerworld? It felt like he was about to find out. He blinked desperately, hoping that with enough force he could try to escape this situation and take over the body to get out.

They knew. Somehow his headmates had found out about him. About his situation. How? Or- Maybe they didn’t. Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe if he tried to play it off and fake ignorance then he could get out of it. Maybe they only realised he was withdrawn and they were none the wiser about his-

“We know about the nightmares, Steven. Layla told us.”

For a brief moment, he felt a pang of betrayal in his chest towards her. He’d made her promise she wouldn’t tell them so why on earth would she-

“I woke up throwing up all the liquor you’d drank on an empty stomach, bedsheet drenched in sweat, on the tail end of the worst panic attack I've felt in months. Of course I was going to call the only person who would have any inkling as to what the fuck was going on with you. What were you thinking? Why would you-”

Marc was cut off by Jake lightly stamping on his foot in a clear signal for him to stop talking and calm down, clearly having realised how the man’s worry was definitely coming off as confrontational instead of reassuring. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to reset his attitude, before looking back at Steven with a stern but slightly apologetic gaze. Clearing his throat stiffly, he walked over to Steven and sat a few feet away from him on the floor to give him space. Jake followed suit behind him and sat on a small table to the side of him, just barely above Steven’s natural sitting eye level. The three men sat in quiet for a few more moments, before Marc spoke up once more and broke the silence.

“We’re… sorry. I’m sorry. We thought we were doing right by you and clearly it did the opposite. You never should’ve been made to feel like you couldn’t talk to us and- Yeah. I’m sorry, Steven. Genuinely.”

Silently, Jake nodded along with the man as he watched Steven’s eyes shift around looking at the floor. A minute of silence passed as the Brit let the words sink in. They were apologising… To him. A part of him wanted to backpedal, immediately try to reassure the two men that it was no harm done and that he knew it wasn’t deliberate. But another part of him was just tired. Tired for the months of struggling silently, albeit because of his own choice to try and hide it, but he still felt like he wasn’t worth the fuss that would be caused if he spoke up. And they were apologising for it. Eventually, after another minute or two, he looked up at the pair with red rimmed eyes slowly filling with tears. His voice shook slightly as he spoke, there was no point trying to hide it anymore because they saw him in the same way he felt. They knew the way he felt because they’d felt it as well at some point.

“How do you do it? How do you both cope with it so well?”

There was a brief moment of shock that crossed their faces at Steven’s question. Marc’s expression leaning towards reluctant realisation at how the man saw the pair at the words, and Jake’s steering more towards a neutral acceptance of his perception. Neither of them looked as though they agreed with the wording of Steven’s inquiry. Marc spoke up once more to answer the man nonetheless, Jake taking over once he stops.

“We can’t cope with it, Steven. We just grit our teeth and push through it. You want to know how we can do it? You. You’re the reason we can survive it.”

“He’s right, ricitos. We don’t know how to look after ourselves in the way that lets us live. Without you we’re just barely existing. You look after us. Love us. Support us. You’re everything to us, and we’re sorry that we’ve made you feel like you’re not.”

As they both watched Steven react to their words, they could’ve sworn they felt their hearts break in that single moment. At the realisation on how the men viewed him, Steven’s disbelief started to melt into something almost sobering. His brows lowered, rising slightly on the inner parts showing the clear frown lines on his forehead. He gently caught the bottom of his lip between his teeth for a moment as the corners of his mouth tilted downwards into a stunted frown. His eyelids drooped slightly as the redness lining the rims were contrasted against the purple bags beneath his eyes, shimmering slightly under the dim light as tears started to delicately stream down his face. They watched as his lip quivered ever so slightly as his eyes downcast to his hands that were clasping one another, wringing together as he let the words wash over him. As he sniffled quietly, he bit his lips together into an even clearer frown, the lines that usually showed from him smiling too much framed them painfully. In a shaky voice, he eventually spoke up.

“I just thought that the alcohol might make it easier to fall asleep. That it would… I don’t know. Distract me from my anxiety or something. Didn’t realise I had forgotten to eat until I’d already started drinking. It was absolutely minging, just for your information. Don’t know how you can drink that stuff. I won’t- I’m not going to do it again though. And thank you. For apologising. I appreciate it a lot.”

They sit in silence for a few more moments before Marc speaks up, somewhat nervously. Afraid of something. Insecure about himself, about the possibility of messing up this fragile interaction by saying the wrong thing.

“You could’ve asked us to stick around. Just to keep you company getting to sleep- You still can. It might be kind of a shitty downfall of this disorder, but in some cases never really being alone might be a bit of a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Neither would Jake.”

He looks up and over his shoulder from his seat on the floor to see Jake giving the gentlest smile he’s ever seen from the man in a reassuring manner to both Steven and Marc, nodding slowly in agreement to the man’s words. Steven focuses on the gloved man while thankfully flashing a weak smile towards him, replicating it as he looks down to Marc. He wipes his dripping nose on his oversized sleeve before grimacing slightly in brief disgust at his own action before responding.

“I just didn’t want you to worry about me. I… I thought it might make you treat me like a child even more. I didn't want to be babied- Even if you never meant it like that it just- It just really started to piss me off, if i’m being honest. I just want to be treated the same as you treat each other.” He pauses to take a steady inhale before flashing a friendly smile to the pair, almost endearing in his own way. “I’m an adult, lads. A grown man, same as you. I don’t care if you keep me out of… ‘darker’ conversations. If it’s something I shouldn’t know yet, that it would be bad for me to know about just now, I wouldn’t mind. But it feels like it’s all of the- all of the trauma. All of the time. Sure, I didn’t know about it until recently, but that doesn’t mean I’m still clueless. I mean, hell, how can we even be sure that there are pieces of it that I know about but you both don’t. Did you ever think about it like that? What if I’d been the one to trigger something in the both of you because I just assumed it was common knowledge that you both knew? It’s not a one way street, you know.”

There was a slight shift in the air as Steven concluded his words, the Americans glancing at each other in apprehension as they realised that their headmate could be right. They really didn’t know what Steven knew and what he didn’t because they’d tried to keep him out of the conversation. Which meant that there was a genuine possibility that he might know something they weren’t aware of. Something he might’ve experienced on his own in their childhood and just repressed it so none of them knew about it. It was a quiet fear that they’d never known they shared, or even had, until that very moment. Trying not to dwell on it too much, at least not for now, they turned back to the Brit with matching sombre yet genuinely understanding expressions, having begun to listen and acknowledge the crying man’s points.

“What was- You don’t have to answer this- You might not even remember it but- That night with Layla. When you had the nightmare… What was it about? Layla didn’t tell me anything about it, just that it was the worst she’d seen in a while. That she actually thought it was me or Jake for a second before you started speaking.”

The Brit looked towards Marc in surprise at the revelation, the past betrayal he’d briefly felt against Layla being completely washed away at the realisation she’d really only told her husband the bare framework. Just enough to fill him in on the situation and get the ball rolling. It was a feeling quickly squashed by the dread that appeared at the thought of talking about the nightmare. A new found fear that he might be telling them something they didn’t know about. He could suddenly understand why they had been reluctant to include him in these types of conversations. Why both men were still so guarded, even to each other, when it came to the trauma they shared and spoke about if they spoke about it at all.

But he’d always been the one to say they should talk about it. He’d literally just made an entire little speech about how they should include him when talking about this stuff. If anything, this would be an olive branch. To consolidate that Steven shouldn’t be excluded, not that he needed to give a reason to prove his point. He didn’t have to share if he really didn’t want to. The three of them understood that things like this shouldn’t be pushed. Shouldn’t be forced. Enough of their shared lives had been forced and taken out of their control so, as a baseline of respect, they always gave that choice to say no and back out at any time. Which is why Steven felt safe enough to make the choice to tell them.

“It was about mum. I’m assuming they usually are.” He pauses to read the pair’s expression, feeling slightly discouraged as they huffed sad laughs in agreement but also like there was a new found solidarity with even just a small half joke like that. “We were in the car. I don’t remember a lot of it to be fair, It was quite a bit ago. She started shouting things at me, starting screaming. Started to speed up. Started to swerve the car in the road. Started to scream about crashing and getting rid of us both, let go of the wheel and I just remember the fear and the panic and just the realisation that I was about to die. I thought I was going to die right there. Thought that was it. That if the crash didn’t kill me it was going to be my heart exploding right out of my chest because I couldn’t breathe and I was crying too much.” His expression turned to a devastating revulsion as more tears streamed down his face, a brief sob getting trapped in his throat before he continued to talk. “I don’t remember most of it but the one thing I can remember thinking the clearest was how worried I was that she would get in trouble for her driving. I was convinced I was about to die, and I was still worrying about her and what would happen to her if someone saw her driving like that- She tried to kill me- Kill us- And I was thinking about her fucking reputation- What the fuck is wrong with me- Why did I- I couldn’t- I don’t know- How could I-”

By the time Steven started to reach the end of his recount of the nightmare, he was clearly working himself up into a frantic state. The pair watched worriedly as their headmate started to breathe heavier and heavier, spiralling into the start of a panic attack. In an attempt to prevent it before it got any worse, they moved closer to him. Marc started quietly mumbling hushed reassurances, knowing exactly how painful it was to still love the person that had put them through more than any child should have to bear. On the other hand, Jake decided to pass Steven’s plushie to him and drape a blanket over the man’s shoulders to add a comforting bit of pressure in the hopes of grounding him. He didn’t share the connection to Wendy that the other two men did. Saw her as nothing more than the woman that made their lives a living hell. In his eyes she was even less connected to him than a stranger. Maybe when they were younger he might’ve felt something different, but he grew out of that as soon as he could. While Marc tried to reassure the Brit with a unique understanding that they were both extremely familiar with, he moved over to the space that had been designated as their living room and started to move around doing his own thing. As he did so, he picked up on their close but distant conversation.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Steven. There will never be anything bad about the fact that you are so capable of loving people.”

“The things she- It’s not- It’s sick that I still-”

“She’s our mom. All of the bad outweighs the good by tenfold, but that doesn’t mean that we can just forget about all of the good. It would be easier if it was all bad. Then we wouldn’t have to deal with this. But you are not at fault for being human and still loving the good things about her. The good things that we experienced.”

“It hurts so much- Why did she have to-”

“I don’t know, Steven. I don’t know.”

Jake quickly glanced over as he heard their interaction tamper down in volume to see them holding each other, clinging to one another like a lifeline. He was never one for physical contact, not really. That's what happens when you’re brought into a life that so sorely lacks it. Its hard to miss what you’ve never really had, and that’s why even when given the option in the past he’d never really accepted it. The few times he had had been damn near crushing when it was over. Any other physical contact was never good news, and it was never a choice. But as he looked at the two men, he almost felt a longing to be included. To walk over there and hug the pair. He couldn’t tell if it was fully for their benefit, or if there was an almost selfish ulterior motive for himself as well though. He looked down to the pillows in his hands and started to speed up the process of finishing his idea, placing them in the spot he deemed to be the best and shift one of the blankets to the side.

A few more minutes passed before Steven had started to calm down, a wave of exhaustion washing over him as his tears slowed to a stop. Marc’s arms stayed wrapped firmly around him, sniffling slightly as the Brit realised his counterpart had at some point also started crying alongside him. He squeezed the man tighter for a moment, a brief reassurance to him that Steven was there for him as well. That they weren’t going to suffer with this alone. It was then that he also realised the distinct lack of their third headmate, the man having seemingly disappeared from their close proximity. With a fleeting moment of panic, his head jerked up to cast a look around the visible areas of the flat to find him. Marc pulled back with a confused face before arriving on the same train of thought and joining his short search, their shared worries quickly subsiding as they saw the man looking over at them with an amused but warm smile and motioning for them to go over to him.

Groaning slightly at the strain in his joints, Marc used Steven as a bit of leverage to pull himself upwards from his uncomfortable kneeling position on the floor. He wrapped an arm around the man’s torso lightly without a word, pulling him close as they moved to walk over towards Jake. He softly tried to secure the blanket around the Brit’s shoulders as they made their way towards him to stop it from falling onto the floor. The man had put his plain, dark flat cap back on and was trying to hide the half proud, half nervous look on his face as he stared over to the sofa and back at the two men to watch their reaction closely.

Somehow, in the time that Marc had managed to calm down Steven and simultaneously have his own emotional breakdown after seeing so much of his own inner struggles in Steven, Jake had managed to rearrange the furniture and construct a makeshift fort from blankets and pillows. It was clearly rushed, but still surprisingly well built with a sturdy structure. He’d even used the duvet and pillows from their bed. Small battery powered tea lights were dotted around the outsides, as well as a few on the inside, that somehow gave it a warmer feeling. It was a perfect haven that faced the television that hummed with life, the images on the screen gently shifting with a low volume to accompany them. Connected to the television via an old DVD player they'd recently found was one of Steven’s comfort films: Matilda. The pair faltered in their step at the sight of it all. At the safety that just radiated from the space that Jake had created for them all.

The man in question’s face contorted slightly into a rarely displayed uncertainty, a worry that the other men didn’t like it. It wasn’t often that Jake really doubted himself. There was never really time for that, never a room for error when the majority of his past life experiences had been born out of a final surge of pure instinct to survive. So when he couldn’t read the pair’s expressions, only seeing the tears and exhaustion from moments earlier, as well as the shock on their faces at the sight, he started to shift nervously from one foot to the other. He wasn’t good at physical affection, wasn’t the best at words of reassurance, especially when the subject matter was an incredibly personal and unique feeling that he wasn’t quite aligned with. He’d always heard the expression ‘actions speak louder than words’ and in that moment he was desperately hoping that his actions said the things he wanted to tell the other men. So when he saw the smiles that broke out onto their faces, he couldn’t help but earnestly mirroring it back at them.

Without any words being exchanged, they all moved to situate themselves in the centre of the fort, Steven in the middle being flanked comfortably by his headmates. Jake reached to turn the volume up just ever so slightly, so they wouldn’t be stuck just reading the captions alone. They all shuffled comfortably under the blankets, the Brit almost fully covered while the Americans stuck at least one or two limbs out from beneath the material to avoid feeling too overheated or trapped. The film continued to play as the three situated themselves in a close pile, Marc holding and leaning into Steven while Steven threw an arm over his and leaned into Jake’s side. Expectantly, he looked up at the cab driver before smiling, clearly pleased with himself as Jake threw an arm around him that reached over to Marc as well. It took a few moments for Jake to relax but eventually the tension bled from him as he leaned into Steven’s side as well. He traded a quick glance over the Brit’s head towards Marc and saw the man looking equally content with the situation and how it had played out.

As the film progressed, the three of them gradually started to feel themselves drift off into varying levels of sleep. Steven had been the first to nod off, barely making it more than fifteen minutes before the comfort of the two men either side of him combined with the exhaustion of bearing his soul caught up with him and lulled him into unconsciousness. Marc, having also not escaped the weariness that came as a side effect of heavy crying and emotional fatigue, drifted asleep about five minutes after Steven had. Jake on the other hand had kept awake until the credits to the film started playing, splitting his attention between the plot of the movie and watching over the two men sleeping beside him. Slowly, he reached to grab the remote, desperately trying to avoid waking up the other men as he clicked onto the menu screen and clicked the play button to restart it. He could understand why Steven liked the film.

[winniethewife]

It's undeniably real (Layla El-Faouly x The Moonknight system x Reader)

Chapter 8: They're not enough

Warning: Angst, Hospital scenes, Hurt/comfort.

Last Chapter ~ Next Chapter

Words:1042

I wasn’t the same after that day, I wasn’t meant to be the same after…But will they ever look at me the same after this? Will they still love me the same? Knowing who I really am. Knowing the monster I could become? I feel like theres a bomb in my chest, any minute I will explode and hurt everyone I care about.

They sat in the hospital waiting room, Layla bouncing her leg as she stares at the doors to the surgery ward. Steven sits next to her, a bundle of nerves. The headspace unusually quiet as the moments pass, and they wait.

“Today is the beginning of your training, you will learn to be the greatest asset to the system, and you will learn to eliminate any target required of you. Is that Clear?” the headmistress spoke to me while placing the room.

“What is the system? I thought this was a school for advanced academics?” I asked confused. She gave me a glare, her ice blue eyes bore into me and I felt a chill creep over me.

“You will not question me, you will do as you are told. Is that clear?” She asked even more coldly than before.

“Yes…” I say. And that was the moment my whole life changed forever. Over the next four years I spent my weeks learning to fence, to shoot, to fight. I knew a thousand ways to kill a man, and there was no turning back. I never figured out what “the system” was or why we were meant to serve it. But I do remember the day it collapsed. The academy staff were panicking, it was days until graduation, a hundred of us trained to kill, now without purpose. I put on my uniform and walked out of my dorm. Just as I was turning the corner I hear the Headmistress calling my name…I turn as she Summons me to her office. I walk in and I take a seat in front of her.

“You know, you’re one of our best students of all my time here I’ve never seen a brighter woman and a more skilled combatant.”

“Thank you Ma’am.”

“I have to ask you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to forget, forget any of it happened.”

“What do you mean Ma’am?” I look at her confused. She held up this aerosol can

“I’m going to use this on you, It’s going to put you in a trance, at which point I’m going to have you forget everything from these last years. Before you say anything else I have to do this to everyone, but I wanted to tell you first…I am very proud of you, and I know you will be amazing.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Then time stopped and faded away.

~

I opened my eyes slowly and looked around the hospital room, Layla was sitting on the bed holding my hand.

“Layla…” I tried to sit up.

“Shhh…woah there, Habibi. Don’t move, we’re at the hospital. They got the bullet out of you. You gave us a fright there…”

“I...Did you..?” I couldn’t talk as fast as my mind was running, I wanted to tell her that I remembered, I wanted to ask if they had causght the cult I needed to know.

“No, we haven’t caught them, you come first you know this. Steven is getting us a flight out of here in a few days, the doc says you should be fine to go home by then.”

“But…”

“But nothing. We can get this figured out after you recover. Hanukah is soon, hopefully over the holidays nothing will happen. You will get better, then we can take them down.” She insists. Before I can make any other argument Steven comes into the room and his eyes widen.

“Oh thank god love, you’re awake!” Steven exclaimed as he rushed to my side, his hand cups my face, pressing his forehead to mine as tears stream down his face. Those sad brown eyes look into mine. “We were so worried darling. You can’t do that. Ever again.”

“Steven it’s not like I tried to get shot!” I laugh slightly running my fingers through his hair as he pressed his face to mine, the look of worry and his quivering lip, I smile and I kiss him softly, he hesitates before kissing me back eagerly, like the only cure for his sadness would be found in my lips, after a moment he pulls away.

“Sorry, Lovey. I know, I just…We were sure we were too late. I was so scared…I donno what we would’ve done if…”

“Shh…It didn’t happen okay? I’m okay, I’m going to be okay.” I reassured him, glancing at Layla who was wiping tears from her own eyes, I take her hand again and squeeze it gently. That’s when I knew…I couldn’t tell them. Not yet.

~

Once we’re back home, I think that it’s all going to be okay the nightmares will pass and things will return to normal, But I’m quickly proven wrong. Sitting up quickly from the bed after experiencing another terrifying nightmare, one I can’t tell what might be a memory or a made up thought, I look around our bedroom, tears streaking down my face.

“Babe…Another Nightmare?” Marc sits up from where Steven had fallen asleep holding me on one side while Layla lay on the other. I couldn’t even speak, I just nodded. Marc hummed and put an arm around me, whispering softly comforting words that I wasn’t paying enough attention to identify, my heart couldn’t stop pounding. Even as he pulled me into a closer embrace I felt the numbness return, a feeling I used to just associate with this forgotten past now lingers in my life, making unwelcomed visits even in the most intimate of moments. Marc says something directly to me and I completely miss it.

“Hm? What?” I tried to shake off the feeling but it just sticks around. Marc chuckles.

“C’mon, let’s get back to sleep. No more nightmares. I’ll keep them away.”

“Okay…I love you.” I say softly as he pulls me back into bed.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.” I sleepily mumble, getting another chuckle from Marc.

~

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